BEGINNING EXPLORATION
This apparently convincing evidence that Henley was not only alive, but
had preceded us to Carrollton, left us staring into each others' faces,
more deeply mystified than ever.
"He must be here," she articulated faintly.
"At least it would seem that he has been. The seal is a peculiar one,
not likely to be duplicated. But I doubt if he is here now, for he
could have no reason for avoiding us, unless--"
"I know what you mean," she replied, as I hesitated, "unless he
intended to repudiate me, to refuse me recognition."
"Is he that kind of a man?"
"No; not when sober. Under the influence of liquor he becomes a brute,
capable of any meanness."
"Perhaps that may be the secret then. The others here may be keeping
him intoxicated, and hidden away for purposes of their own. However,
this need not change our plans. Will you go in to Sallie?"
"Yes; it will be a relief to be busy, to feel that I am accomplishing
something."
I stood upon the bench, from where I could look out above the weeds and
tangled bushes, and followed her course to the house. At top of the
steps she paused an instant to glance back, and then disappeared
within. I waited patiently, knowing that if she failed to discover the
housekeeper, she would give some signal. Meanwhile I watched the
weed-grown area about me carefully in search of any skulker observing
our movements. I could see little through the tangle, yet succeeded in
convincing myself that I was alone, and free to begin my explorations.
Yet I faced this work with less enthusiasm than I felt when first
proposing it. The knowledge that Philip Henley was alive; that any
discoveries I might make would benefit him even more than his wife, had
robbed me of my earlier interest in the outcome. Nothing I had heard
of the man was favorable to his character. I felt profoundly convinced
that whatever affection his wife might have once entertained for him
had long ago vanished through neglect and abuse. My sympathies were
altogether with her, and I had already begun to dream of her as free.
She had come into contact with my life in such a way as to impress me
greatly; we had been thrown together in strange familiarity. Little by
little I had grown to appreciate her beauty, not only of face, but also
of womanly character. Already she swayed and controlled me as no other
of her sex ever had. I thrilled to the touch of her hand, to the sweep
of her dress, and the glance of her eye. Not until now did I realize
fully all she had unconsciously become to me, or how I dreaded the
reappearance of Henley. Would she return to him? Would she forgive
the past? These were haunting questions from which I found no escape.
I could not be ignorant of the fact that she liked me, trusted me as a
friend. But beyond this rather colorless certainty I possessed no
assurance. I thought I had read a deeper meaning in her eyes, enough
to yield a flash of hope, but nothing more substantial. And now--now
even this must be rubbed out. She was not the kind to ever compromise
with duty, nor to pretend. No love for me, even if it had already
begun to blossom in her secret heart, would make her disloyal to sacred
vows. I knew that, and deep down in my own consciousness, honored her
the more, even while I struggled against the inevitable. Yesterday I
might have spoken the words of passion on my lips, but now they were
sealed, and I dare not even whisper them to myself, yet it was out of
this very depth of impossibility that I came to know love in its
entirety, and realize what Viola Henley already was to me.
But I was never so much a dreamer, as a man of action, and the
necessity of active service forced me to cast aside such thoughts
almost instantly. There was work, and danger, ahead, and I welcomed
both eagerly. This was the way to forget. Aye! and the way to serve.
I felt the revolver in my pocket, took it out and made sure it was in
readiness; then advanced cautiously toward the house. The hall was
empty, and so was the front room. The latter appeared desolate and
grim in its disorder and dirt. My thought centered on that picture of
Judge Henley hanging against the further wall. Perhaps it had not
moved; the supposition that it did might have been an illusion,
produced by some flaw in the mirror opposite, or by a freak of
imagination. Yet I could never be satisfied until I learned absolutely
what was concealed behind that heavy gilded frame. There was mystery
to this house, and perhaps here I had already stumbled upon the secret.
I opened the door leading to the rear, silently, and listened. There
were voices talking at a distance, two women, one a pleasant contralto,
the other cracked and high pitched. The lady was doing her part; I
must do mine. I closed the door gently, and stole over toward the
picture, half afraid of my task, yet nerving myself for the ordeal.
A black haircloth sofa, with broad mahogany arm, offered two easy
steps, enabling me to tip the heavy frame sufficiently so as to peer
behind. The one glance was sufficient. Underneath was an opening in
the wall, much less in width than the picture, yet ample for the
passage of a crouched body. The arm of the sofa made egress
comparatively easy, while the frame of the picture, though appearing
heavy and substantial, was in reality of light wood, and presented no
obstacle to an active man. The passage was black, and I thrust my head
and shoulders in, striving to discern something of its nature. For
possibly three feet I could trace the floor, but beyond that point it
seemed to disappear into impenetrable darkness. This line of change
was so distinct that I surmised at once it marked a descent to a lower
level, either by ladder or stairs. Well, this would benefit me, rather
than otherwise, for if anyone was concealed therein it would be down
below, where the light streaming into the upper passage, as I pressed
back the frame to gain room for my body, would be unnoticed. There was
no hesitancy as to what I must do. Now I had discovered this secret
passage it must be thoroughly explored. The safest way was to burrow
through the dark, trusting to hands and feet for safety, and prepared
for any encounter. Whoever might be hidden away there would certainly
possess some light, sufficient for any warning I needed. Every
advantage would remain with me concealed by darkness.
If I felt any premonition of fear it was not serious enough to delay
progress, nor did I pause to consider the possible danger. Wherever
Coombs had gone, he was not likely to remain absent for long, nor could
I expect Mrs. Henley to remain with Sallie a moment longer than she
deemed necessary. This was my opportunity and must be utilized
promptly. Standing on the sofa arm I found little difficulty in
pressing my body forward into the aperture, until, extending at full
length, the picture settled noiselessly back into place against the
wall, excluding all light. After listening intently, fearful lest the
slight scraping might have been overheard, I arose to a crouching
position, able to feel both the sides and top of the tunnel with my
fingers. Inch by inch, silently, my soft breathing the only noticeable
sound, I worked forward, anxiously exploring for the break in the
floor, which I knew to be only a few feet distance. Even then I
reached it unaware of its proximity, experiencing a sudden, unpleasant
shock as my extended hand groped about touching nothing tangible.
I was some time determining the exact nature of what was before me.
There were no stairs, nor did any shafts of a ladder protrude above the
floor level. Only as I lay flat, and felt cautiously across from wall
to wall, could I determine what led below. All was black as a well, as
noiseless as a grave, yet there was a ladder exactly fitting the space,
spiked solidly into the flooring. My groping fingers could reach two
of the rungs, and they felt sound and strong. With face outward I
trusted myself to their support, and began the descent slowly, pausing
between each step to listen, and gripping the side-bars tightly. The
blackness and silence, combined with what I anticipated discovering
somewhere in those depths below, set my nerves tingling, yet I felt
cool, and determined to press on. Indeed, deep in my heart I welcomed
the adventure, even hoped it might end in some encounter serious enough
to arouse me to new thoughts--especially did I yearn to learn something
definite about Philip Henley. This to me was now the one matter of
importance; to be assured that he was living or dead. Nothing else
greatly mattered, for nothing could again efface from my memory the
woman he had called wife. Right or wrong, I knew she held me captive;
even there, groping blindly in that darkness, every nerve strained to
its utmost, my thought was with her, and her face arose before my
imagination. Unexpectedly, unexplainably love had come into my
life--the very love I had laughed at in others had made me captive.
And I was glad of it, reckless still as to what it might portend.
I counted twelve rungs going down, and then felt stone flags beneath my
feet, although the walls on either side, as I explored them with my
hands, were still of closely matched wood. The passage, now high
enough to permit of my standing erect, led toward the rear of the
house, presenting no obstacle other than darkness, until I came up
suddenly against a heavy wooden door completely barring further
progress. As near as I could figure I must be already directly beneath
the kitchen, and close in against the south wall. No sound reached me,
however, from above, nor could I, with ear against the slight crack,
distinguish any movement beyond the barrier. Cautious fingering
revealed closely matched hard wood, studded thickly with nail heads,
but no keyhole or latch. Secure in the feeling that no one else could
be in this outer passage, and completely baffled, I ventured to strike
a match. The tiny yellow flame, ere it quickly flickered out in some
mysterious draft, revealed an iron band to the left of the door, with
slight protuberance, resembling the button of an electric-bell. This
was the only semblance to a lock, and I was in doubt whether it would
prove an alarm, or some ingenuous [Transcriber's note: ingenious?]
spring. There was nothing for it, however, but to try the experiment,
and face the result.
Almost convinced that the pressure of my finger would ring an electric
bell, I drew my revolver, and crouched low, prepared for any emergency,
as I pressed the metal button. To my surprise and relief the only
thing to occur was the slow opening of the door inward, a dim gleam of
light becoming visible through the widening crack. The movement was
deliberate and noiseless, but I dropped upon hands and knees in the
deepest remaining shadow and peered anxiously into the dimly revealed
interior. It was a basement room, half the width of the kitchen
overhead, I should judge; the walls of crude masonry, the floor of
brick, the ceiling, festooned by cobwebs, of rough-hewn beams. The
light, flickering and dim, came from a half-burned candle in an iron
holder screwed against the wall, revealing a small table, two chairs,
one without a back, and four narrow sleeping berths made of rough
boards. This was all, except a coat dangling from a beam, and a small
hand-hatchet lying on the floor. There was, in the instant I had to
view these things, no semblance of movement, or suggestion of human
presence. Assured of this, although holding myself alert and ready, I
slipped through the opening. Even as I stood there, uncertain, and
staring about, a sharp draught of air extinguished the candle, and I
heard the snap of the lock as the door behind blew back into position.
About me was the black silence of a grave.