THE INNER ROOM AT THE FALCON'S NEST
Together they watched the approaching figures. Helen, standing a little
apart, had the better view.
"There is my father, and Heggs, and some one whom I do not know," she
announced quietly. "I wonder if it is a doctor."
He did not answer her. She glanced toward him, wondering at his silence
and rigid attitude. His eyes were still bent upon the three men, and
there was a hard, strained look in his white face. While she was
watching him she saw a spasm of what seemed almost like physical pain
pass across his countenance. Certainly this was no unfeeling man. In his
way he seemed as deeply moved as she herself was.
They were quite close now, and she had a good view of the stranger. He
did not look, by any means, a person to be afraid of. In all her life
she thought she had never seen such a handsome old gentleman--and
gentleman he most assuredly was. His hair was quite white, and his
beard--carefully trimmed and pointed after the fashion of one of
Velasquez' pictures--was of the same color. Yet his walk was upright and
vigorous, and he carried himself with dignity. His high forehead, and
rather long, oval face, with its delicate, clearly cut features, had at
once the stamp of intellect and benevolence, and, as though preserved by
careful and refined living, had still much of the freshness of youth.
He was dressed in a rough tweed walking-suit, with gaiters and thick
boots, and carried under his arm a somewhat ponderous book, and a
botanical specimen case. Helen felt a woman's instinctive liking for him
before she had even heard him speak.
"Have you thought us long, Helen?" her father exclaimed anxiously. "We
haven't seen anything of the scoundrel, but Heggs was fortunate enough
to meet Sir Allan Beaumerville on the moor, and he very kindly offered
to return."
Sir Allan was on his knees by the body before Mr. Thurwell had finished
his sentence. They all watched his brief examination.
"Poor fellow! poor fellow!" he exclaimed in a shocked tone. "That
wretched thing"--lightly touching the handle of the dagger--"is clean
through his heart. It was a strong, cruel arm that drove that home.
Nothing can be done, of course. He must have died within a few seconds!"
He rose from his knees and looked around. "What is to be done with the
body?" he asked. "It must be removed somewhere. Sir Geoffrey Kynaston,
did you say it was? Dear me! dear me! I knew his sister quite well."
"She is not far away," Mr. Thurwell said. "She and my daughter were
awaiting luncheon for us on the cliffs yonder, when this horrible thing
occurred. Lathon went back to look for her. We were afraid that she
might follow us here. She was very fond of her brother, and he had only
just returned home after many years' traveling."
"Poor fellow!" Sir Allan said softly. "But about moving him. Who lives
in that queer-looking place yonder?"
Mr. Thurwell, who knew his tenant by sight, although they had never
spoken, looked at him and hesitated. Sir Allan did the same.
"That is where I live," Mr. Brown said slowly. "If Mr. Thurwell thinks
well, let him be taken there."
He spoke without looking round or addressing any one in particular. His
back was turned upon the celebrated physician.
"The nearest place would be best, in a case like this," Sir Allan
remarked. "Have you sent for any help?"
"Some of my men are coming across the moor there," Mr. Thurwell said,
pointing them out. "They can take a gate off the hinges to carry him on."
A little troop of awed servants, whom Lord Lathon had sent down from the
Court, together with some farm laborers whom they had picked up on the
way, were soon on the spot.
Mr. Thurwell gave some brief directions, and in a few minutes the high
five-barred gate, with "private" painted across it in white letters, was
taken from its hinges, and the body carefully laid upon it. Then Mr.
Thurwell turned resolutely to his daughter.
"Helen, you must go home now," he said firmly. "Jackson will take you.
We can spare him easily."
She shook her head.
"I would rather stay," she said quietly. "I shall not faint, or do
anything stupid, I promise you."
Sir Allan Beaumerville looked at her curiously. It was a strange thing
to him, notwithstanding his wide experience, to find a girl of her years
so little outwardly moved by so terrible a tragedy. Mr. Thurwell, too,
was surprised. He knew that she had never loved Sir Geoffrey Kynaston,
but, nevertheless, he had expected her to show more emotion than this,
if only for the horror of it all. And yet, looking at her more closely,
he began to understand--to realize that her calmness was only attained
by a strenuous repression of feeling, and that underneath it all was
something very different. Though her voice was firm, her cheeks were
deadly pale, and there was a peculiar tightening of the lips and light
in her eyes which puzzled him. Her expression seemed to speak less of
passive grief, than of some active determination--some strong desire.
She had all the appearance of a woman who was bracing herself up for
some ordeal, nerving herself with all the stimulus of a firm will to
triumph over her natural feelings, and follow out a difficult purpose.
Mr. Thurwell scarcely recognized his own daughter. She was no longer a
somewhat languid, beautiful girl, looking out upon the world with a sort
of petulant indifference--petulant, because, with all the high
aspirations of a somewhat romantic disposition, she could see nothing in
it to interest her. All that had passed away. The warm breath of some
awakening force in her nature seemed to have swept before it all her
languor, and all her petulance. They were gone, and in their place was a
certain air of reserve and thoughtful strength which seems always to
cling to those men and women who face the world with a definite purpose
before them. Mr. Thurwell knitted his brows, and had nothing to say.
A sad little procession was formed, and started slowly for the cottage
on the cliff side, the four stalwart men stooping beneath their heavy
burden, and somehow falling into the measured steady tramp common to
corpse bearers. None of them ever forgot that walk. Slowly they wound
their way around many brilliant patches of deep yellow gorse and purple
heather, and the warm sunlight glancing across the moor and glittering
away over the water threw a strange glow upon the still, cold face of
their ghastly burden. A soft breeze sprung from the sea, herald of the
advancing eventide, following the drowsy languor of the perfect autumnal
day. The faintly stirred air was full of its quickening exhilaration,
but it found no human response in their heavy hearts. Solemn thoughts
and silence came over all of them. Scarcely a word was spoken on the way
to their destination.
By some chance, or at least it seemed like chance, Helen found herself a
few steps behind the others, with Mr. Brown by her side. They, too,
walked along in unbroken silence. His eyes were steadily fixed upon the
ground, hers were wandering idly across the sparkling blue sea with its
foam-crested furrows to the horizon. Whatever her thoughts were, they
had changed her expression for the time; to a certain extent its late
definiteness was gone, and a dreamy, refined abstraction had taken its
place.
"If I had to die," she said, half to herself, "I would choose to die on
such a day as this."
He raised his dark eyes and looked at her.
"Why?"
"I scarcely know," she said hesitatingly. "And yet, in my own mind, I
do. It is so beautiful! It seems to give one a sense of peace and
hope--I cannot explain it. It is the sort of thing one feels, and feels
only."
He looked down again.
"I know what you mean. You would fear annihilation less?"
"Annihilation! Is that your creed?"
"Sometimes, if it were not for scenes like this, I might believe it
possible," he answered slowly. "As it is, I do not! The exquisite beauty
of the earth denies it! I pin my faith to a great analogy. The natural
world is a reflex of the spiritual, and in the natural world there is no
annihilation. Nothing can ever die. Nor can our souls ever die."
She looked at him keenly. The dreamy speculation had gone from her eyes.
The fire of her former purpose had returned.
"It is well to feel like that. You would rather be Sir Geoffrey
Kynaston, then, than his murderer, even now?"
He raised his hand quickly to his forehead, as though in pain. It was
gone in an instant, but she had been watching.
"Yes, I would," he answered fervently. "Sir Geoffrey was a wicked man,
but he may have repented. He had his opportunities."
"How do you know that he was wicked?" she asked quickly.
"I heard of him abroad--many years ago. Will you excuse me, Miss
Thurwell. I must hurry on and open the door for them."
He walked swiftly on, leaving her alone. When they reached their
destination, he was there waiting for them.
It was a strangely situated and strangely built abode. A long low
building of deep yellow stone, half hidden by various creepers, and
inaccessible on the side from which they approached it save to foot
passengers. From the bottom of the winding path which they had to climb
it seemed to hang almost sheer over the cliff side. A thickly growing
patch of stunted pine trees rising abruptly in the background literally
overtopped the tiled roof. From the summit of this plantation to the sea
was one abrupt precipice, thickly overgrown for the first hundred feet
or so by pine trees growing out from the side of the cliff in strange
huddled fashion, the haunt of sea birds and a few daring rabbits.
They passed in at the hand-gate, and toiled up the steep path, threading
their way among a wilderness of overgrown box shrubs, long dank grass
and strange weeds. Helen, with her eyes fixed upon an open window on the
right wing of the cottage, fell a little behind. The others came to a
halt before the open door.
Mr. Brown met them and preceded them along the passage.
"I think he had better be carried in here," he said, motioning toward
the room on the left-hand side, the side remote from the sea. "I have
brought a sofa."
They stood on the threshold and looked in. The room was absolutely
unfurnished, and the shutters had only just been thrown back, letting in
long level gleams of sunlight, which fell upon the bare floor and damp
walls, from which the discolored paper was commencing to peel off. Long
cobwebs hung from the ceiling, waving slowly backward and forward in the
unaccustomed draught. Helen Thurwell, who had just joined the little
group, with a curious light in her eyes, and a deep spot of color in her
pale cheeks, looked around and shivered. Mr. Thurwell, with a landlord's
instinct, began to wonder who was at fault, his agent or his tenant.
The four men tramped in, their footsteps sounding dreary and mournful on
the uncarpeted floor, and awakening strange rumbling echoes. Helen
looked at them for a moment, all clustered round the single sofa which
stood in the middle of the apartment, and then stepped softly back again
into the hall. She looked around her eagerly, yet with no idle
curiosity.
The whole interior of the place appeared bare and comfortless. There
were no rugs in the hall, no carpet on the stairs, nor a single sign of
habitation. Nor was there any servant about. She looked again into the
room out of which she had just stepped. They were preparing to lift the
body from the gate, which they had laid upon the floor, on to the sofa.
She stepped back into the hall, and listened. There was no sound from
any other part of the house. They were all too deeply engrossed to think
of her. It was her chance!
She was very pale, and very resolute. The look which had come into her
face for so short a time ago had had its meaning. The time for action
had come. It was sooner than she had expected; but she was ready.
With swift noiseless step she crossed the hall and softly turned the
handle of the door on the opposite side. It opened at once, and she
stepped inside. She listened again. As yet she was undetected. She drew
a little breath and glanced searchingly around her.
This room, too, was unfurnished, save that the floor was covered with
cases full of books. Straight in front of her was another door, leading,
as she knew, into a smaller apartment. Dare she go forward? She listened
for a moment. There was no sound save the low muffled voices of the men
who were lifting Sir Geoffrey on to the couch. Supposing she were
discovered here? At the most, she would be suspected of a vulgar
curiosity. It all flashed through her mind in a moment, and her decision
was taken. Gathering her skirts in her hand lest they should catch
against the edges of the cases, she threaded her way through them, and
stood before the door of the inner room. She tried the handle. It
yielded easily to her touch. She had gone too far to draw back now. In a
moment she had passed the threshold, and the whole contents of the
little room were disclosed to her.
Of all the senses, the eyes seem to carry the most lasting impression to
the brain. One eager glance around, and the whole seemed photographed
into her memory. A little strip of faded carpet only half covering the
floor, piles upon piles of books, and a small table littered all over
with foolscap, a few fine prints and etchings roughly hung upon the
walls, a group of exquisite statuettes all huddled together, and an oak
cabinet strongly bound with brass clasps--they were the things she
chiefly remembered. The whole room was in the wildest disorder, as
though the contents had been just shot inside and left to arrange
themselves.
After that single cursory glance, Helen looked no more around her. Her
whole attention was riveted upon the window exactly opposite. As she had
seen from the outside, it was wide open, and several branches of a shrub
growing up against it were broken off. From the leaves of the same shrub
several drops of water were hanging, and on the ground below was a wet
patch. She looked back into the room again. In one corner was an empty
basin, and by its side, rolled up tightly, was a rough towel.
Before she could make any movement in that direction, another thing
struck her. On a certain spot close by the side of the basin a pile of
books was arranged in disorderly fashion enough, but with some little
method. An idea flashed in upon her. They were arranged in that manner
to hide something upon the floor.
She made a quick motion forward. Then she stopped short, and lifted her
eyes to the door. Her cheeks burned, and her heart beat fast. Sir Allan
Beaumerville was standing on the threshold, looking at her in mute
amazement, and over his shoulder was the pale stern face of Mr. Brown.