AN UNPLEASANT DISCOVERY FOR BERNARD BROWN
A March wind was roaring over the open moorland, driving huge masses of
black clouds across the angry sky, and whistling amongst the dark
patches of pine trees, until it seemed as though their slender stems
must snap before the strain. All around Falcon's Nest the country, not
yet released from the iron grip of a late winter, lay wasted and
desolate; and the heath, which had lost all the glowing touch of autumn,
faded into the horizon bare and colorless. Nowhere was there any relief
of outline, save where the white front of Thurwell Court stretched
plainly visible through a park of leafless trees.
And of all the hours of the day it was at such a season the most
depressing. Faint gleams of the lingering day still hung over the
country, struggling with the stormy twilight, and a pale, wan glare,
varied with long black shadows, moved swiftly across the sea and the
moor--the reflection of the flying clouds overhead.
A single human being, the figure of a tall man clad in an ulster
buttoned up to the throat, was making his way across the open country.
He walked rapidly--and, indeed, there was nothing to tempt any one to
linger--and his destination was obvious. He was on his way to Falcon's
Nest.
A drearier abode than it appeared that afternoon never raised its four
walls to the sky. The grounds which surrounded it had been swept bare
by the storms of winter, and nothing had been done to repair the
destruction which they had accomplished. Uprooted shrubs lay dead and
dying upon the long dank grass, and the creepers torn from the walls
hung down in pitiful confusion. Every window reflected back the same
blank uninviting gloom. There was no light, no single sign of
habitation. Mr. Thurwell had evidently respected his tenant's wish to
the letter. The place had not been touched or entered during his
absence.
The pedestrian, Mr. Bernard Brown himself, leaned over the gate for a
moment, silently contemplating the uninviting scene with a grim smile.
He had reasons of his own for being satisfied that the place had not
been interfered with, and it certainly seemed as though such were the
case.
After a few minutes' hesitation he drew a key from his pocket and fitted
it in the lock. There was a resistance when he tried to turn it that he
did not understand. Stooping down, he suddenly tried the handle. It
opened smoothly. The gate was unlocked. He withdrew the key with
trembling fingers. All his relief at the dismantled appearance of the
cottage had disappeared. A strange unquiet look shone in his eyes, and
his manner suddenly became nervous and hurried. He had locked the gate
on his departure, he was sure, and Mr. Thurwell's steward had told him
that there was no duplicate set of keys. How could it have been opened
save with a skeleton key.
He walked quickly up the path to the front door. Here a greater shock
still awaited him. The latch-key which he held ready in his hand was not
needed. He tried the handle, and the door opened.
Mr. Brown grew white to the lips, and he shrank back as though afraid
or reluctant to enter the house. The door stood ajar. He pushed it open
with his stick, and peered in upon the darkness. Everything was silent
as the grave. He listened for a moment, and then, his natural courage
returning, he stepped inside, and closed the door after him. The
shutting out of the few gleams of daylight which lingered in the sky
left him in utter darkness. Fumbling in his pocket, he produced a wax
candle wrapped in a piece of newspaper, and a box of matches, one of
which he carefully struck.
At first the gloom seemed too profound to be dispersed by the feeble
flickering light, but gradually, as his eyes became accustomed to it, he
began to distinguish the more familiar objects. Half fearfully he
glanced towards the door on the right-hand side. It stood half open.
There was no longer room for any doubt. The house had been opened during
his absence.
The full realization of any disaster often brings with it a calm which,
to all outward appearance, contrasts favorably with the prior state of
anxiety. This appeared to be the case with Mr. Bernard Brown. His
entrance to the house had been hesitating and anxious, but as soon as he
was convinced that what he dreamed had really come to pass, his
nervousness seemed to fall away from him, and he was his old self again,
calm and resolute. Holding the flickering candle high above his head, he
moved steadily forward into the room on the right-hand side of the
entrance.
Everything here was exactly as he had left it. The cases filled with
books, some half emptied, some untouched, still lay about the floor,
with the dust thick upon them. He cast one swift glance around, and then
walked across and opened the door of the small inner room. The sudden
draught extinguished his candle, and he found himself suddenly in total
darkness. The closely barred shutters, which protected the low window,
were securely fastened, and effectually shut out the lingering remnants
of daylight. Stooping down, he re-lit the candle which he was still
carrying, and holding it high over his head, looked anxiously around.
One glance was sufficient. In the corner of the room opposite to him was
a small table, where he always kept a basin of cold water and some clean
towels. Round here the carpet had been torn up, and rearranged, with
little pretence at concealment. Nearer the window stood a large oak
cabinet, the most important piece of furniture in the room, and this he
saw again in a moment had been tampered with. It had been moved a little
out of its position, and one of the lower drawers stood partly open.
Like a man in a dream he slowly walked across to it and drew out a bunch
of keys from his pocket. The final test had yet to be applied, and the
final blow to fall.
He unlocked the topmost partition, and revealed a number of small
drawers. Eagerly he drew out the topmost one, and looked inside. Then he
knew the worst. It was empty. There was no longer any doubt whatever.
His cottage had been entered by no ordinary housebreaker, for the
purpose of plunder, but with a set of false keys, and with a far more
serious object. The secret on which more than his life depended was
gone!