DOLLOPS MAKES A DISCOVERY
The rest of the day passed comparatively uneventfully for all those
concerned in the drama of a night's doings, and save for a searching
scrutiny of the library by Cleek, carried out under the noses of the
village policeman, with Inspector Campbell very much to the fore as
being in command of the local constabulary and anxious to make a good
impression upon the Yard's Superintendent (with an eye to future
promotion), and the discovery of one or two minor details which had
passed even his searching eye before, Cleek's time hung fairly heavily
upon his hands.
Dollops, keen as mustard upon any task which involved the imagination of
his beloved master, spent the rest of the afternoon and a goodly part of
the long twilight in scampering over the countryside in pursuit of
various "facts," by the aid of a borrowed bicycle, which Mr. Fairnish
had charged him seven-and-sixpence for in advance, being obviously
doubtful as to whether the young man would return it or not, for
Dollop's Cockney countenance was not one to breed immediate trust on
sight.
His efforts in this direction proved fairly fruitful, for after having
scraped acquaintance with one of the grooms at Captain Macdonald's
stables--the worthy Captain meanwhile champing furiously at the "bit"
which kept him tethered to his present quarters for another night, when
there were other affairs at his own place that wanted looking into--and
in his own inimitable fashion managing to wangle an old letter written
by his master to himself from the groom, Dollops, whistling
vociferously, came spinning back again to Aygon Castle to present his
find to Cleek, and receive the reward in Cleek's instantly spoken
pleasure.
But to see Cleek was a different matter altogether. He had been told to
"lie low" where Lady Paula was concerned, and not poke his nose in
anything within reach of her ladyship's sharp eye. And as he did not
possess Cleek's marvellous birthright by which he was able to alter his
countenance in the space of a second, and become to all intents and
purposes another man, Dollops was certainly "floored."
"Better try rahnd the servants' quarters, an' see what I kin see there,"
he decided after a brief survey of the land from an adjacent laurel bush
which immediately faced the Castle. "The Gov'nor'll be ready ter split
my nob open if I ups and goes inter the plyce by the front door, bless
'is 'eart! And it's shorely the back door for the likes o' _you_,
Dollops me lad! So here goes!"
So to the servants' quarters went Dollops forthwith, and scraped
acquaintance with Jarvis, the butler, by offering him an impossible
cigar, and asking off-handedly for Mr. Deland in the meanwhile.
"Dunno where 'e is at the moment," replied Jarvis, with a wink and a
smile. "Seen 'im talkin' to the lydies only a few moments back, in the
drorin' room. But since then.... Lunnon chap, ain't yer?"
"Yus!" Dollops's voice rang with pride of birthplace. He threw back his
narrow chest and stuck his fingers in his waistcoat and surveyed his
interlocutor with upthrown chin.
"Well, so'm I. Come dahn with the family last January from their Lunnon
'ouse. Park Mansion, it's called. Big plyce in Eton Square. Know those
parts, I'll lay."
"Every inch of 'em," vociferated Dollops with emphasis. "Luvly plyce,
ain't it? They tells me yer got a ghost in this 'ouse, and blimey! I'm
that frightened ter meet 'er, me backbone's almost come rahnd ter me
front. 'Ugs the gentlemen at night, don't she?"
Jarvis threw back his head and let his hearty laugh ring out over the
rafters of the servants' hall.
"Wouldn't 'ug _you_, young 'un, not for nothing--if it were light enough
ter see yer face by," he retorted with heavy wit. "But it's truth. And
the wimmenfolk is that nervous at night there's no managing with 'em
nohow. Some sprightly feller in a by-gone century went and man-'andled a
girl from these parts an' carried 'er 'ere by force. Then 'e got 'er
into trouble, so the story goes, an' she up and stabbed 'erself with the
spindle of her spinning wheel--that there contraption wot stands in the
library terd'y and makes a rare job er dustin' fer Minnie the under
'ousemaid. She don't 'arf kick at it, I kin tell yer! Anyway, that was
'ers! And we 'ad a footman 'ere last May wot fancied 'imself very
partickler as a braive bloke. Well, he says, says 'e, 'I'll sit up
ternight and go dahn by the dungeon door, where she's supposed ter come
from, and see wot I kin see.' 'Course we laughed at him, and there was a
bit of friendly gamblin' done--_you_ know--an' I backed the blighter for
a pound-note."
"An' what 'appened?"
"Ah, that's the scrub of it, as Shakespeare says, me lad. Young fool sat
up there, and then abaht three o'clock in the mornin' we 'eard 'im come
a-screamin' ter 'is quarters, lookin' as pale as death. 'E said 'e'd
'eard the Peasant Girl rustlin' abaht in her room, and the chink o'
chains, and then the iron grille door began to open, and an unearthly
voice called out,'Avaunt ye, varlet, or I'll break yer bones!' and
then.... 'E was off like a pea from a catapult, and that was the last
we ever 'eard of 'is bravery. 'E gave notice next day, and forfeited a
month's money ter get away from the plyce. And I lost me money, of
course! That's wot comes of backin' a bad starter--mostly orlus loses
yer money I find."
During this enlightening recital Jarvis had been polishing the table
silver, pausing between his task to relate the story, while Dollops's
pale face went the colour of ivory, and the hair at the back of his neck
began to prickle with fright.
"Gawd's troof!" he ejaculated, stung to some show of feeling by this
gruesome tale. "Ain't that orful! 'Oo'd 'ave thought it? I wouldn't
spend a night down there fer a mint of money--would you, Guv'nor?"
"Not if I knows it. But no one never does go dahn very often, only ter
the wine-cellar. See that door there? Open that and you'll find a set o'
stairs leadin' right down inter the cellar, and the rest of the pleasant
little dungeon-places where they used ter put bad men like you an' me,
my boy. Orl right in daytime, er course, an' nothin' much ter see. And
perfectly safe. 'Ave a squint, won' yer?--while I send a maid ter find
yer gentleman. Quite a nifty little 'idin'-place 'twould be fer any one,
but as safe as 'ouses in the daylight. _Go_ on. Ain't scared, are yer?"
Now, if there is one thing in the world which is likely to upset a
nervous man more than anything, it is to be designated "scared" in that
precise tone of voice. It is from such efforts that heroes are made.
Dollops, whose heart had turned to water within him, found it instantly
hardening at the butler's joking tone, and the bantering look upon the
man's rosy face settled the matter. He squared his shoulders and threw
back his head, though his jaw was chattering like a chimpanzee's.
"Course I ain't--stoopid!" he said stammeringly. "Show us the way, and
I'm orf at once. Any other entrance but this one?"
"Yes. Through the courtyard and down the stone steps. But it ain't never
used. Your gentleman went dahn yesterday mornin' with Miss Maud, just
for a bit of fun like. I'm needin' a couple er bottles er best port up,
if you've a mind ter fetch 'em fer me, an' when yer gets back I'll give
yer a swallow er Burgundy ter warm yer. 'Ere's the keys. Bottom of the
steps and first door ter yer right. You'll see a lot of others, but I
wouldn't meddle with them if I was you. Them's _'er_ preserves. I
believe you're scared stiff--even at this time of day?"
Dollops favoured him with a withering look, being perfectly unable to
find his voice, and then proceeded to the door with steady step, flung
it open, and straightway began to descend the staircase to the cellar,
his rubber-soled shoes making no sound upon the wooden stairs with
their carpeting of thick felt and with his heart literally in his gaping
mouth. Down, down, down the stairs led him, and then he heard a laugh
from the top of them, turning suddenly to see Jarvis's smiling face
above, framed in the open doorway, heard the door slam loudly, and the
key grate in the lock, and realized that he had been the victim of a
pleasant little practical joke.
The palms of his hands went wet. He felt a mad impulse to bound up the
stairs again and hammer upon the door until he gained admittance, but
his pride held him back.
"No, I'll see 'im in 'ell first, the blinkin' practical joker!" he
apostrophized the absent butler in tones of blackest rage, and then,
curiosity getting the better of him, seeing that there was no other
alternative but to go down and then return by the _other_ way, "which
was scarcely ever used," proceeded on his journey into blackness, which
grew each second more black, until he was stepping carefully, with one
hand pressed against the stone of the wall and his eyes goggling through
the darkness from sheer fright.
He reached the bottom of the stairs at last, and paused to take breath.
He was as winded as a spent runner, and as white as a sheet, and
trembling in every limb. The place was as black as a pocket, save for
where, through a grille-door on the left-hand side of him (which was
actually supposed to be her door, if he had but known it, and led
through to the torture-chamber which Cleek himself had traversed), a
single candle shone with a pale, sickly light, sending a tiny shaft in
his direction, though, with peering through at it, he could only just
see its vague outline in some room beyond.
"Gawdamassy!" he ejaculated, his eyes fairly popping out of his head at
this sight. "Someun's 'ere, that's a fact! And from what I knows er
ghosts, they shine wiv a more unearthly light than wot comes from a
candle in a bottle. Now, 'oo the dickens----"
But his searchings after light on this subject were cut off short by the
sound of softly speaking voices creeping to him through that grilled
door, and coming from some long distance away within it. He darted back
against the wall and, groping with his hands, found a cupboard door
ajar, slipped into it, and drew himself up taut against the inner wall,
and waited for that which might come to pass, every nerve a-tremble, his
eyes fixed upon the crack of the door, which at present showed black as
a pocket.
The soft voices continued--men's voices, too, and one with the changing
inflections of the foreigner.
"Blinkin' German!" thought Dollops excitedly. "Or a Chink! Don't know
the difference between their parley-vous meself, but it's orl alike wiv
_foreigners_. But the other 'un--'e's English orl right. Never 'eard
'is voice before, that's certain! Gawd! they're comin' out now, an' I
prays 'eaven they ain't a jossin' ter fetch nuffin' from this 'ere
cupboard, or little Dollops's number'll be up with a vengeance! I don't
fancy bein' done in by a blinkin' pigtail, neither! Nah!--then! Keep
still, Dollops, me boy, and stop yer tremblin'. You'll 'ave the 'ouse
a-shakin' in a minit, an' they'll fink it's a earfquake instead of a
boy-quake--strite they will!"
Having wrestled himself into some sort of quiet of heart and brain,
Dollops continued to lie in wait until the strangers had come out
through the grilled door, and stood a moment with the candle between
them, talking in low tones, and glancing occasionally up the flight of
stairs by which he had only just descended. One of them had his back to
him, but the other's face was in full view. It was a dark,
swarthy-skinned face, with black eyes and crisp black moustache curling
upon the upper lip, the slim nose and aquiline features revealing to the
watching lad the very evident fact that here was a genuine Italian.
And the other? He'd seen that tweed coat before, surely--but where?
Where? He racked his brains to think. Somewhere that tweed coat had
crossed his vision once before during that day, and in some
unaccountable manner it was associated in his mind with Sir Ross Duggan
himself....
The men moved quietly, blew out the candle, and then opened the door
opposite and began to climb up the stone stairway into the fresh air,
creeping about like mice.
Meanwhile Dollops, afraid no longer, and all his being afire to get to
his master with news of this new development--and so make up for his
slowness this afternoon, when the lady had so successfully given him the
slip right here within his reach--stood stock-still, raking every corner
of that fertile young brain of his for the clue which eluded him.
And then--quite suddenly--he _knew_.