During lunch, a Mr. Findon, who had driven over with one of the
Colonel's neighbours, asked Sybil Reynor whether the peculiar and far
from beautiful ring which she invariably wore was Oriental. From his
conversation I gathered that he was something of an expert.
"It is generally supposed to be Phoenician, Mr. Findon," she answered;
and slipping it from her finger she passed it to him. "It is my lot in
life to wear it always, hideous though it is!"
"Indeed! An heirloom, I suppose?"
"Yes," replied the girl; "and an ugly one."
In point of fact, the history of the ring was as curious as that of the
Riddle. For generations it had been worn by the heir of Ragstaff from
the day of his majority to that of his eldest son's. Colonel Reynor
had no son. Hence, following the tradition as closely as circumstances
allowed, he had invested Sybil with the ring upon the day that she came
of age--some three months prior to the time of which I write.
As Mr. Findon was about to return the ring, Lorian said:
"Excuse me. May I examine it for a moment?"
"Of course," replied Sybil.
He took it in his hand and bent over it curiously. I cannot pretend to
explain what impelled me to glance towards Hulme at that moment; but I
did do so. And the expression which rested upon his dark and usually
handsome face positively alarmed me.
I concluded that, beneath the cool surface, he was a man of hot
passions, and I would have ascribed the fixed glare to the jealousy of
a rejected suitor in presence of a more favoured rival, had it centred
upon Lorian. But it appeared to be focused, particularly, upon the ring.
The incident impressed me very unfavourably. A sense of mystery was
growing up around me--pervading the atmosphere of Ragstaff Park.
After lunch Lorian and I again set out in company, but my friend
appeared to be in anything but sporting humour. We bore off at a sharp
angle from the Colonel and some others who were set upon the rough
shooting on the western rim of the moors and made for the honeycombed
ground which led one upward to the cliff edge.
Abruptly, we found ourselves upon the sheer brink, with the floor of the
ocean at our feet and all the great Atlantic before us.
"Let us relent of our murderous purpose," said Lorian, dropping
comfortably on to a patch of velvety turf and producing his pipe. "I
have dragged you up here with the malicious intention of talking to
you."
I was not sorry to hear it. There was much that I wished to discuss with
him.
"I should have stayed to say something to some one," he added, carefully
stuffing his briar, "but first I wanted to say something to you." He
paused, fumbling for matches. "What," he continued, finding some and
striking one, "is Felix Hulme's little game?"
"He wants to marry Miss Reynor."
"I know; but he needn't get so infernally savage because she won't
accept him. He looked at me in a positively murderous way at lunch
to-day."
"So you noticed that?"
"Yes--and I saw that you noticed it, too."
"Listen," I said. "Leaving Hulme out of the question, there is an
altogether more mysterious business afoot." And I told him of the
episode of the previous night.
He smoked stolidly whilst I spoke, frowning the while; then:
"Old chap," he said, "I begin to have a sort of glimmering of
intelligence. I believe I am threatened with an idea! But it's such an
utterly fantastic hybrid that I dare not name it--yet."
He asked me several questions respecting what I had seen, and my replies
appeared to confirm whatever suspicion was gathering in his mind. We saw
little enough sport, but came in later than anyone.
During dinner there was an odd incident. Lorian said:
"Colonel, d'you mind my taking a picture of the Riddle?"
"Eh!" said the Colonel. "What for? Your father made a drawing of it."
"Yes, I know," replied Lorian. "I mean a photograph."
"Well," mused the Colonel, "I don't know that there can be much
objection, since it has been copied once. But have you got a camera
here?"
"Ah--no," said my friend thoughtfully, "I haven't. Can anybody lend me
one?"
Apparently no one could.
"If you care to drive over to Dr. Mason's after dinner," said our host,
"he will lend you one. He has several."
Lorian said he would, and I volunteered to accompany him. Accordingly
the Colonel's high dogcart was prepared; and beneath a perfect moon,
swimming in a fleckless sky which gave no hint of the storm to come,
we set off for the doctor's.
My friend's manoeuvres were a constant source of surprise to me.
However, I allowed him to know his own business best, and employed my
mind with speculations respecting this mystery, what time the Colonel's
spirited grey whisked us along the dusty roads.
We had just wheeled around Dr. Mason's drive, when the fact broke in
upon my musings that a Stygian darkness had descended upon the night,
as though the moon had been snuffed, candle-wise.
"Devil of a storm brewing," said Lorian. "Funny how the weather changes
at night."
Two minutes after entering the doctor's cosy study, down came the rain.
"Now we're in for it!" said Mason. "I'll send Wilkins to run the dogcart
into the stable until it blows over."
The storm proved to be a severe one; and long past midnight, despite the
doctor's hospitable attempts to detain us, we set off for Ragstaff Park.
"We can put up the grey ourselves," said Lorian. "I love grooming
horses! And by going around into the yard and throwing gravel up at
his window, we can awaken Peters without arousing the house. This plan
almost startles me by its daring originality. I fear that I detect
within myself the symptoms of genius."
So, with one of Dr. Mason's cameras under the seat, we started back
through the sweet-smelling lanes; and, at about twenty minutes past one,
swung past the gate lodge and up the long avenue, the wheels grinding
crisply upon the newly wetted gravel. There was but little moon, now,
and the house stood up, an irregular black mass, before us.
Then, from three of the windows, there suddenly leapt out a dazzling
white light!
Lorian pulled up the grey with a jerk.
"Good God!" he said. "What's that! An explosion!"
But no sound reached us. Only, for some seconds, the hard, white glare
streamed out upon the steps and down on to the drive. Suddenly as it had
come--it was gone, and the whole of Ragstaff was in darkness as before!
The horse started nervously, but my friend held him with a firm hand,
turning and looking at me queerly.
"That's what shone under your door last night!" he said. "That light was
in the hall!"
V
Peters was awakened, the horse stabled and ourselves admitted without
arousing another soul. As we came around from the back of the house (we
had not entered by the main door), and, candles in hand, passed through
the hall, nothing showed as having been disturbed.
"Don't breathe a word of our suspicions to anyone," counselled Lorian.
"What _are_ our suspicions?" said I.
"At present," he replied, "indefinable."
To-night the distant murmur of the sea proved very soothing, and I slept
soundly. I was early afoot, however, but not so early as Lorian. As I
passed around the gallery above the hall, on my way to the bathroom, I
saw him folding up the tripod of the camera which he had borrowed from
Dr. Mason. The morning sun was streaming through the windows.
"Hullo!" Lorian called to me. "I've got a splendid negative, I think.
Peters is rigging up a dark-room in the wine-cellar--delightful site for
the purpose! Will you join me in developing?"
Although I was unable to conjecture what my friend hoped to gain by his
photographic experiments, I agreed, prompted as much by curiosity as
anything else. So, after my tub, I descended to the cellar and splashed
about in Hypo., until Lorian declared himself satisfied.
"The second is the best," he pronounced critically, holding the negative
up to the red lamp. "I made three exposures in all; but the reflection
from the polished wood has rather spoiled the first and also the third."
"Whatever do you want with this photograph, anyway," I said, "when the
original is available?"
"My dear chap," he replied, "one cannot squat in the hall fixedly
regarding a section of panel like some fakir staring at a palm leaf!"
"Then you intend to study it?"
"Closely!"
As a matter of fact, he did not join us during the whole of the day; but
since he spent the greater part of the time in his own room, I did not
proffer my aid. From a remark dropped by the Colonel, I gathered that
Sybil had volunteered to assist, during the afternoon, in preparing
prints.