A Midnight Intruder
Although the day had opened fine and bright, the evening had brought
with it an unwelcome change in the weather. A south-westerly gale,
blowing straight from the English Channel, swept across the land,
accompanied by heavy downpours of rain and hail; while ever and anon
vivid flashes of lightning, followed by deafening peals of thunder
that shook the house to its foundations, would pierce the darkness
of the night.
For more than an hour I remained at my window, watching the flashes
play upon the distant trees of the forest, or light up the rolling
expanse of gorse-clad heath. So fierce was the wind that the
branches of a tree close to my casement were lashed violently
against the thatch, while a tall elm at the edge of the lawn had
been uprooted, and lay athwart the sodden road.
At length the storm receded, and, tired out, I sought repose.
It must have been some time betwixt midnight and dawn, for 'twas
still dark, when I awoke with a start and a vague feeling that
something was amiss.
I had, according to custom, left the casement slightly ajar, the
frame being secured by an iron quadrant. This contrivance fitted
tightly, and 'twould be impossible for it to move of itself; yet I
heard the creaking of the metalwork as the casement was slowly and
cautiously opened, for the wind had now died utterly away, and all
else was still save for the pattering of the water from the eaves.
Overcome by a nameless terror, I lay motionless in my bed, thinking
'twas the Evil One coming in person to bear me bodily away.[1]
Slowly a dark, sinister figure, barely distinguishable against the
gloom without, crept silently through the now open window, past the
foot of my bed, and out by the unlatched door of the room,
smothering as it did so a sneeze.
That sneeze aroused my courage, for never in all the worthy Doctor
Colling's discourses had I heard of the Evil One sneezing. The
intruder was a robber!
However, I remained silent and motionless till the unwelcome
stranger had time to get clear of the room; then, boldly springing
out of bed, I crept softly to my father's room.
At the first touch of my hand he was wide-awake, thanks once more
to his active life afloat, but had the good sense to refrain from
speaking aloud.
In a few words I explained the situation, and without hesitation he
sprang from his bed, armed himself with a petronel, and hastened
downstairs to surprise and, if possible, capture the intruder, I
following closely and silently at his heels.
But in the few minutes of undisturbed action the robber had not been
idle, for ere my father gained the lowermost stair he tripped
suddenly over a broom handle cunningly placed there for that
purpose, and falling headlong, the petronel exploded with a vivid
flash and a stunning report, the bullets crashing through the
wainscot.
In a moment he was on his feet again, only to meet the robber as he
dashed for freedom. In the darkness I heard the sounds of a furious
struggle, but, being unable to distinguish friend from foe, I was
compelled to stand inactive and useless:
Suddenly there was an exclamation of pain, followed by a heavy thud,
and the next instant I was thrust violently against the wall as a
powerful, agile figure tore past me and up the staircase.
A terrific crash of broken glass was followed by the shrieks of old
Martha and groans in the darkness, while I heard Captain Jeremy
rushing from his room, shouting for lights to be brought.
When at length we found tinder and steel and a light was provided,
my father was seen lying on his face, bleeding profusely from a
wound in the right side.
"Water!" he gasped feebly. "I am done for!" and before we could
raise him from the floor he had swooned.
Jeremy, cursing loudly, was at first for pursuing the murderous
villain who had dealt the fell blow, but pursuit was not to be
thought of when we saw my father's desperate condition. Fearing to
carry him upstairs to his own chamber, we lifted him into the
dining-room, where we placed his senseless form on a
roughly-constructed couch.
Constance had now joined us, and though trembling with fear and
anxiety, she alone suggested the wisest course.
"Run, Clifford, for a chirurgeon!" she exclaimed, and, hatless and
shoeless, though I had found time to don my clothing, I tore over
the sodden fields to the house of Master Blackwood, who lived well
on the outskirts of the village.
Seeing the case was urgent, though I could but babble an incoherent
summons, the surgeon came quickly; and having made a hasty
examination, the grave look on his clear-cut features showed that my
sire was in dire peril of death.
Having dressed the wound, Master Blackwood applied himself to
restoring his patient to consciousness, and while this was being
done my glance fell upon the picture--or, rather, the frame--that my
father had bought but a few short hours ago.
The painting was missing, cut from the frame by a sharp knife.
Almost at the same time Captain Miles noticed the empty frame, and,
in spite of his accustomed coolness, his jaw dropped.
"Alack-a-day! A sorry pass! 'Tis the friar's curse come home," he
muttered huskily.
Slowly the pale dawn struggled for the mastery with the feeble
flicker of the rushlight till, in a mantle of vivid crimson hue, the
sun rose red and angry in the eastern sky.
Then, and only then, could we see the full extent of the mischief
that the robber had wrought. That the precious chart had been the
object of his entry there could be no doubt, for in the short space
of time ere he was disturbed he had made straight for the painting
that formerly concealed the parchment.
The shattered broomstick, a dark pool of blood at the foot of the
stairs, and the shot-marked wainscot were silent evidences of the
tragedy; while I found the hilt of a knife wedged firmly in the
wall, close to where I was hurled by the escaping miscreant.
Then I remembered the incident, and to my surprise I found that I
had a clean cut in the right shoulder. Though it had bled somewhat,
in my excitement I had been unaware of it; yet 'twas a narrow
escape.
"There's more behind this affair than we wot of," remarked Captain
Jeremy. "The rogue had doubtless watched us through the window
whilst your father and I were talking of the matter of the treasure,
for I bear to mind the shutters were not drawn. Then, finding that
the iron bars across the lower windows prevented him from entering
save by much labour and trouble, he scaled the tree without your
casement and entered your room. But, Clifford, sorry though I be for
your father's plight and sore hurt, 'tis a fortunate thing that the
robber was foiled, for, see you, I had the chart with me, placed
under my pillow for safety. As for the picture of the old _Venture_,
'tis of little account, though I did set some store on it for the
sake of bygone times."
"But concerning the robber?" I asked. "If we are to inform the watch
there will be danger of your discovery, yet I am loath to let the
villain go unhindered."
"'Tis a matter that requires much consideration," he replied
gravely. "I call to mind when I was on board the barque _Furie_
within sight of Port Royal. A fire broke out for'ard and threatened
to consume us; our longboat and shallop were damaged, while
alongside were swarms of sharks. As we could not save ourselves by
flight, we fought the flames so determinedly that we put out the
fire, though it seemed a well-nigh impossible task."
"And what of it?" I asked perplexedly, for I failed to grasp the
Captain's meaning.
"You see, Master Clifford, this house, in a manner of speaking, is
the burning craft, the King's officers are the sharks; so, until we
know your father's pleasure in this business, I would that nothing
be said concerning the affair. Master Blackwood I know to be a
stanch and upright man who detests the unlawful practices of King
James; he will keep silence. Your sister, also, I know to be
circumspect; but I have my doubts about Martha, for the tongues of
serving women, especially old ones, are apt to wag."
"I am content to let the matter rest for the present," I replied;
and crossing the hall, I laid hold of the knife that was still fixed
in the wainscot. It took much strength to wrench it free, and no
little care, for the broken blade was as sharp as a razor. The steel
was about a span in length, and wet for about half that distance
with my father's blood. As I cleaned it, my eyes fell upon some
letters engraved upon the blade. Worn though the steel was, I
deciphered the letters "...emento mori".
"'Tis perchance the name of the cutler," said Captain Miles, taking
the steel out of my hand and examining it carefully.
"Nay; 'tis certain you have not noticed similar words in Lymington
Church," I replied. "The first letter is on the other portion of the
broken blade, and the completed sentence is the Latin for 'Remember
you must die'. I'll have a hilt fitted to this portion, Captain
Jeremy, and should ill befall my father, the motto will guide me in
the tracing of the villain."
"Strange it may be," remarked the Captain reflectively, "but now I
recall an old shipmate of mine who bought a dagger in Lisbon with
these words. He was, I remember, an ill-favoured creature."
"Was he short in stature, and bull-necked?" I asked eagerly.
"Nay," replied my companion, shaking his head; "you are on the wrong
tack. Your father hath told me of the man you have in mind--the one
who would have bought the picture, though, sink me! I cannot imagine
why he should set such store on it. Nay; the man, though short in
stature, was as thin as a handspike. But, my lad," he said kindly,
"you look as white as a sheet. Here, take a turn in the garden, for
the place smells like a charnel-house. Keep within ear-shot, lest
you are wanted."
With a heavy heart I obeyed, having first obtained Constance's aid
in applying a bandage to my wounded shoulder.
The damage done by yesternight's gale was enormous, though I paid
little heed to the scene of desolation, but, stepping over the
broken branches that everywhere littered the ground, walked round to
the back of the house, whence the robber had made his escape.
He had left by the same means as he had entered--through the
casement of my room and down the tree that unfortunately provided a
ready means of descent. Curiosity prompted me to examine the trunk,
and on so doing I found traces of blood on the bark. I noticed that,
if viewed from the window, the marks of blood were on the right-hand
side of the trunk, and, as the fugitive must have descended with his
face towards the bark, 'twas evident that he had been wounded on the
right side of his person; and by the quantity of the blood it was
further evident that the wound was of a severe nature.
Then the thought flashed across my mind: the villain was sore hurt,
his track lay fresh upon the grass; why should I not follow him?
Running back to the house, I loaded my fowling-piece, and calling
Bruno, my lurcher, I started in pursuit.
[1] Lest Clifford be thought a weak-minded coward, it is well to
explain that previous to and during the seventeenth century there
was a strong popular belief in the corporal presence of the Evil
One. The study of any contemporary writer will confirm this. A
notable example is afforded by the panic of Robinson Crusoe on
discovering a dying goat in the darkness of a cave: "I saw two broad
shining eyes of some creature, whether devil or man I knew not".