Deborah had scarcely got outside the door when she perceived that
something more than moral force would be wanted to keep Sep Jocelyn up
to the simple task she wished him to perform. The mere thought of
intruding unbidden upon Amos Goodhare caused him so much trepidation
that she was able to measure the awful extent of the influence the old
man had established over the younger ones. When, therefore, Sep had
stopped and hesitated half-a-dozen times, she put her hand through his
arm and gently urged him forward.
“You had better go back; let me take you back,” he whispered, afraid
of the strength of her compelling will.
“Not until you have shown me Goodhare’s hiding-place, and I have
assured myself that Lord St. Austell is safe,” she answered firmly.
Sep took a few steps forward with a groan, and stopped short in some
relief a couple of feet from the wall at the turn in the passage.
“You’ll have to come back now,” he whispered; “and I’ll try to find
out another way round. You can’t get over this wall.”
“Can’t I?” said the country girl contemptuously. “You go first and
just give me a hand on the other side.”
He obeyed very reluctantly, and he scarcely got over the wall himself
when the athletic young girl was by his side. After that, with a sort
of dismal acquiescence in the fact that she must have her own way, he
led her without further pause to the door of the house which they had
made their hiding-place.
Here at last for a moment the girl’s brave spirit seemed to fail her.
For Sep removed the lower boards of the door noiselessly, and she saw
that the house was as black as night inside, and felt the hot fumes of
stifling smoke which, coming up through the hole made in the floor of
what had once been the back-shop, spread slowly through the whole
house, and escaped, through what cracks and crevices it could find,
into the open air.
Sep snatched at the opportunity of persuading her to go back.
“Listen,” he whispered. “Can’t you hear him singing to himself down
there?”
Deborah bent forward, and caught certain fitful, crooning sounds,
which, rising from time to time to a loud, savage note, made her
shiver.
“He sings like that when he has done some diabolical thing,” Sep went
on. And Deborah heard his teeth chatter. “It would not be safe for you
to go near him now.”
“But Lord St. Austell! What can have become of him?” asked Deborah
with a sudden impulse of alarm stronger than any she had felt yet.
“Well, you can’t help him, anyhow,” said Sep shuddering.
“And Rees?”
Sep did not answer. They were inside the house now, listening to that
terrible crooning.
“I must find out what has happened--what is going on,” said Deborah
suddenly, with decision.
“You can’t see anything unless you go down into the first cellar,”
said Sep, sulkily. “And then, if he heard you go, or saw you through
the door, it would be all up with you.”
“Won’t you come down with me?”
He hesitated, and then said pettishly, “Why can’t you come back?”
“I can’t till I am sure that no harm has happened to Lord St. Austell.
Will you come!”
“I suppose so--if you won’t be persuaded,” said Sep, sullenly.
It was easy to descend without noise, as every precaution to deaden
sound had been taken by the three confederates. The ladder was fixed
quite firmly, and the rungs of it were covered with felt. Deborah went
down first, and waited at the bottom of the ladder for Sep, not
knowing which way to move in the darkness. But he did not come. She
did not dare to call to him, and while she was debating with herself
whether she should creep up the ladder again and shame him into
accompanying her, a very faint sound above told her that he had broken
faith and gone back, leaving her to face alone whatever danger might
be awaiting her.
Her first impulse on making this discovery was indignation, not with
the trembling wretch who had failed her, but with herself for her own
folly in trusting him. Then immediately she set about devising what
she could do. She heard a cork drawn in the lower cellar, the door of
which was shut, and it seemed to her that the weird, droning sound
which Amos Goodhare was making grew gradually louder. Was Lord St.
Austell hiding somewhere, on the watch like herself, she wondered. Her
eyes were getting accustomed to the gloom, and she now perceived, some
way to the left, a faint light from above. Moving very cautiously in
that direction she perceived that there was a boarded-up-window, and
that a few rays of what murky daylight was left filtered through the
cracks from a grating above.
As she crossed the floor her boot struck against a couple of boards
that were lying there, and made a little clatter. Instantly the
crooning in the next room stopped, and Deborah heard sounds as of a
seat pushed back. She had time to get close to the wall under the
boarded window, and to crouch down, when the door was pushed open, and
against a ruddy glow of fire-light she saw the figure of Amos
Goodhare.
She kept quite still.
“Rees!” called he, not loud but imperatively. A pause. He repeated the
name savagely. Then, between his teeth, he muttered, “D--n the young
whelp,” and took a few steps into the room.
Deborah could hear her own heart beating.
But Goodhare had not found her out. The next moment she heard the
clank of glass, and as he returned to the lower cellar she saw that he
carried a bottle of wine under his arm. This time he pulled the door
after him, but it rebounded a little way and stood ajar. After a few
more minutes of silent apprehension, during which Goodhare’s savage
droning went on again, Deborah felt sufficiently secure to indulge the
overwhelming anxiety and curiosity which prompted her to look at him
in his den and discover whether he was really alone.
She crept over the floor, cautiously feeling with her feet before
every step she took, and reaching the half-open door, found it easy to
peep into the lower cellar without being seen by Goodhare. For he was
sitting on the opposite side of the square grate, leaning on his elbow
along one of the wooden benches, with a great pewter tankard beside
him and two or three empty bottles at his feet. He was reaching the
sleepy stage of intoxication, she thought, for his face wore an
expression of dull ferocity as he stared into the fire.
Suddenly he lifted his head and assumed a listening attitude, becoming
on the instant alert and fierce. Deborah withdrew at once from the
door, afraid that he had seen her. But the next moment she heard
sounds on the floor above, and a step which she thought was Rees
Pennant’s. Creeping back to the wall she listened intently, and heard
Goodhare push the door of the inner cellar wide open, just as some one
began to climb down the ladder.
“Rees!” whispered Amos rather huskily.
“All right.”
They disappeared together into the lower cellar, pulled the door after
him, and drew the bolt.
Deborah crept close to the small nail-holes where once a lock had been
fixed, hoping to learn what had become of Lord St. Austell, about whom
she felt every minute more anxious. She could see nothing through the
holes but the glow and flicker of the fire on the walls, but she was
able to distinguish every word of the conversation.
“Well,” Rees began, in a spiritless and surly voice, “you seem to have
been enjoying yourself.”
“I have,” assented the other, in a tone of such savage satisfaction
that Deborah seemed to feel the blood grow suddenly cold in her veins.
“There’s nothing else to be done till Sep comes back.”
“He has come back,” said Rees shortly.
“Come back!” echoed Goodhare in a tone of anger and consternation.
“What the d--l has he come back for?”
“You’d better ask him. I met him just now standing shivering and
hesitating at the outer door of our room.”
“But he never went then! He can’t have been to Amsterdam and back
since yesterday!”
“I should say not.”
“Then what has the fool done with the jewels?” asked Amos, whose tones
grew more furious every moment.
Already he had drawn the bolt of the door.
“From what I could make out, some woman’s got them. But the poor
wretch was in such an abject state of funk that I couldn’t get much
that was intelligible out of him.”
Goodhare stammered out an oath. He seemed to be choking with rage as
he burst opened the door with a rough hand.
“A woman!” he growled out. “I’ll tear the heart out of her.”
“If you can get hold of her,” says Rees drily. “But as I thought you’d
make things unpleasant for the poor chap, I pushed him out of the
front door and told him to put a couple of miles between you and him
as fast as possible.”
Goodhare turned, very slowly. The shock of this intelligence, imparted
thus coolly, seemed for the moment to overwhelm him. Then, with a howl
of rage, he sprang at Rees, who nimbly avoided him.
“You dare to defy me, to help this miserable cur to escape me!”
“Yes, I tell you I’m sick of the whole business, this dog’s life and
all. And I’m not sorry the jewels are gone, that I can be quit of
knavery and you together. You seem to be pretty well ‘on’ to-night,
and in you’re true colors you’re by no means fascinating.”
Goodhare seemed, however, to perceive the need of pulling himself
together. There was a short pause before he answered, in a quieter
tone:
“Don’t you think you’re rather ungrateful? You must own that I’ve
shown you how to enjoy yourself, and given you the means to do it,
too.”
“A poor sort of enjoyment! I’m the wreck of what I was a year and a
half ago!”
“Only shows how alluring you found pleasure, that you gave yourself up
to it so completely.”
“Well, I’ve had enough of it now. I’m going back to Carstow, where
I’ve left a good little girl dying for love of me. I’m going to settle
down to quiet respectability and forget that I ever saw your cursed
face.”
“And on what money do you propose to do this?”
“That’s my affair.”
“No; mine.”
Rees had miscalculated the old man’s activity, as well as his
patience. Having been in the habit of treating Goodhare with
impertinence, which the ex-librarian always bore without protest, the
short-sighted and vain young man thought he need set no bounds to his
pertness. But as a matter of fact, every insult, every slight which he
had ever put upon his accomplished tutor in evil-doing, had been
stored up in the mind of the latter, who only waited to destroy his
tool until he should have no further need for it. That time he thought
had now come.
Maddened by the shedding of blood--that last crime which he had tried
within the past hour--Goodhare gave rein to the demoniacal side of his
nature, and showed all the hatred and contempt, which had been
gathering in his mind against the young man since their connection
first began, in one look, one exclamation which turned the young man’s
blood cold, even before he felt the sinewy grip of the lean fingers
about his throat.
“I’ll serve you,” he growled, “as I’ve just served a better man.” And,
drawing from one of his pockets the same knife with which he had
stabbed Lord St. Austell, he made a dash at Rees Pennant’s breast. But
the young man was more alert than the old one had been. He flung out
his hands, struck, struggled, and writhed to such good purpose that
his assailant could not despatch him with the neatness he had shown in
his attack on the earl. It was not until the third stab that Rees fell
back with a groan, and slipping from Goodhare’s murderous hands, sank
on to the nearest bench, and thence in a heap on to the floor.
The sight of the young fellow’s body, and the red stain that was
spreading on the matting at his feet, seemed to sober Goodhare and
bring him for the first time to a knowledge of his position. He
glanced at the door, for he thought he heard sounds outside. Then,
kneeling hastily down by Rees Pennant’s motionless body, he ransacked
all the pockets of the young man’s clothes with eager, swift fingers.
He had fancied that in them he should find the jewels, believing that
Rees had either gone shares with Sep in them, or appropriated them
all, with the idea that such audacity would never be suspected.
Finding no trace of either jewels or money, beyond a handful of loose
silver, Goodhare started to his feet, for the first time utterly
horror-struck and confounded. Had he really lost his best chance of
recovering the jewels? For Rees Pennant’s influence over Sep was
infinitely greater than his own; besides, the story of Sep’s escape
might be true.
With real solicitude he stooped over the silent huddled-up figure on
the floor.
“Rees, Rees, old boy!” he cried, in a voice full of anxiety.
But he got no answer.
Enraged beyond measure, and still too much excited to be quite master
of himself, he gave the inanimate body an impatient kick, and rising
hastily, drank the remains of a bottle of wine without taking the
trouble to pour it into the tankard, climbed out of the room, and up
the ladder on to the ground floor.
Here, however, he came to a sudden check. Somebody had begun to hammer
violently at the back door and just as he was making for the front,
resolved to try to burst it open, he heard the sound of somebody
battering it from the outside.
A moment’s thought showed him the only course open. Just as he heard
the sound of the first board giving way under the crashing blows which
were being hailed upon it, he sprang up the rickety stairs.