wavered and died. He saw an erect and rather lean figure appropriately
garbed in black with a gold watch-chain. But it was Mr. Millin’s face
that almost persuaded Mr. Ponders forthwith to engage him without
further ado. His features were nondescript, but there was something in
his expression, so candid, benign, if a little dejected, the expression
of one who had known terror and danger, which encountering, he had
conquered--at a cost, that went straight to Mr. Ponders’ really kind
little heart.
He opened the conversation with a conventional gambit, describing the
circumstances--already well-known to Mr. Millin--by which the latter
found himself there.
Mr. Millin paid murmured thanks to the kindness of all concerned.
“And now, Mr. Millin,” said Mr. Ponders, “I will be frank with you. My
brother has told me about your connection with Sir Roger Wallington,
the difficult position in which you were placed, and your explanation.
The latter, I understand, takes the form of a rather remarkable story
which my brother believed implicitly. In some way, I take it, it
explains the mystery of Sir Roger’s death?”
“In some way, I suppose it does, sir,” replied Mr. Millin, “but it is
so unlikely a tale that I wouldn’t have had the courage to tell it to
anyone but Sir Leonard. But he’s always been so good to me that I dared
to tell it to him. You can imagine my relief, sir, when he believed it.
I quite understand that you, sir, wouldn’t dream of taking me into your
service unless you believed it too, and thought it freed me from all
suspicion concerning Sir Roger’s death.”
“That is so,” said Mr. Ponders. “Let me hear it.”
“Well, sir, after Mr. Roper’s death I was out of a position, and seeing
Sir Roger’s advertisement in the _Morning Post_ I answered it, and
received a request from Sir Roger to go down to see him.
“Sir Roger was a remarkable-looking gentleman, sir--very tall and
strong, with very hard blue eyes, and a contemptuous, nervous, fighting
look about him; yet somehow I took a fancy to him.
“‘Well, Millin,’ he said, ‘so you think you’d like to be my butler.
Five strong men have thought that in the last eighteen months, and
then--they have decided otherwise. The fellow who’s here now, for
example, Mr. Peters, well--_he’s_ decided otherwise. He spent some time
in America, Millin. The United States have much to be said for them,
but they’re not good for British butlers. Have you been abroad?’
“‘Only for one day, sir,’ I said, ‘from Brighton to Boulogne and back.’
“‘I shan’t hold that up against you. I rather like the look of you--you
look _soothing_. I want someone soothing. Would you like to try it?’
“I said I would, sir (for one thing, the wages Sir Roger offered were
much above the average).
“‘Very well,’ he said, ‘come next Wednesday and stay as long as you can
stick it.’
“I had some dinner with the servants before leaving, and what I heard
made me realise I was taking something on. Apparently Sir Roger had
always been famous for his tempers; during the War he had been wounded
in the head, and still had a good deal of pain, and his rages had
become very hot indeed, sir.
“‘Well, old man, I wish you luck,’ said Peters, ‘take out some All-Risk
insurance, and when you see his chin go kind of down and back and his
mouth open, and his left hand begin to twitch, and his eyes begin to
spit blood, you’ll know you were the wise guy, isn’t that so, Mary?’
(Mary was one of the housemaids, sir, with whom, I found, this Peters
had been too free.)
“‘How often does he get that way?’ I asked.
“‘Ordinary times about once a month. Depends how things are. But when
this poacher bird Black Jack gets busy--well, I won’t pump the breeze
up you, one of these sunny days you’ll know what I haven’t said!
Anyway, I’m through, thank Theodore! Last Monday he threw a four-pound
vase at my head, and I only side-stepped it by a millimetre. I’m not as
young as I was. I’m off to Philadelphia next Thursday morning, so I
should worry! Anyway, just remember when Black Jack is working his nets
you watch his Lordship’s eyes when you take in his early morning brandy
and soda, and _keep on your toes_!’
“Well, sir, I didn’t like this chap’s way of carrying on, though his
obvious relief at leaving his job made me think twice, but I am easy
to get on with as a rule, I wanted work badly, and the pay was very
tempting. Also I thought this Peters was the wrong sort of person for
Sir Roger, with all his American slang and loud ways. There was another
thing which helped to persuade me to accept. Elm Court is a very
beautiful place, and I’m very partial to good surroundings.”
“It is!” said Mr. Ponders. “The finest medium-sized Tudor House in
Great Britain, and the grounds are perfection.”
“Yes, sir. After I had been in Sir Roger’s service for a week or so,
I found out, sir, that he was subject to fits of heavy drinking. He
was fairly moderate most of the time, sir, but about once a week he’d
drink nearly a bottle of whisky besides other things. The housekeeper,
Mrs. Miles, who had been with him many years, told me the habit was
growing upon him. I was glad to find, sir, he seemed to take a liking
to me; in fact, he quite made a friend of me. He saw very few people;
it seemed he had got the wrong side of many of the gentry in the
neighbourhood through rubbing them up the wrong way; it was as if he
enjoyed doing it.
“Now and again he’d have some friends down from London, but he only
entertained the local people, sir, when the Judge came down for the
Assizes at Lewes. Otherwise he kept to himself, spending his time
riding, looking after the farms on the estate, and, in the season,
shooting. Peters had been right about the poachers. Sir Roger had the
finest shoot in that part of the world, and the poachers were always
at it. It was partly because he was so badly liked, for I found out
that a lot of the local chaps were on the poachers’ side and helped
them. This Black Jack was the worst. The local people seemed to be
very much afraid of him, and didn’t like to talk about him. They
were superstitious about him and very careful to keep on his right
side. They told some funny tales. The first time I saw him was in
the village about three weeks after I arrived. He was tall and slim
and very dark, a good bit of the gipsy in him, I should say, sir.
His face was like a hawk’s, and he had a very piercing look, a nasty
customer to get up against, he seemed to me. He had his dog, Scottie,
with him, a big mongrel, a mixture of collie and lurcher he looked,
who’d got the name of being the cleverest at his job in the county, a
savage, cunning looking brute. Well, Black Jack came up to me with a
cheeky contemptuous look on his face. ‘You’re the new bottle-washer
at the Hall, aren’t you,’ he said. He had almost a gentleman’s voice,
sir. ‘Well, I don’t suppose you’ll stay any longer than the other
bottle-washers. You haven’t met Scottie, have you?’ The dog bared its
teeth and snarled and growled. ‘Doesn’t seem to like you, never does
seem to like Hall folk, somehow; can’t think where he learnt to hate
’em. Well, tell that old ---- of yours I shall be working the East Side
for the next week or so,’ and he sauntered off.
“I gave Wilkins, the head-keeper, the tip. ‘That’s like his blasted
sauce,’ he said. ‘I’ll get that fine gentleman one of these days! I’ve
had enough of him. It’ll mean a new job for me if I miss him this time.
I sometimes think he’s got the Devil on his side. Say nothing to the
master if you like a quiet life.’
“Well, Black Jack started his business as he said he would. He and his
gang cleaned up the coverts on the East Side, but none of them was
caught. Directly the poaching began the master began to drink. He was
out every night, and his temper was something I’d never seen before,
but he never actually went for me--Wilkins got it, though, sir. He
and three other keepers got the sack, and a new lot came in. Wilkins
didn’t seem sorry to go. He told me he’d had enough of it, and that the
master’s cursing was too bad to put up with.
“It was a difficult time for me, sir. Sir Roger was drinking hard
and up most of the night, chasing after Black Jack, and he’d come in
at four and five in the morning, and I had to wait up for him. The
servants were a great trouble. Sir Roger hated to see any of the maids
about the house, and when he sacked one of the girls he found dusting
his study at seven one morning all of them gave notice. However, I
calmed them down and got Sir Roger to raise their wages. After a time
Black Jack took his gang elsewhere, and things were a bit more peaceful
for a few days.
“One day, early in February, Sir Roger drove up to town, taking Godson,
the chauffeur, with him. He had said he’d be back about five, but it
was a quarter past eight when they arrived--on foot. When I opened the
door I knew that something had happened and that he’d had one of his
rages. His face was always white and heavily lined after them, and his
eyes looked swollen and red. He pushed past me without saying a word
and began drinking whisky in his study. Presently he rang and said he
would not dine, but that I was to bring him some sandwiches. When I got
down to the servants’ hall I found Godson, sitting at the table, his
head in his hands. He looked up at me, and his face was haggard.
“‘I’m through!’ he said. ‘The ----’s mad, bloody mad’--he was never one
to swear as a rule, sir.
“‘What’s up?’ I asked, ‘where’s the car?’
“‘What’s up!’ he cried; ‘that ----’s up the pole! I tell you I’m
through. I’ll tell you what sort of a blasted, bloody lunatic he is!
When I met him at the Club I could see he’d been drinking, but he
_would_ drive coming home. I’ve never seen him wilder, we ought to have
been killed ten times. I was just beginning to think we’d get through
when we reached that switchback in the woods near Ollen. I should think
we touched 90 on the way down. As we reached the bottom I saw there was
someone standing at the side of the road half-way up the hill. Suddenly
he began braking hard and peering ahead. It was then I could see the
chap in the road was Black Jack. Just as we were drawing up to him
that dog of his bounded out into the road behind him. Then I felt the
car swing. He drove her straight at Black Jack, missed him by a foot,
and then swung back and caught the dog fair and square. The next thing
I knew was that I was lying on my ear in a field. Both front tyres had
gone, and we’d bust clean through a gate, bounced on the plough, and
then turned half over in a dew-pond.’
“‘Well, His Highness was out in a flash, and I followed him back to the
road. When we got there Black Jack was bending over the dog. When he
saw us he picked it up and walked towards us. Sir Ruddy Roger went to
meet him. Black Jack lifted his cap, and then held up the dog by the
back of his neck. Its face was all bloody and dusty and smashed up.
“‘Good evening, Sir Roger,’ said Black Jack. ‘Scottie’s dead all right,
you got him at last, you got him!’
“‘Get to hell from here, you poaching blackguard!’ cried the Guv’nor.
‘Certainly I’ve got one of you, and if ever you come on my land again
I’ll get you, too!’
“‘I was rather fond of Scottie,’ said Black Jack, ‘and knew all his
tricks. He’d got some funny tricks, too; don’t be too sure you’ve done
with him!’ Then suddenly his face went hard and fierce, and there were
tears in his eyes. He shoved the dog’s muzzle right into the Guv’nor’s
face and gave a funny little sharp whistle which seemed to scream in
one’s head, and he muttered something in some foreign language, gipsy,
I guess, and I got the idea that the dog was listening as if it was
alive again, and in a twinkling Jack and the dog had disappeared--into
the woods I suppose, but it was quick work.
“‘The Guv’nor never said a word, but started off to walk home, and here
we are, and the ruddy car can drown for all I care! I leave to-morrow.
He can get some other stiff to be killed with him. I’m through. Christ,
I’ve got a head!’
“‘You go to bed,’ I said, ‘I’ll get the car brought in in the morning.’
“He was as good as his word, sir; he left before lunch and I never saw
him again.
“The next afternoon I had to go down to the village, and at once I
noticed a change. Nobody from the Hall was ever much welcomed there,
but I had always been treated with civility, and some of them were
quite friendly. That day they looked at me out of the corners of their
eyes, and were short and abrupt in their manner. It made me feel very
uncomfortable, sir.”
“What had Sir Roger done to make himself so unpopular with the local
people?” asked Mr. Ponders.
“Well, sir, he was a harsh landlord, and never put himself out to
please. In this way he was very unlike his father. I think that’s what
they hated most about him.”
“I remember Fred Wallington,” said Mr. Ponders. “A genial, easy-going
old fox-hunter. Well, go on.”
“Of course I couldn’t get anything out of them, but they were behaving
so queerly that I sent one of the maids, who had a sweetheart working
in the local public-house, the Bee and Clover, to see if she could pick
up anything. When she got back she said that Joe had ‘been funny,’
and that she’d had to make a bit of a scene before she could get
anything out of him, and that he’d only mutter that Black Jack had said
something the night before. He’d come in for a drink and left almost
at once. When she asked what he’d said, he wouldn’t answer, but had
left her and gone home. She’d never seen him like that, she’d said.
So putting two and two together, sir, I made out that Black Jack had
made some sort of threat against the master which the local people
believed he would carry out, and so they wanted to have as little to
do with the Hall as possible. I thought the master seemed a bit uneasy
at dinner that night. Sometimes he’d seem to be listening to something,
and several times I noticed him giving sudden quick looks into a dark
corner there was between the door and the serving table. After dinner
he went out on to the lawn and walked in a stealthy sort of way over
towards the clump of big cedars.
“Well, my pantry window looked out that way, and I saw the master
suddenly come running back, and then I heard him slam the window of
the morning-room. When I took in the whisky and soda he was looking a
little queer, I thought. His face was flushed and his eyes were sort of
screwed up, sir, as if he wasn’t sure if he could see something or not.
“The next morning when I went to call him I found him wide awake--which
I never remembered him being before.
“‘Whose dog is that?’ he asked, as soon as I came in.
“‘What dog, sir?’ I asked.
“‘I don’t know,’ he answered shortly. ‘I was restless during the night,
and got up, and I saw it on the lawn. Find out whose it is and keep it
away. Tell whoever owns it I shall have it shot if I see it again.’
“‘Very good, sir,’ I said.
“I made some enquiries, but no one knew anything about it, and the new
keeper told me both his dogs had been sleeping in his kitchen from
eight o’clock on.
“The master was all right through the day, but as soon as dusk came on
he seemed worried and not himself. We were all a bit on edge, sir, for
it was then the Noise began.
“It was quite faint at first. Now, sir, I know I shall never be able
to explain what it was like, because the strange thing was that we
couldn’t really say we heard it, not through one’s ears, that is to
say. It was as if it was going on inside one’s head. Also it was as
much a shake as a noise; when it got worse it made everything in the
house--how would you call it, sir?”
“Vibrate?” suggested Mr. Ponders.
“Yes, sir, as for what sort of sound it was, it reminded one of what
Godson had said about Black Jack’s whistle, it seemed to scream in
one’s head. You know that high noise bats make, piercing, but so high
one can only just hear it. Well, sir, it was like that a thousand times
louder, and it never stopped from dusk till dawn for a second. It
seemed to cut us at the Hall from the rest of the world, close us in,
as it were. I can’t tell you, sir, how horrible it was at its worst,
but at first it was quite soft, though all the servants noticed it, and
kept going to the windows to look out, and wondering what it was.
“At dinner that night Sir Roger was very queer. He had just started on
the soup when I saw his eyes go to the dark corner I mentioned before,
sir. He never touched another mouthful of anything, but all the time
his eyes travelled round the room as if he was following something
about. Once or twice when he seemed to follow it right up to his side,
he half started from his chair, but he always had great self-control
of a sort, that is to say, he hated to make any kind of exhibition of
himself before other people, sir, and he held himself in, though I
could see his knuckles go white as he hung on to the chair. He got up
half-way through dinner and went back to the morning-room. When I took
in his coffee he was peeping through the blind on to the lawn.
“When I came in he turned round rather slowly and said, ‘You know that
dog I spoke to you about. It’s here again. Take the rook-rifle and see
if you can find it. I thought I heard it barking just now in Grey
Fallow.’ (Grey Fallow, sir, is a big copse in the Park, up the hill a
bit, about three hundred yards from the wild-rose hedge which cuts the
Park off from the lawn.)
“‘There,’ he said, ‘can’t you hear it?’
“‘I’ll see if I can find it, sir,’ I said, and got the rifle out, for I
thought it would upset the master if I said I couldn’t hear anything.
By the time I’d reached the rose-hedge I felt I wanted to turn back,
but I went through the gate up towards Grey Fallow. There was just
a little moon coming through the clouds. Suddenly I felt I couldn’t
go any further. It was cowardice, I expect, sir, but there were two
shadows which seemed to be coming from something standing, and another
one crouching just inside the wood, which were more than I could face
up to, sir. And then I found myself walking through the open window
into the morning-room.
“‘Well?’ asked the master.
“‘I couldn’t see anything, sir.’
“‘Damn you,’ he said, ‘I can hear it now; give me the rifle and pour me
out a whisky and soda!’
“Some time later I was working in the pantry when I heard a shot. I
looked out, but at first I couldn’t see anything. Then the moon came
through, and I picked out the master crouching down beside the big
cedar. ‘What’s he up to?’ I wondered, and it was then for the first
time I felt a sinking, creepy feeling, sir, as if I’d give anything to
be up in London with people and lights. But I was fond of the master,
sir, and I felt it was up to me to look after him, and I made up my
mind to stick it out.
“When I went back to the morning-room to ask about orders for the next
day he was on his knees peering through the blind. I went out and
knocked loudly, and he was sitting in his chair when I came in again,
but his left hand was twitching quickly. I was going to take the rifle
out to be cleaned, but he told me to leave it there till the morning.
“It was from then, sir, that the bad time really began. It was
all right till dusk came, and the master was quite boisterous and
good-humoured during the day, but as soon as the sun was down, and that
sound began, and the master started to be funny, and all the maids got
agitated and hysterical, it was as much as I could stand.
“When I say the master started to be funny, I mean that he got silent
and watchful and absorbed in something. From then on he ate nothing
at dinner, though he usually went in and sat down for a time. On the
third night, after he had been staring at the dark corner and round
the room for a time, he suddenly jumped to his feet and seemed to fling
something from him. His face was working, sir, and he pointed his hand
to the door. ‘Turn that dog out! Turn that dog out!’ he shouted.
“I was badly taken aback, but I pretended to drive something out of
the door. This finished the footman, who ran away the next morning. I
wasn’t sorry, as I thought I’d better have the master to myself. It
was from then on I had to pretend all the time when I was with him at
night, for there was no doubt by now, sir, that he was seeing some dog
most of the time, and he was scared of it. I had to sit with him in the
evening with a whip in my hand and let fly in the direction he pointed
to. Then he made me come and sleep in the room next to his. The sound
got steadily worse and became something shocking, sir, and the maids
went one by one. It seemed to drive them crazy, and they’d sit with
their hands to their ears crying. I replaced them at first and offered
every kind of high wages, but it was no good, they wouldn’t stay, and
very soon Mrs. Miles and I were left alone. She was a brave woman, sir,
she said she’d stick till she died, if necessary.”
“Did Sir Roger hear this sound?” asked Mr. Ponders.
“Not as we did, sir, but he was always hearing barking and snarling and
something scratching at the door. He hated _that_ worst of all. Time
after time he’d tell me through the tube from his room to mine that
there was a dog at his door. I always got up, but, of course, there was
nothing there.
“I expect you wonder, sir, why I didn’t take it for granted it was
D.T.s--delirium tremens I should have said, sir, and fetched a doctor,
and I often thought of it, but the master was not drinking so heavily
now as before the trouble began. Then again the doctor would have
probably come during the day, and found the master almost himself.
Besides, I don’t believe he would have seen a doctor, he always hated
and despised them.”
“You didn’t think it _was_ drink, then?” he asked.
“I didn’t know what to think. You see, sir, there was that Sound.”
“I wonder you could stick it.”
“Well, sir, I did long to go, but if Mrs. Miles could put up with it
I could, and I felt I had to stand by the master in the bad time. I
was quite attached to him, sir, and I shouldn’t have felt right about
leaving him in the lurch. I tried to get him to go up to London and
stay at the club, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
“There began to be a lot of talk in the neighbourhood, for the maids
said things before they left, and all the villagers and local people
round were certain it had something to do with Black Jack. He had never
been seen since that night his dog was killed, but he was believed to
be somewhere about. It was a funny thing the local people had a curious
knowledge when he was about, and they were always right.
“The master got worse and worse. He couldn’t seem to stay in the house
after dark unless I was with him. He’d be out all night in the grounds,
and I’d sometimes catch a sight of him crouching and hiding, and
sometimes he’d come running back as if something was after him. He took
to sleeping heavily during the day, but he had bad dreams then, and he
said some funny things in his sleep.
“I felt he must be getting near the end of his tether.
“When the Judge came down I never for a moment believed he would
attempt to entertain him, but, to my dismay, sir, he insisted, and
asked thirty people to meet him. Of course, I had to get a lot of help
down from London. The only good thing about it was, I felt, that some
of the gentlemen might see what a state he was in and help me to do
something for it.
“It was a terrible evening. The Sound was wicked that night. The hired
chaps got the wind up, sir, as soon as it began, and kept asking what
the hell it was, and several of them tried to slip away. It made all
the guests nervous and uneasy.
“The master made an effort for a time; it was a very brave effort, sir,
but after a time his eyes went to the corner by the door, and suddenly
he gave a sharp movement and then his eyes flitted about as if he was
following something. Twice he half rose from his chair as if something
was getting at him. Of course, the guests noticed it and, although
they made a pretence of talking, I could see them watching the master.
The hired men lost their heads and were dropping plates and waiting
shockingly. The Noise got so bad that everything was quivering and
shaking, and I could see the guests were beginning to get horrified and
very uneasy. I felt something was going to happen. Suddenly the master
jumped to his feet and began flinging all his glasses and anything he
could pick up from the table into the dark corner, shouting, ‘Go! go!
go! Drive it out, I tell you! Drive it out!’ and then he fell in a heap
on the floor. Some of the gentlemen helped me to carry him up to his
room, and then they left, and glad to go they were. One of them, Sir
Marcus O’Reilly, took me aside, and asked if this sort of thing had
been going on long. I said for just three weeks. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘it’s
delirium tremens, and a bad case. I’ll do something about it in the
morning. He can’t go on like this.’
“Would you believe it, sir, the master pulled round about midnight and
spent the rest of the night out in the Park!”