I
A tropically hot day had been followed by a stuffy and oppressive
evening. In the tiny sitting-room of our tiny cottage, my friend--who,
for the purposes of this story, I shall call Mr. East--by the light
of a vapour lamp was busily arranging a number of botanical specimens
collected that morning. His briar fumed furiously between his teeth,
and, his grim, tanned face lowered over his work, he brought to bear
upon this self-imposed task all the intense nervous energy which was
his.
I sat by the open window alternately watching my tireless companion and
the wonderful and almost eerie effects of the moonlight on the heather.
Then:
"We came here for quiet--and rest, East," I said, smiling.
"Well!" snapped my friend. "Isn't it quiet enough for you?"
"Undeniably. But I don't remember to have seen you rest from the moment
that we left London! I exclude your brief hours of slumber--during
which, by the way, you toss about and mutter in a manner far from
reposeful."
"No wonder. My nerves are anything but settled yet, I grant you."
Indeed, we had passed through a long and trying ordeal, the particulars
whereof have no bearing upon the present matter, and in renting
this tiny and remote cottage we had sought complete seclusion and
forgetfulness of those evil activities of man which had so long engaged
our attention. How ill we had chosen will now appear.
I had turned again to the open window, when my meditations were
interrupted by a sound that seemed to come from somewhere away behind
the cottage. Cigarette in hand, I leaned upon the sill, listening, then
turned and glanced toward the littered table. East, his eyes steely
bright in the lamplight, was watching me.
"You heard it?" I said.
"Clearly. A woman's shriek!"
"Listen!"
Tense, expectant, we sat listening for some time, until I began to
suspect that we had been deceived by the note of some unfamiliar denizen
of the moors. Then, faintly, chokingly, the sound was repeated,
seemingly from much nearer.
"Come on!" snapped East.
Hatless, we both hurried around to the rear of the cottage. As we came
out upon the slope, a figure appeared on the brow of a mound some two
hundred yards away and stood for a moment silhouetted against the
moonlit sky. It was that of a woman. She raised her arms at sight of
us--and staggered forward.
Just in the nick of time we reached her, for her strength was almost
spent. East caught her in his arms.
"Good God!" he said, "it is Miss Baird!"
What could it mean? The girl, who was near to swooning and inarticulate
with fatigue and emotion, was the daughter of Sir Jeffrey Baird, our
neighbour, whose house, The Warrens, was visible from where we stood.
East half led, half carried her down the slope to the cottage; and there
I gave her professional attention, whilst, with horror-bright eyes and
parted lips, she fought for mastery of herself. She was a rather pretty
girl, but highly emotional, and her pathetically weak mouth was
doubtless a maternal heritage, for her father, Sir Jeffrey, had the
mouth and jaw of the old fighter that he was.
At last she achieved speech.
"My father!" she whispered brokenly; "oh, my poor father!"
"What!" I began----
"At Black Gap!..."
"Black Gap!" I said; for the place was close upon half a mile away.
"Have you come so far?"
"He is lying there! My poor father--dead!"
"What!" cried East, springing up--"Sir Jeffrey--dead? Not drowned?"
"No, no! he is lying on the path this side of the Gap! I ... almost
stumbled over ... him. He has been ... murdered! Oh, God help me!..."
East and I stared at one another, speechless with the sudden horror of
it. Sir Jeffrey murdered!
Suddenly the distracted girl turned to my friend, clutching frenziedly
at his arm.
"Oh, Mr. East!" she cried, "what had my poor father done to merit such
an end? What monster has struck him down? You will find him, will you
not? I thank God that you are here--for although I know you as 'Mr.
East,' my father confided the truth to me, and I am aware that you are
really a Secret Service agent, and I even know some of the wonderful
things you have done in the past...."
"Very indiscreet!" muttered East, and his jaws snapped together
viciously. But--"My dear Miss Baird," he added immediately, in the
kindly way that was his own, "rely upon me. Myself and my fellow-worker,
the doctor here, had sought to escape from the darker things of life,
but it was willed otherwise. I esteemed Sir Jeffrey very highly"--his
voice shook--"very highly indeed. I, too, thank God that I am here."