_In which it is obvious that the owner is a guest in his own house_
Leonard Grath entered the Copper House like a visitor, hat in hand. A
sunbeam lay right across the polished oak floor of the hall, and in the
middle of the patch of light stood a tall, old lady, as upright as a
grenadier, and as thin and dark as a Bedouin, who fixed a penetrating
glance upon the new-comer. She went on crocheting a piece of lace, the
other end of which was hidden in an old-fashioned basket-work satchel
that hung on her left arm.
Leo stopped short, as though her look was an actual barrier, and bowed.
"Sonia Andreievna," said the old lady, in the tone of a drill sergeant
on parade, "where have you been?"
The girl shot a covert glance at the young man, and threw down her
riding-whip.
"Aunt Lona," she replied meekly, "this gentleman has just been mistaken
for a squirrel...."
"Sonia Andreievna" ... the sharp voice interrupted, "speak sensibly;
you know that I detest riddles."
"My name is Leonard Grath," the latter interposed, hastily, bowing
again and feeling somewhat embarrassed.
The crochet-needles came to a standstill, and their owner took two
strides towards him, and stared unblinkingly into his eyes. He noticed
that, in spite of her iron-gray hair and lean, dried-up looks, she
could hardly be more than sixty. Her imperious eyes still flashed with
youthful energy, every movement betokened strength, and her whole
bearing was that of a well-bred lady, even though she might be a bit
of a martinet. Like her niece, she was plainly dressed in black, with
white ruffles, and a necklace of jet beads, which clicked gently as she
moved.
"Leonard Grath," she echoed; "the owner?"
"Yes, I am afraid I have arrived rather unexpectedly, and if I have in
any way...."
"Sonia Andreievna! pick up your whip at once" (the young man was quite
startled) "and put it in its place. Yes, Mr. Grath, I cannot deny that
you _have_ taken us by surprise."
"Oh dear, I certainly never meant...."
"Sonia Andreievna! Do you see what time it is? Have I not told you a
thousand times that we have a fixed hour for dinner?"
Her remarks seemed to Leo to be emphasized by a perfect regiment of
exclamation-points, and he did not wonder that the girl darted away
like an arrow from a bow. But to his surprise, no sooner were they
alone, than the old lady's tone became almost cordial.
"I am Lona Ivanovna Bernin, and as your tenant I bid you welcome to the
Copper House. You will give us the pleasure of your company at dinner?
Good, let us have a cigarette while we are waiting."
Still wondering, Leo allowed himself to be ushered to an armchair in
the familiar old Empire drawing-room on the left side of the hall.
Lona Ivanovna offered him a cigarette case, and herself took a Russian
cigarette, which she lighted with one hand. Leo was thinking what to
say next, when she forestalled him.
"Have you come from abroad?"
"Yes, from California."
"Ah, California; a magnificent climate, I believe. No doubt you have
become tired of living out there?"
"Not exactly, but I felt inclined to come home."
"Hm--Do you think of making a long stay?"
"That depends. You see, it isn't a question of climate, exactly...."
She pursed up her mouth and frowned.
"In my opinion, the climate of California is far preferable," she
remarked, looking sharply at him.
"Very possibly, but this visit will be quite a change for me."
"How so?"
"Oh, there is so much that is new, I mean ... a whole lot of
strange ... well, in short...."
Leo stopped short in confusion, and puffed away furiously at his
cigarette. The old lady blew a perfect ring, looked quizzically at him
through it, and said dryly: "Young man, whatever you do, don't go and
fall in love with Sonia!"
Leo stared dumbfounded at his cigarette. The conversation dropped, and
silence reigned in the room, broken only by the buzzing of a stray bee
on the window pane.
* * * * *
Dinner was over, and Leonard Grath the richer by several experiences.
First of all, he had proved the truth of the old adage that: "guests
are hosts in the host's house," for was not he a guest and stranger,
and moreover a thoroughly unwelcome one, in his own home? It seemed to
him as though the girl and her aunt took it in turns to keep an eye on
him: he could see them exchanging glances and whispers whose meaning
was unintelligible to him, and, what struck him as strangest of all,
in the whole of that spacious house and its adjoining buildings there
appeared to be no living creature except the two ladies. He inquired,
as a matter of politeness, for Mr. Andrei Bernin, who was stated to be
in bed in his own room, and far too unwell to see the honored guest.
As soon as the dinner was over, Sonia, obeying a signal from her aunt,
proposed a turn round the garden, and the two young people strolled
along for a while in silence. It was getting towards sunset, and the
rural orchestra was in full chorus: birds were fluting in a medley of
youthful emulation, bumble-bees droned in their drowsy baritones,
and in the grass the crickets added their violin notes to the evening
concert.
Now that Sonia Bernin in the flesh was alongside of him, Leo found her
ten times more interesting than when he had first seen her portrait on
Wallion's table; her boyish unconstraint, added to a lissom, almost
kitten-like grace, and her ready wit, gave him a delightful sensation
of comradeship--but the minute he attempted to strike a note of
intimacy, he ran up against a barrier of chilly reserve, and the pose
of the boyish, black head became all of a sudden alarmingly ladylike.
Whatever the reason might be, she appeared totally unimpressed by his
masculine superiority, and this was a very novel experience for the
spoilt young man.
At length he remarked: "I had thought of staying some time at the
Copper House, but it seems to me I am rather 'de trop' here."
She twisted a leaf between her lips like a cigarette: "How so?" she
inquired.
"Oh, there's no doubt about it. The man at the gate showed it quite
unmistakably--for one."
"With his gun, you mean? It _was_ too bad; but you see, he naturally
took you for an impostor, having heard that the owner of the Copper
House was in America. I expect he will be discharged, in any case," she
added.
"And you told me yourself to go away, as soon as ever you knew who I
was," he continued.
"Wasn't it kind of me to warn you, when it is so dull here?" laughed
the girl.
"It is not dull here, and that is not why you warned me," he retorted.
She looked up, and their eyes met: for the second time that day, Leo
saw hers dilate and darken. She did not reply, but hurried on a little,
as though to evade him, but he kept step with her, and proceeded:
"As you know, your father wants to buy this property; it is a pity I
can't have a talk with him about it. Your aunt is reticent, and you are
mysterious. Won't you have a little pity on me?"
They had walked to the top of a slight rise, from which they could see
down the greater part of the avenue. The girl stood still, panting a
little. Suddenly she asked:
"Have you seen Mr. Tassler?"
Leo shook his head, and they were silent again. The girl seemed to
be listening to something, rather uneasily. Far off in the sunlit
stillness a rhythmical throbbing sound became audible; it approached
with uncanny rapidity, getting louder every minute, then suddenly
ceased altogether.
"Did you hear that?" whispered the girl.
"Yes," he answered. "A motor cycle has apparently stopped at Karka
gates; it's a pity we can't see them from here, it must be someone from
Stockholm."
As he said this, he remembered the young man with the attaché-case,
whom he had so unintentionally startled with Sonia's photograph, but
as he was about to tell her of the occurrence, there was a dramatic
interruption. A shot was fired at the gate, and it was followed by a
long, thrilling cry. A few seconds later, a man came dashing up the
avenue as though he was running for his life. Leo at once recognized
his fellow passenger, and the girl cried out in a voice of terrified
dismay: "Sergius, Sergius!"
The fugitive raised his face, which was deathly pale, and without
stopping, he exclaimed: "Rastakov!"
The girl turned round to Leo, and said in a rapid stifled voice: "Hide
yourself; and, mind, you have seen nothing!"
With that, she sprang down from the little hill, followed by the
fugitive, and both disappeared. Almost immediately afterwards, two more
men came running up the avenue: one was the porter who had threatened
Leo with the same gun that he still carried in his hand, the other was
a tall fellow, dressed as a motor cyclist. They also vanished in the
direction of the house.
Without further delay, Leo hastened back along the same path by which
he had come, and in five seconds he came in sight of the terrace in
front of the Copper House. He saw the man with the case run up the
steps, hesitate for a moment, then dash into the house. The girl
followed on his heels, and the porter and the cyclist reached the
terrace to find it deserted. Then, as though by the touch of a magic
wand, some more men appeared from both sides of the house. These, with
the two men already mentioned, made a party of nine, of whom four
carried guns. They approached the house at the double. The cyclist
called out some order in a commanding voice, and began to mount the
terrace-steps. Leo reached the spot at the same moment, and exclaimed:
"What's wrong?"
The motor cyclist took no notice of him.
Again a shot rang out, this time inside the Copper House; most of the
men had passed out of earshot on the other side of the house, but the
cyclist, the porter, and one other unknown man, ran into the hall,
together with Leo.
The old lady advanced to meet them, with a revolver in her hand. She
looked firmly and menacingly at the intruder and said: "Rastakov, did I
invite you to come in?"
The cyclist halted.
"Who fired, Lona Ivanovna?" he demanded.
"I did."
"Where is he?"
"Whom do you mean?"
"Oh, you know perfectly well, that thief Bernard Jenin; what have you
done with him?"
Lona Ivanovna thrust the revolver into her workbag, looked resignedly
at the cyclist, and said: "You may look for him."
Leo, who understood nothing of this hurried interchange of questions,
looked on bewildered. Rastakov caught sight of the fugitive's case
lying open on the floor, caught it up, and flung it against the wall
with an oath, for it was empty.
"I will have him, dead or alive," he shouted, "and the damned document
too!"
He ran half-way up the stairs to the first floor, but turned round as
though he had remembered something.
"And what's more," he cried across the hall, "I know how pigheaded you
are, Lona Ivanovna! All right, if you would rather have the Chief to
deal with, just let me know! But beware of meddling with Tarraschin's
memorandum, for it means death!"
With that, he disappeared. Lona Ivanovna took Leo by the arm, and drew
him with unexpected force, though not unkindly, into the dining-room
after her.
"Isn't it a case for the police?" he began.
"Don't mix yourself up in this," she said kindly. "Sonia, they want
to search the house: you must see that Mr. Grath is spared hearing
anything more of Rastakov...."
Sonia came up to them; she was very pale, but quite composed; the
boyish look had vanished, and she answered quietly: "If Mr. Grath is
determined to stay, I am afraid he will be obliged to see a good deal
both of Rastakov and of Baron Fayerling."
The two women looked expectantly at him. They could hear the hasty
steps of the searchers echoing through the whole house.
"I should like to know who this Rastakov is, that he takes so much upon
himself in a house where my honored guests are staying," said Leo,
emphasizing the word 'guests'--"neither have I heard anything of Baron
Fayerling. But I shall be glad to make the acquaintance of anyone who
is good enough to honor the Copper House with his presence."
He was quite aware that his tone was not courteous, in spite of the
formality of his speech, but he was thoroughly roused. He could see
now, as though a curtain had been drawn back, that these people,
whose strange dark faces were stamped with furtive menace, were the
mysterious offspring of the lurid shadows of the World War.
He thought of the panic-stricken fugitive whom he had just seen flying
for his life; of the shot which had so recently rung through the house:
of Lona Ivanovna with the revolver in her hand. The frenzied search
was still progressing overhead; footsteps and voices echoed through
the passages. "Living or dead!" As Rastakov's words recurred to Leo's
mind, he was seized with the horrible conviction that murder had been
committed already: what ought he to do?
The two women were watching his face as though they longed to read his
thoughts.
"Your room is quite ready," said the elder one gravely.
Before Leo had decided what to answer, he found himself alone. He
began to pace up and down in great perturbation. He could see one of
the men, with his gun, outside on the terrace, silhouetted against the
rosy, sunset sky. For the last few minutes, such a silence had fallen,
that he could have fancied himself alone in the house. He listened
attentively, but could hear nothing. His thoughts circled irresolutely
over what had occurred, but he could find no explanation of it, and
began to feel more and more uneasy. An hour passed by, the shadows
lengthened and still no sound broke the stillness. Was no one coming
back?
At last he could bear the suspense no longer, and he went into the
hall. He could still see, through the glass doors, the armed sentry on
the terrace, but inside the house all was empty and silent. He went
from one room to another, and ran upstairs to the first floor, but not
a soul did he meet. The thought that the fugitive was perhaps lying
dead, huddled away in some dark corner, obsessed him like a nightmare,
and his limbs trembled as though with fever. Suddenly a sort of panic
came over him, he ran breathlessly up another flight of stairs, burst
open the door of his bedroom, and shut it after him with a bang that
resounded through the house. Leaning against the door, and alone in the
little room, where everything was just as it always had been since his
earliest childhood, and where he had dreamed so many boyish dreams, he
breathed again.
"Have I gone mad?" he asked himself. "What is going on here? The
Problem-hunter was right, the Copper House is full of mysteries!"
He looked round for some water, for his lips felt parched, but there
was none in the room. "Can they have killed him!" he thought. "And is
it possible that I have stood by, without moving a finger, and allowed
a man to be done to death!"
At last he heard a door creak outside, and he peeped out into the dusky
corridor. The door of the spare bedroom at the other end of the passage
was opening slowly, an inch at a time, and he could see first a feeble,
bony hand, and then a stooping figure outlined against the window
behind.
The figure moved uncertainly, groping with a stick along the edge of
the carpet, and walked with short, senile steps towards the stairs. Leo
watched him narrowly, trying to get a glimpse of his face; he thought
he could make out a short white beard and straggling white hair under a
velvet skull-cap, and the glimmer of a pair of blue spectacles. A blind
man! In an instant he realized that his wealthy tenant, Andrei Bernin,
was before him for the first time. The old man seemed to hesitate,
and called softly: "Sonia!" but receiving no answer, he finally went
towards the staircase, tapping with his stick at every step. Leo could
hear his quavering voice calling to Lona Ivanovna, the sound getting
fainter as it receded. There was something so eerie about those feeble
tones, uttered in the silent, lonely house at nightfall, that the young
man, with a shudder, shut himself into his room again. After a minute
he double-locked the door, and went over to the open window. The sky
had faded to sulphur-yellow in the west, and night was closing in,
cool and dim, over the countryside. A soft breeze was blowing in from
the sea. He heard the crunching of gravel under his window, and leaned
out. Two figures passed beneath, one of whom pointed upwards, and said
something in an imperious tone. Leo fancied he recognized Rastakov's
voice.
They knew, then, that he was in his bedroom, and they were keeping
an eye on him! The conviction awakened fresh misgivings. He sat down
on the bed, and buried his head in his hands. Was he afraid? Yes, he
had to confess that he _was_ afraid, because there was nobody within
reach in whom he could confide, or whom he could ask for advice.... The
Problem-hunter! He sprang to his feet.
Five minutes later, he had climbed down the thick clumsy copper
gutter-spout, with the same soundless agility, and the same intense
excitement as had characterized such escapades twenty years ago. He
expected to be halted by a challenge from the shadowy avenue, but
none came, and the owner of Copper House crept away like a Red Indian
through the trees into the wood. Three times he caught a glimpse of
the dark forms of the men whom Sonia Bernin called forest-guards,
but, lucky for once, he did not attract their notice. When he turned
round, he could see in the far distance, behind the top of the massive
pile of the Copper House, a flickering, bluish glimmer, which seemed
to come from the direction of the Bay. He did not venture to delay
that he might investigate the source of this unusual light.... When he
strung himself aboard the last train to Stockholm, which was already
moving out of Karkby, he was gasping for breath, and drenched with
perspiration.