To go back for a space to Berrington. Heedless of his promise, he had
burst headlong into the dining-room whence the cry came. He had
forgotten altogether about Field. The fact half crossed his mind that
nobody knew of the presence of the inspector in the house, so that
anyway the latter's personal safety was not jeopardized.
It had been a foolish thing to do, as Berrington realised almost as soon
as his mind cleared. He had been somewhat badly mauled in the
preliminaries, and now it seemed to him that he was a prisoner in the
hands of these people. The only consolation that was left to him was the
fact that Field would come to his rescue in good time.
But Berrington was by no means done for yet. To begin with, there was
not the slightest trace of fear in his heart. He had been in too many
tight places before to have any emotion of that kind. He fell back
against the wall, panting for breath; he looked around him again for
some avenue of escape, but he could see none.
It was a curious scene, altogether, the elegantly furnished room, the
litter of glasses and china and crystal in one corner, the mysterious
outlined figure on the table. The glare of electric lights shone on the
faces of the men there, on the impudent features of the woman who had
posed as the Countess de la Moray, and on the pale, supplicating face
of Mary Sartoris. For a little time nobody said anything.
It was Mary Sartoris who was the first to speak. She crossed over to her
brother and held out her hand with a gesture of passionate supplication.
"It is all a mistake," she cried. "Colonel Berrington is under a
misapprehension. He imagines that something wrong is taking place here;
he has acted on the spur of the moment. He did not come to the house to
see anybody but me."
Sartoris grinned in evil fashion. Just for the moment he looked half
convinced.
"He comes in strange fashion," he said. "All the same, I have not the
least doubt of the value of Colonel Berrington's friendship so far as
you are concerned. But that is not the point. Did you admit your friend
Colonel Berrington to the house?"
For the fraction of a second a bold lie trembled on Mary's lips. But she
could not utter it. She looked down in confusion, and her face trembled.
Sartoris grinned in the same wicked fashion. A black rage was rising in
his heart.
"Good girl," he sneered. "Always tell the truth. It is the proper thing
to do, and it will bring its own reward in the end. Only it is attended
with personal inconvenience at times, such as the present, for instance.
How did Colonel Berrington get here?"
"I will save your sister the trouble of replying," Berrington cried. "I
came here, acting on certain information that had come to my knowledge.
I came here to discover if I could learn some facts bearing on the
disappearance of Sir Charles Darryll's body. And I am not disposed to
think that my efforts are altogether in vain."
It was a bold speech and not without its effect. The woman called Cora
turned a shade paler, and the clean-shaven man by her side winced. The
only one who seemed disposed to a mild course of policy was Bentwood.
"For heaven's sake don't let us have any violence," he said hoarsely.
"There has been too much of that already. I mean there is no necessity
for anything of the kind. If Colonel Berrington knows anything of any of
us----"
"I know everything," Berrington replied. It seemed to him that a bold
course of action was the best to be taken under the circumstances. "For
instance, I have a pretty accurate knowledge of the checkered past of
Dr. Bentwood and the malignant scoundrel who calls himself Carl
Sartoris. Of Miss Mary Sartoris I will say nothing. There are others
here, too, whose past is not altogether wrapped in mystery. There are
General Gastang and Countess de la Moray, for instance. And once I am
outside these walls----"
Sartoris pushed his chair close to the speaker. He was seething with
passionate rage, his face was livid with anger. For the moment he could
do nothing; he only thirsted for the blood of the bold Berrington.
"You are not outside these walls," he said. "You are not likely to be
outside these walls for some time to come. You have described us in
language that you have spared no trouble to render abusive. You know too
much. And we have our own way here of dealing with enemies of ours who
know too much."
There was no mistaking the dreadful threat that underlay the hoarse
speech. There was underground murder in the eyes of Sartoris. Berrington
smiled scornfully.
"I know exactly what you mean," he said; "indeed, I know more than you
give me credit for. And I will make my suspicions certainties."
Berrington advanced swiftly to the table and laid a hand on the sheet
that covered the still, silent form there. Another instant, and the
whole mystery would have been exposed. But Sartoris propelled his chair
forward and grabbed Berrington by the arm.
"You cowards," he yelled. "If I were not cursed by these crippled bones
of mine, I would have plucked that fellow's heart from his body. Don't
stand there like a lot of mummies. Pull him back, I say, pull him back."
The harsh, ringing command seemed to restore the other listeners to a
sense of what they owed to themselves. With a cry, the man called Reggie
was on Berrington, though Mary Sartoris had fallen and clasped him
around the knees. With an oath, Bentwood darted forward and flung
himself upon Berrington's shoulders. The struggle was a hot one, for the
Colonel fought well, but the odds were too many for him, and he was
borne at length heavily to the ground. His head came in contact with the
floor, and he lay there just a minute dazed and giddy.
He had failed, too, which was the most humiliating part of the business.
He had, at any cost, resolved to make assurance doubly sure. He could
see the grinning triumph on the face of Sartoris, as he scrambled to his
feet; he could see the tears in Mary's eyes. For the personal danger to
himself he cared nothing.
"Let's make an end of it," Sartoris cried. "He's too dangerous to live.
Let us make an end of him. Dead men tell no tales."
"No, no," Mary cried. "You shall not do it. No, no."
"Then go and fetch the police," Sartoris said with a little laugh.
"Fetch them in, I say. Let them come here and investigate, and after
that you can stand in the dock and give evidence against your own
brother. My child, you are free to depart as soon as you like. Go now!"
Mary Sartoris stood there trembling and hesitating. Sartoris wheeled
his chair rapidly and dexterously across to her, and then raised his
fist in a threatening manner. For a moment it seemed as if he meant to
strike the girl.
"Go now!" He repeated his command harshly. "Go at once! Go out of my
house and never come back again, you white-faced mewling cat. Pah, you
dare not do anything. You are not to stay in the room. Go!"
The girl seemed dazed and unable to exercise her own will. She crept
with faltering steps to the door. As she was going out, she turned an
eye of affection on Berrington.
"If you will only promise me that there will be no violence," she said,
"I----"
"I promise that," Bentwood said in a cringing voice. He was the only man
there who seemed to be restless and uneasy and anxious. "There is going
to be no violence so long as I am here. Why should there be any violence
at all?"
The man asked the question with an eye on Berrington. For some reason
or other he seemed very desirous of pleasing the soldier, and yet not
offending his comrades. Sartoris laughed.
"Cautious man," he said. "Always be on the safe side. Hang the girl, is
she going to stay here all night? Go, I tell you; take your white face
from me. Go."
The door closed behind Mary Sartoris, and something like a sob came from
the hall. With a sudden fury and new strength Berrington darted to the
table again. Once more he might have been successful, but the keen eye
of Sartoris was upon him; the cripple seemed to read his thoughts. Like
a flash the invalid chair caught Berrington on the shin, and sent him
sprawling across the floor; the chair sped on and there was a sudden
click and the room was in darkness. Berrington had a quick mental
picture of where different objects were--and he made a dash for the
switch. Some great force seemed to grip him by the hands, he was
powerless to move; he heard what seemed to him to be the swing and jolt
of machinery. Somebody was laughing much as if a funny play was being
performed before delighted eyes, with Berrington for the third man of
the company, and then the light came up again.
Angry and baffled and disappointed as Berrington was, all these feelings
gave way to amazement as he looked around the room. Every sign of a body
had disappeared, the room was empty save for Sartoris, who sat smoking a
cigarette, with a sardonic smile on his face. All the others had gone,
and the body was gone from the table; on the latter was a dark crimson
cloth surmounted by a mass of flowers arranged tastefully around an
electric stand. Sartoris laughed in an easy, mocking way.
"Miracles whilst you wait," he said. "I just press a button and there
you are. You say that you saw a lot of people here and some object on
the table. You would swear to that?"
"Being in full possession of my faculties, I would," Berrington said
grimly.
"And where are they? There was no lady, there were no people, only my
humble, sweet self always glad to see my distinguished friend Colonel
Berrington."
Berrington made no reply for a moment. It seemed hopeless to try to cope
with the little fiend who appeared to have all the powers of hell behind
him. He looked down at the floor as if to find evidence of magic there,
but the pattern of the turkey carpet was intact, the big brass-headed
nails were in the corners and along the fireplace.
"'There are more things in Heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of
in your philosophy,'" Sartoris quoted. "As a rule your soldier is a dull
man and not gifted with much imagination. And so you have taken this
matter up on the principle that Satan finds some mischief still for idle
hands to do. You see that I am in a mood to quote to-night. But on the
whole you are not what the world calls a bad fellow. On the contrary, I
_am_. And that being the case, and as I am not supposed to be in the
least scrupulous in my methods, it stands to reason that I am likely to
get the better of you. Now you are a man of honour, and if you give your
word it is as good as your bond. Give me your word that not one
suggestion of what has taken place here to-night shall be spoken, and
you are free to go."
Berrington laughed as he looked around him.
"Who is going to stop me?" he asked. "You seem to be sure of your
ground. If you were not a cripple I would give you the most perfect
specimen of a thrashing that you ever had in your life. My word will be
passed to worthier stuff than you."
"So you are going to take advantage of my weakness and walk out of the
house?" Sartoris asked.
"That is part of the programme," Berrington said. "I feel perfectly sure
that a bold front would dismay your friends. I wish you good night."