The two men stood looking at each other, and their expressions of
countenance would have furnished a study.
"Well, Mr Varne?" began Mervyn: "I hope you've effected a thoroughly
exhaustive and satisfactory investigation."
"Fairly, thanks," said the other, pretending to enter into the humour of
the thing, while in reality feeling grim and resentful. "But it's
rather cold in there, you know."
"Yes, I do know. I was admiring your scientific enthusiasm in the cause
of `old stones,' as my niece calls them, that induced you to stick it
all that time."
"Induced me? Why I couldn't get out," was the short reply.
"No. You can't open that door from the inside. It'd be the most deadly
place to get shut up in if no one knew you were there. Rather."
There seemed a latent meaning in the words, at least, so Helston Varne
found himself reading them.
"Well, you'd better have a whisky and soda now, or at any rate a copious
mouthful of three star--that'll warm you up more," went on Mervyn in the
most matter of fact way, and diving into a sideboard he produced both.
This time Varne did not decline. The revivifying warmth, the blessed
light of day, were fast counteracting his resentment. Still, not
altogether, for he said in a half amazed, half joking manner:
"I suppose I must congratulate you on carrying out a practical joke
thoroughly when you do undertake one, Mr Mervyn. But at the same time
it might prove dangerous with some people. According to British law
turning a key on an independent fellow-subject is a ground for action
for false imprisonment."
"Law--did you say?" returned Mervyn, in a gouty, gusty sort of way.
"Why, I was administering law what time you were being smacked in the
nursery--or ought to have been."
This was a pretty nasty one for Helston Varne, somewhat famed clearer-up
of mysteries. But he took it equably. The other eyed him not in the
least kindly.
"Who turned any key on you?" he said abruptly.
"Well, I was locked in there, wasn't I?"
"Not by me--and certainly no one has been in here since," answered
Mervyn. "Just try that door handle, will you?"
"I don't know that I will," laughed the other, again becoming alive to
the importance of keeping up his character of artistic--and
unprofessional stranger. "I think I've had about enough of it. There's
something uncanny about it. I'd better keep away from it."
"All right then. Look here," Mervyn went to the door and turned the
handle--there was no key in the lock--then opened it slightly.
"That's all right, Mr Mervyn," answered the other, with a jolly laugh.
"I wasn't serious in what I said. Besides, I can take a joke as well as
anybody. Don't you worry about that."
"I thought it only the thing to leave you undisturbed while you made
your investigations," rejoined Mervyn, "but seem to have left you too
long. And now, if you're ready for lunch--so am I. It's later than
usual, but there's no point in waiting any longer."
Varne glanced at the clock opposite. It was nearly two. When he had
entered his recent prison it was just half past twelve. He had spent an
hour and a half nearly, down there in the cold and darkness. Heavens!
and it seemed eight times that period. His resentment partially revived
with the recollection, and he was about to refuse, when a sound struck
upon his ears, the sweet, clear, full voice of a girl. That decided
him.
"Well, thanks, Mr Mervyn, I think I am too, after my morning's
experiences," and he laughed again.
"We're late, Joe. I told you we should be," the voice was saying.
"You'd much better have let me drive. Now bring in the things--you can
put up the trap afterwards."
The visitor, listening, thought he had never heard quite such a voice.
And then its owner appeared.
She came into the room mapped in large warm furs. The day, though
bright, carried a sharp tinge in the wind, and had imparted a delightful
pink glow to her cheeks, and the blue eyes were dancing. The visitor
did not miss the effect of the straight firm walk, the erect carriage of
the golden head, crowned with an exceedingly becoming toque.
"Just fancy, Uncle Seward," she began--and then stopped short as she
became alive to the presence of a stranger. Her uncle introduced them.
No stiff or conventional bow, but out went a long, gloved hand, in
frank, easy fashion, and the straight glance of the blue eyes met those
of the other, in which surprise and admiration would hardly be
dissembled. Helston Varne remembered his pronouncement upon her when
talking with Nashby. "She's lovely, and so uncommon looking." Now it
came home to him, that if possible, he had even then hardly done her
justice. A new light seemed likely to lead away from the Heath Hover
mystery.
"I suppose you've been into Clancehurst, Miss Seward," he said. "Do you
find the shops there fairly satisfactory?"
"Oh yes--on the whole. It's a jolly little place and has a ripping old
church."
"`Old stones,'" thought the guest to himself, with a smile. Then aloud,
"I hear you're a great antiquarian, Miss Seward."
"I don't know about that, but I'm awfully keen on old architecture, and
old art in general."
"You've got a kindred spirit then, dear," said Mervyn. "Mr Varne has
come over to look at some of our antiquities. He went into ecstasies
over the door," with a nod behind him in that direction, and a very
humorous look crinkling round the corners of his eyes.
"Did you?" turning to the stranger, in her bright, brisk, natural
manner. "Yes, it's awfully quaint--but--there's a something about it.
Did you go into the old cellar? You did?" as she read the affirmative
on the faces of both men. "Well, didn't it give you the cold shivers?
I can tell you it did me, the two or three times I've been into it.
There must be a spook hidden away down there, but thank goodness that
door is thick enough and heavy enough to keep it there."
"But I thought spooks were traditionally independent of such trifles as
bolts and bars, Miss Seward," said Varne with an amused smile.
"Of course. It's the moral effect, I suppose, for it's difficult to
imagine anything being able to get through such a solid mass of oak as
that. But it's a splendid old door."
She had shed her outer furs and had sat down to table. Helston Varne
was watching her keenly, though of course not seeming to do so.
Whatever mystery Mervyn was mixed up in, this girl was entirely outside
it, even as he had imparted to Nashby, and more than ever now was that
opinion confirmed. And with that sop to professionalism he dismissed
the same, and fell to giving himself up to studying the rare,
fascinating personality, thus unexpectedly unfolded before him. But he
turned the conversation on to what he saw was a very congenial topic
with her, and soon she got launching Ruskin at him; and, glowing with
her subject, talked not a bit as though she had never known of his
existence half an hour ago. Mervyn, the while, his sense of humour
thoroughly tickled--although somewhat grimly so--was observing the pair,
with an inward twinge of dissatisfaction, which, as his said sense of
humour entirely enabled him to realise, was essentially selfish. For
his guest was an exceptionally good-looking man, who talked with
knowledge, and well, moreover; and had--what for want of a better
definition he defined as--a way about him. And thinking thus, the side
of the other's visit which had been with him all the morning and up till
now, seemed to slide into a back seat. What had ousted it was the
consciousness of how Melian seemed to be "cottoning" to the engaging
stranger.
Then in the glow of a discussion which she was thoroughly enjoying, she
got up suddenly to move some of the things.
"The old woman who usually looks after us is shamming again, Mr Varne.
At least, she isn't really shamming, but I always tease her by telling
her she is," Melian explained. "So I'm afraid it's a case of taking
things as they are."
Helston Varne at once scented a chance of further insight. Now he could
get, at first hand, what was rumoured at second--the reason why Mervyn
never kept indoor servants. But immediately he felt ashamed of the
thought. Professionalism under these circumstances could go hang; under
them, if he couldn't sink the "shop," when could he? In fact, if it
came to that he would.
Just then, taking advantage of the door being open, the little black
kitten made its way in and jumped up on Melian's lap as she sat down
again.
"No, no, pooge-pooge, not _on_ the table," she said decisively,
restraining a move on the part of the little thing to jump up there.
"Uncle Seward has got you into bad ways--in fact, thoroughly spoiled
you--and now you'll have to get out of them."
"What a jolly little fluffy ball," said Helston Varne, thinking what a
picture was here before him, these two graceful creatures, the human and
the animal, every movement on the part of either one that of perfect
prettiness and grace.
"Do you like them, then?" Melian asked, flashing her bright glance at
him.
"Yes, if only they would stay small."
"I'm so glad. But I think this one will, there are kinds, you know,
that never grow large, and I like them best that way myself." And then
she launched forth into another favourite topic, and here again Varne
met her on her own ground, and with knowledge. And here again Mervyn
was observant, and had misgivings.
Now all of a sudden something he had been puzzling over took light, and
it was caused by a casual remark on the part of this somewhat strangely
formed acquaintance.
"Have you been in India?" he interrupted, abruptly.
"Yes, a little."
"Where?"
"In the North West Provinces, and the Northern border."
"Strange how things come back," went on Mervyn. "Now your name is a bit
uncommon, and I've been racking my brain box over it. Do you happen to
be related to Varne Coates, who was Commissioner at Baghnagar?"
"Yes. He's rather a near cousin of mine."
"Look at that now. He used to be one of my greatest friends. Small
world this after all."
"Yes, isn't it? Well, Mr Mervyn, that only adds to the pleasure of
making your acquaintance--in such an accidental manner."
For the life of him Mervyn could not restrain the ghost of a queer
smile, for he knew there was nothing at all accidental about the matter,
and the worst of it was the other knew that he knew it. As for that
other he greatly rejoiced over this discovery, for he owned to himself
that Melian Seward's personality was almost unique in his experience;
and, in short, and done into plain English, he wanted to see her again.
As regarded the matter to clear up which he had come there, why it could
go hang, or if he went on with it at all it would be simply and solely
for his own satisfaction and in nowise to help Nashby or any of his
kind. As to which he was in nowise bound--for as we have said before,
he had come there in the light of an "outside" man, and was responsible
to nobody.
And then, in the light of this newly discovered mutual acquaintance, a
new sense of good fellowship, of cordiality seemed to spring up between
the two men--likewise the conversation was now transferred to them.
Mervyn warmed up with old recollections of places and people; most of
the former and some of the latter of which were known to his guest, and
Melian perforce had to do listener, which she did not in the least mind.
It was not until the fading of the afternoon light that Varne suddenly
awoke to the fact that in the capacity of unknown stranger he might have
been there quite long enough.
"Oh no. Make your mind easy of that head," Mervyn answered, as he said
as much. "Look in again if you're prolonging your stay. Have another
`peg' before you start. No? A weed then?"
Helston Varne lighted a cigar, and they went with him as far as the
sluice. Mervyn, walking behind, did not fail to observe that this time
no notice was taken of that one stone. The other did not even step on
it. This, to his mind, suggested two solutions. Either his guest was
off the scent, or, in the capacity of a new friend he did not intend to
follow up his investigations. Whichever solution it was that held good
it was equally satisfactory to Mervyn.
"Well, what do you think of that for a specimen?" he said, as Melian and
he turned back to the house.
"He's rather a good sort, and miles out of the ordinary," answered the
girl. "He _can_ talk."
"Yes. You've met your match in that accomplishment, certainly."
"Oh, I didn't mean in that way. I mean he can talk sense. Talk about
things, and all that, and it's more than can be said for most people one
runs against. I wonder if he'll come over again."
"I don't."
The dry meaning of the tone, the quizzical look, earned for the speaker
a playful pinch on the arm.
"Don't be prophetic, Uncle Seward, especially with regard to a perfect
stranger."
"Perfect--eh? H'm--ha! Still I think we haven't seen the last of--
Perfection. Good name that. Meanwhile, I shall have to find out
something about him over and above his relationship with my old pal
Varne Coates, before asking his intentions."
This earned for the speaker another pinch--a harder one this time, and
the chaff and raillery flowed on. And John Seward Mervyn was conscious
of feeling very happy, very contented. This element of youthfulness and
bright spirits was just that in which his solitary life had been
lacking. Then it had been supplied; and again and again, every hour of
late he had blessed the chance which had supplied it.
But with this complacent consciousness, there was this evening ever so
slight a misgiving, and--while he candidly owned to himself his motive
was a selfish one--he hoped their newly found acquaintance would, for
any reason or none, come no more.