CHAPTER I

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(Oxford University)

The Chase

of the Ruby

Seventh Edition of RICHARD MARSH'S

MOST STRIKING NOVEL

With Illustrations by John Williamson

THE BEETLE: A Mystery

Crown 8vo. Price 6s.

* * * * *

The Speaker says: 'A story of the most terrific kind is duly recorded

in this extremely powerful book. The skill with which its fantastic

horrors are presented to us is undeniable.'

The Daily Graphic says: 'It is the kind of book which you put down

only for the purpose of turning up the gas and making sure that no

person or thing is standing behind your chair; and it is a book which

no one will put down until finished, except for the reason above

described.'

The Glasgow Herald says: 'The weird horror of this being grows upon

the reader. It is difficult, if not impossible, to lay down this book

when once begun.'

The Academy says: '"Dracula," by Mr Bram Stoker, was creepy, but Mr

Marsh goes one, oh! many more than one, better. This surprising and

ingenious story succeeds in producing that sensation of horror which

should make the flesh of even the least susceptible reader creep.'

Answers says: 'Mr Marsh's famous novel is one of the most

enthrallingly interesting narratives of the past few years. I strongly

advise all my readers to order the book at once.'

The Literary World says: 'An ingenious, weird, and thrilling story,

narrated with a clearness of style and a fulness of incident which

hold the reader's attention from first to last.'

The St James's Budget says: 'The frontispiece is a nightmare, and the

terrors are thrillingly described. One is compelled to read it to the

end.'

The Birmingham Daily Gazette says: 'A powerful and vigorous story of a

most terrible character, told with skill and ingenuity. It is even

more strange and mysterious than Bulwer's "Zanoni."'

* * * * *

London: SKEFFINGTON & SON, 163 Piccadilly, W.

_Publishers to Her Majesty The Queen and to H.R.H. The Prince_

_of Wales_

And at all Libraries and Railway Bookstalls

THE

Chase of the Ruby

BY

RICHARD MARSH

AUTHOR OF

'THE BEETLE: A MYSTERY,' 'IN FULL CRY,' 'FRIVOLITIES,' ETC.

LONDON

SKEFFINGTON & SON, 163 PICCADILLY

Publishers to Her Majesty The Queen

AND TO

His Royal Highness The Prince of Wales

1900

CONTENTS

CHAP.

I. GHOSTS IN AFRICA.

II. THE QUEST ORDAINED.

III. MISS BROAD COMMANDS.

IV. MR HOLLAND FAILS.

V. A WOMAN SCORNED.

VI. MISS BROAD COMMANDS A SECOND TIME.

VII. THE BOTTOM DRAWER.

VIII. THE LADY--AND THE GENTLEMAN.

IX. THE FLYMAN.

X. SHE WISHES THAT SHE HADN'T.

XI. THE PURSUIT OF THE GENTLEMAN.

XII. THE TENDER MERCIES OF TWO LADIES.

XIII. VISITORS FOR MISS CASATA.

XIV. WHO KNOCKS?

XV. AN HONOURABLE RETREAT.

XVI. THE FINDING OF THE RUBY AND THE LOCKING OF THE DOOR.

XVII. THE FIGURES ON THE BED.

XVIII. REINFORCED.

XIX. STILL WITH A SMILE.

XX. HOW THE CHASE WAS ENDED.

The Chase of the Ruby

CHAPTER I

GHOSTS IN AFRICA

'Upon my word, this is--' He hesitated, then chose another form of

words with which to conclude his sentence. 'This is extraordinary.'

He allowed the paper to flutter from between his fingers, stood

staring at nothing, then, stooping, picked up the sheet of blue post

from where it had fallen at his feet.

'Extraordinary!' he repeated.

He regarded it and handled it as if it had been some uncanny

thing--though, on the face of it, it was nothing of the kind. It was a

formal letter addressed to 'Guy Holland, Esq., 37A Craven Street,

W.C.' It began 'Dear Sir,' and ended 'Yr. obedt. servant, SAML.

COLLYER.' Between the beginning and the end it informed him that his

uncle, George Burton, had died at Nice on February 23, and that the

writer would feel obliged if he would call upon him at his earliest

possible convenience.

'I wonder if I saw him die?' Mr Holland knit his brows as he asked

himself the question. 'How could I, when I was in Mashonaland and he

was in Nice? Absurd!'

He laughed, as it has been written, 'hollowly'; the laugh of

uneasiness rather than mirth.

Then he went and saw the lady.

She was waiting on a seat by a certain piece of water in Regent's

Park. She must have had eyes behind, because, although she was sitting

with her back to him, directly he stepped upon the grass she sprang

up, and, as if she had been observing him all the time, went to him at

something very like a run. He advanced at quick step. They met in the

middle of the grass plot, contrary to regulations, which forbid people

to walk upon the grass. They each gave two hands, and that with an air

which suggested that if that had not been a public place they would

have given each other something else as well.

'Guy!' she exclaimed. 'I thought you were the other side of the world.

What a time you've been!'

'Coming from the other side of the world? or from Craven Street? It is

some distance from Craven Street to Regent's Park.'

'You are in Craven Street, are you? What's it mean? You're looking

well--sort of coppery colour; it suits you.'

'That's the air of the veldt; it burnishes a man's skin. You're

looking sweet. I say, it's awfully hard lines that I can't kiss you.

Mayn't I--just a little one?'

'In broad daylight, in Regent's Park, with a hundred pairs of eyes

observing us from Hamilton Terrace? Thank you; some other day. When I

had your note--what a note! "Meet me at the old place at noon"--I

wondered who I was to meet, you or your ghost. As a matter of fact, I

had a most important engagement--just at noon; but I put it off on

purpose to come and see.'

'That was very dear of you. I'm not my ghost, I'm me.'

'But--Guy, have you made your fortune? You didn't seem as if you were

going to make it at quite such a rate when you wrote last.'

He shook his head.

'Came back with less in my pockets than when I left.'

'Then--what does it mean?'

'My uncle's dead.'

'Mr Burton?'

He nodded.

'Has he left you his money? Oh, Guy!'

'As to that, I can't say. At present I know nothing. The fact is,

Letty, it's--it's a queer business. You won't laugh?'

'What at?'

'Well'--he held out an envelope--'if I hadn't found this letter

awaiting me telling me of the old man's death, I should have accused

myself of softening of the brain, or something of the kind. As it is,

I believe I've had a vision.'

'A vision! You? Guy, fancy your discovering that there are visions

about.'

'You're laughing at me now.'

'I'm doing nothing of the kind. How can you say such a thing? I'm the

soul of gravity. Do I ever laugh?'

As a matter of fact, there was a twinkle in her eyes even as she

spoke, which he perceived.

'All right; laugh it out. I don't mind. All I can say is that it's

gospel truth, and seems queer enough to me, though I daresay it's

extremely comic to anybody else.'

'What seems comic? You haven't said a word.'

'Let's find a seat, and I'll say a good many.'

They found a seat--not the one she had been sitting on, but one which

was sheltered by a tree. It was, perhaps, because it was in the shade

that they temporarily ignored the fact that they were yet in Regent's

Park. They were still pretty close together when he began to tell his

tale.

'On the 23rd of February I had had a long day in the open. It was

broiling hot, and in the evening I was glad to get back under cover.

As I sat at my tent door, too tired even to smoke, I saw, right in

front of me, my uncle.'

'Your uncle? Mr Burton? Where was this?'

'Perhaps three hundred miles north of Buluwayo.'

'But--what was your uncle doing there?'

'I told you it was a queer business, and so it was. Let me try to

explain. Straight in front of where I was sitting the plain stretched

for heaven knows how many miles right away to the horizon. There were

no buildings; scarcely a bush or a tree was to be seen; just the

monotonous level ground. All at once I perceived, certainly within a

hundred feet of where I was, a flight of steps.'

'A flight of steps?'

'Well, I had a sort of general idea that there was a building in

connection, but my eyes were fixed upon the steps. I seemed to know

them. There was a wide open door at top. I felt that I was well

acquainted with what was on the other side of that door. On the steps

my uncle was standing. Mind, I saw him as well as I see you, and,

thank goodness, I can see you pretty well. I can't tell you what he

wore, because I'm no hand at describing clothes; but I've an

impression that he had on a suit of tweeds and a bowler hat. He was

apparently lounging on the steps, watching the passers-by. He did not

see me--of that I was sure. On a sudden someone else came towards him

up the steps. He was a stranger to me, though I think I should know

him if I saw him again. He was taller than my uncle, and, I imagine,

younger. Anyhow, he was altogether a bigger and a stronger man. He had

a walking stick in his hand, with a horn handle. Directly he got

within reach, without, so far as I could judge, uttering a word of

warning, with this stick he struck my uncle with all his force across

the face. I suspect that my uncle had seen him coming before I did,

and, for reasons of his own, had stuck to what he deemed his post of

vantage on the steps, being unwilling to go and meet him, and ashamed

to run away. That he was not so taken aback by the suddenness of the

attack as I was I felt persuaded. He put out his hand to guard

himself, and, I fancy, at the last moment was disposed to turn tail

and flee. But it was too late. The blow got home. He staggered back

and would have fallen had not the stranger gripped him with his left

hand, and commenced to belabour him with the stick which he held with

his right. People came streaming out of the open door above and up the

steps from the street. My uncle made not the faintest attempt at

resistance. When the people came close enough to hamper the free

action of his arm, the stranger, giving his victim a push, sent him

head foremost down the steps. In an instant the whole thing vanished.'

Mr Holland ceased. The lady had been regarding him with wide-open grey

eyes.

'Guy!' she said.

'Wasn't it odd?'

'Odd? You must have been dreaming.'

'I was as wide awake as you are. It was a mirage, or vision, or

something of the kind. The queerest part of it was that it was so

amazingly real, and so near. When the thing had gone I kept asking

myself why I hadn't jumped up and interfered. I could have got there

in a dozen strides.'

'Then what happened?'

'I sat for a long time half dazed, half expecting the thing to come

again, or to continue from the point at which it had left off. Then I

went and told a man with whom I was chumming what I'd seen. He said

the sun had got into my eyes, advised me to have a drink--made fun of

it altogether. But I knew better; and, as it turned out, I was haunted

by my uncle all through the night.'

'Awake or sleeping?'

'Awake. I couldn't sleep. I was haunted by a feeling that he was

dying. The stranger had not killed him; but in consequence of the

thrashing he had received he was struggling with death, and kept

calling out to me to come to him; and I couldn't.'

'Poor Guy!'

The lady softly stroked the hand of his which she held between her

two.

'I wondered if I was on the verge of an attack of illness or going

mad, or what, though personally I felt as fit as a fiddle all the

time, with my senses as much about me as they are now. I kept hearing

him call out, over and over again, "Guy, Guy!" in the voice I knew so

well and wasn't particularly fond of. There was something else which

he kept repeating.'

'What was that?'

'"The ruby."'

'The ruby?'

'I haven't a notion of what he meant or what the whole thing meant,

but at least a dozen times that night I heard him referring to a

ruby,--the ruby, he called it. Long and seemingly involved sentences I

heard him utter, but the only two words I could distinguish were those

two--"the ruby"; and, as I have said, those two I heard him pronounce

certainly a dozen times. And in the morning I was conscious of an

absolute conviction that he was dead.'

'How very strange.'

'I'm not one of your clever chaps, so I don't pretend to be able to

suggest a sufficient explanation, but the entire business reminds me

of what I've heard about second sight. Although in the body I was out

there on the veldt I seemed to know and see what was taking place

heaven knows how many thousand miles away. In spite of the persuasion

which was borne in upon me that he was dead, every day, and sometimes

all day, I heard him calling out to me, "Guy, Guy!" and every now and

then, "The ruby!" It was as if he were imploring me to come to him.'

'So you came.'

'So I came. The truth is I couldn't stand it any longer. I should have

gone off my head if I had had much more of it. I was good for nothing,

my nerves were all anyhow, everyone was laughing at me. So I slipped

off by myself without a word to a creature; got down to Cape Town,

found a boat just starting, and was off on it at once. Directly the

boat was away the haunting stopped. My nerves were all right in an

instant. I told myself I was an ass; that I ought to have wired or

written, or done something sensible. Since, however, it was too late I

tried to make the best of things. I ran up to London so soon as we

reached port, meaning, if it turned out that my imagination had made a

fool of me, to go straight back without breathing a word to anyone of

my ever having come.'

'Not even to me?'

'Not even to you. You wouldn't have liked me to turn up with nothing

but a bee in my bonnet.'

'So long as you turned up, I shouldn't have cared for forty thousand

bees. The idea!'

'That's very sweet of you. As it happened, no sooner did I appear at

my old quarters than Mrs Flickers produced a letter which had arrived

for me--she did not know how long ago, and which she had not known

what to do with. It turned out to be an intimation from Collyer that

that my uncle had died on the 23rd of February, the very day on which,

out on the veldt, I had seen him assaulted by that unknown individual

upon that flight of steps.'

'Guy, is this a ghost story you have been telling me? I don't want to

be absurd, but it really does look as if it were a case of the hand of

destiny.'

'I don't know about the hand of destiny, but it does look as if it

were a case of something.'

'I shouldn't be surprised if, after all, the old reprobate has left

you some of his money.'

'Nor I. Oh, Letty, if he has! We'll be married on Monday.'

'As this is Friday, couldn't you make it Sunday? Monday seems such a

long way off. My dear Guy, first of all interview Mr Samuel Collyer.

Then you'll learn the worst.'

'I am going to. Of course I had to see you first--'

'Of course.'

'But I wired to him that I'd call this afternoon.'

'Then call.'

And Mr Holland called.