In the silent evening hour, as the dusk darkened and twilight slowly
faded into night, I was conscious of a kind of fascination against which
my moral sense rebelled, but from which there was no escape. We talked
on, I striving ever to learn the truth, she careful to conceal it from
me. I saw how unexpected but natural were her transitions of temper and
feeling, noted the contest of various passions, the wild hurricane of
resentment melting into tears, faintness and languishment, and
endeavoured time after time, but always in vain, to obtain a further
confession from her lips.
That she existed in deadly fear of some dread secret being revealed was
vividly apparent, just as it was also clear that my ill-timed
observation regarding her mysterious presence in that house of mystery
at Kensington had placed her upon her guard, and proved to her a fact of
which before she had no confirmation. Her airy caprice and provoking
petulance, which had so attracted me when we had been first introduced,
had been now succeeded by a mixture of tenderness with artifice, and
fear with submissive blandishment. She quailed before me when I rebuked
her tenderly for her lack of confidence in me, partly because of her
female subtlety, partly owing to natural feeling.
Nevertheless, when I reviewed the situation, and calmly and deliberately
reflected upon her attitude, I saw plainly that she regarded me as
something more than a mere acquaintance, even though her character was
so complicated that no one sentiment could exist pure and unvarying in
such a mind.
Therefore, sadly, with a heavy feeling of non-achievement, I took a long
and lingering leave of her, and was driven back to Shepperton Station by
Simpson, my mind overflowing with puzzling thoughts. Great as was my
hesitation to believe that her conscience was a guilty one, nevertheless
her own words were now sufficient proof that my suspicions were not
unfounded. Yet I loved her. I still adored her with all my soul, even
though I had kissed the slim white hand that had sought to send me to
the grave.
These and a thousand similar thoughts whirled through my bewildered
brain as I sat back alone in the ill-lit railway carriage. Puzzled and
baffled, I sat plunged in deepest melancholy and despair, when, on the
train drawing up at the quiet, lethargic station of Hampton, the door of
the compartment was suddenly flung open, and a well-known cheery voice
cried--
"Hullo, Urwin! Get out here. I want to speak to you."
I roused myself instantly, recognising Boyd standing on the platform in
the semi-darkness. With an expression of surprise at such a meeting I
jumped out and joined him, he explaining that he had come down from
Waterloo with the object of finding me, and had waited at Shepperton
Station for my arrival there. He, however, had not spoken to me, lest
the man Simpson should chance to mention the fact at Riverdene.
"But why are you down here?" I inquired surprised.
"Well," he answered in a low voice, "we've got a piece of most secret
investigation before us to-night. I've waited for your assistance. We
are going to search The Hollies."
"Search the Hollies?" I echoed.
"Yes," he answered. "You'll remember Miss Glaslyn's letter to you,
stating that the house was closed and the servants are away on holiday.
Therefore, now's our time. We must, however, act so that Lady Glaslyn
and her daughter have no suspicion that the place has been overhauled.
I obtained a search-warrant from Sir John Gibbons, the chief of the
local bench, this morning, and now we'll just satisfy our curiosity."
"But the place is locked up, isn't it?" I suggested, amazed at this
sudden resolve.
"Of course. We must get in how we can, only being careful not to
attract the attention of any neighbours, and to leave no trace behind
that intruders have entered."
"Then we are to go to work like burglars?" I observed, smiling.
"Exactly," he answered.
We had now left the station, and were walking along an ill-lit path
which skirted the railway until we gained the high road leading into Old
Hampton. He explained the precautions he had taken, namely, to tell the
constable on the beat of our intentions, and imposing upon him secrecy,
and also to arrange for the local plain-clothes officer to be on duty in
the vicinity. His proposal seemed to possess all the elements of
adventure, therefore, notwithstanding my hesitation to commit any act
which might further implicate the woman I loved, I expressed myself
eager and ready to accompany him.
Nine o'clock chimed from the square old tower of Hampton Church, that
landmark so well-known to those who frequent the river, and Boyd
declared that it was too early to commence operations. People were
about, and we might be observed. Therefore we entered that
old-fashioned inn where the ancient sign is still suspended from a beam
across the road, a hostelry much patronised by boating-parties, who
there replenish their hampers, and entering the billiard-room we whiled
away the time, playing and gossiping with a couple of tradesmen, who,
judging from their pronouncements, were local notabilities, perhaps
District Councillors.
We remained until the landlord called "Time, gentlemen, please!" then
lighting our cigars went forth, strolling through the quaint old-world
village, and skirting the long, high wall of Bushey Park towards Lady
Glaslyn's. The night was dark and overcast, a gusty wind had sprung up
precursory of rain, and in our ears sounded the hum of the telegraph
wires. The weather favoured us. For such an excursion Boyd did not
care for a perfectly still night.
At length, when we had been walking perhaps a quarter of an hour along
the dark, deserted road, a man, bearded and rather shabby-looking,
suddenly emerged from the shadow of the wall and greeted Boyd with the
policeman's password--
"All right, sir."
"Are the things there?" Boyd inquired.
"Yes, sir. I've put the lamp, the jemmy and the keys under a laurel
bush on the left of the back door."
"Well," said my friend, "I think you'd better come with us. We may have
some difficulty in getting in."
"Very well, sir," the man answered, and continued to walk by our side.
He was smoking a pipe, and as we neared the house he knocked out the
ashes and placed it in his pocket.
"No dogs there, I hope?" Boyd said, addressing him.
"No, sir. None."
I confess to feeling a thrill of excitement, for the business of
"breaking and entering a dwelling-house" was entirely new to me. The
Hampton Road is ill-lit, and after ten at night utterly deserted,
therefore in our walk we met no one except the solitary policeman, who
stood beneath a lamp and greeted Boyd with a low "All right, sir," as we
passed on towards The Hollies.
All was in darkness. Not a soul was about save ourselves and the
policeman standing watchful and motionless beneath the street-lamp fifty
yards away. The well-kept garden with its laurels, its monkey-trees and
its old yews was shut off from the road by a high wall, in which was a
pair of heavy iron gates giving entrance to the gravelled drive. These
gates were locked and secured by a chain and formidable padlock, a fact
which showed that to enter we must climb them. The houses on either
side were of rather meaner order than The Hollies, and in one of them a
light still showed in an upper window.
In order not to attract the occupiers of these houses we conversed in
low whispers, and in obedience to the local detective's suggestion
climbed the gates one after another and carefully descended within the
garden. On either side of the house extended walls some ten feet in
height, with doors in them giving access to the rear of the premises,
and again, guided by the plain-clothes man, we scaled this wall, a
somewhat perilous process, it being spiked on the top. As it was,
indeed, I made a serious rent in an almost new pair of trousers, much to
Boyd's amusement.
At last, when we were in the rear garden, our guide began foraging
beneath a laurel bush and brought forth a dark lantern, a short,
serviceable-looking jemmy, and a big bunch of skeleton keys.
"I examined the place this afternoon," he explained. "This door is the
only one locked from the outside, therefore if we can pick the lock we
shall be able to enter and get away without leaving a trace."
"Very well," Boyd said impatiently. "Let's get to work," and taking the
keys he went to the garden entrance and commenced work upon the lock,
while his assistant lit and held the lantern.
Every effort, however, to open the lock proved a failure.
"It's a Chubb, a Bramah, or one of those lever locks," said Boyd, in a
low tone, giving it up after he had tried all the keys in vain. "It
won't do to force the door, for that'll betray us."
"Why not try a window?" I suggested.
"No, sir," said the plain-clothes man. "They're all barred, I'm
afraid."
"But those on the first floor," I suggested, looking up at one,
evidently a landing window, over the door.
"We might try if we could only reach it," Boyd said, laying down the
keys upon the doorstep. "If we forced the catch we could screw it down
again before we left."
In order to discover something by which we might gain access to the
window we all three crept carefully across the lawn and down the long
old-fashioned garden to an outhouse, where, after some search, we found
an old and rotten ladder, half the rungs of which seemed missing. This
we carried back, and a few moments later Boyd, mounting, with a strong
clasp-knife which he had taken from his pocket, began slowly working
back the catch, until at last he was able to throw up the window and
crawl in. Without a sound I followed, the local detective clambering in
after me.
We found ourselves on the first floor landing, therefore, descending the
stairs to the main hall, we lit the candles provided by the
plain-clothes man, and after taking the precaution to let down the
blinds of the front windows, commenced an active search of the
drawing-room, that spacious old-fashioned apartment into which I had
been shown when I had called. Our search, directed by Boyd, was careful
and methodical; neither nook nor corner escaped him, although we
replaced everything just as we found it. So large were the rooms that
we found the lights we carried were not sufficient to give us proper
illumination, therefore we sought the gas-meter, and after turning on
the gas, lit jets in the various rooms. Fortunately all the windows
were furnished with Venetian blinds, therefore we let them down and
closed them, so that no light should be noticed outside.
An air of desolation hung about the place, and every sound we made
echoed weirdly, for at dead of night all noise becomes exaggerated. The
drawing-room yielded practically nothing, therefore we passed into a
well-furnished morning-room, and thence to the dining-room, which we
likewise thoroughly overhauled. None of these rooms bore any trace of
the struggle with poverty which the innkeeper's wife had alleged.
Indeed, in the drawing-room was a fine grand piano of one of the
best-known makers, together with several rare works of art. All the
rooms bore signs of being the abode of a rich and cultured family, the
old oak in the dining-room being, I noted, genuine, evidently antique,
Italian, while the upholstery and carpets were of the first quality. On
the walls of those ground-floor rooms were many examples of old as well
as modern masters, one portrait hanging in the dining-room representing
Eva herself, a half-length picture, undoubtedly from recent sittings,
signed by an artist extremely well-known in London. In this room also
were antique high-backed oak chairs, lined with old tapestry, the back
and arms bearing armorial bearings embroidered in coloured silks,
evidently the arms of the Glaslyns, for a similar device was upon the
plate.
On ascending to the first floor we found the house to be of far larger
proportions than we had imagined, for off a long, well-carpeted corridor
opened quite a number of bed and other rooms, each of which we proceeded
to inspect.
"We haven't found a single thing below," Boyd observed to me, as we
entered the first of these rooms, evidently one of the spare bedrooms,
for the place was very dirty and neglected in comparison with the other
apartments. "Let's hope we may come across something here."
Nothing was locked, and five minutes sufficed to show us that no attempt
had been made to conceal anything in any of the two chests of drawers,
or in the wardrobe. So thoroughly did Boyd search that in each room he
went around the wainscoting, tapping it with the jemmy and examining any
part which appeared to be loose or movable. The next room, apparently
Lady Glaslyn's room, with a small dressing-room adjoining, we searched
with redoubled energy, but beyond establishing the fact that her
ladyship was not in want of money by the finding of three five-pound
notes placed carelessly in an unlocked drawer, there was nothing to
arouse our curiosity.
Adjoining the dressing-room, with its window overlooking the road, was a
small but elegant apartment upholstered in pale-blue, quite a luxurious
little room with a piano; evidently a boudoir. The carpet was so thick
and rich that our feet fell noiselessly, while near the window was a
handsome Louis XV escritoire inlaid with various woods and heavy
mountings of chased ormolu. A pretty cosy-corner occupied the angle
beside the tiled hearth, while the little bamboo table with its small
shelves spoke mutely of cosy five-o'clock tea often served there.
"I wonder what's in this?" Boyd said, advancing to the escritoire while
his assistant lit the gas.
Finding it locked, my friend bent, examined the keyhole carefully, and
then commenced to ply the various skeleton keys. For some time he was
unsuccessful, but at length the lock yielded and he opened it. Then,
while the local officer took the dark lantern and went along the
corridor to explore what further rooms there were, and their character,
Boyd and I proceeded to carefully examine every paper, letter or
document the escritoire contained. Some letters were addressed to Lady
Glaslyn, others to Eva, but most of them were ordinary correspondence
between relatives and friends, while the folded documents were receipted
bills, together with a file of papers relating to some action at law
regarding property near Aberdeen.
Behind the receptacle in which we found these letters was a panel which
Boyd at once declared concealed some secret drawers, and being well
versed in all the contrivances of cabinet-making, he very soon
discovered the means by which the panel could be released. As he had
predicted, its removal disclosed three small drawers.
To the first I gave my attention, while he took out the contents of the
second. The letters, of which there were seven or eight, secured by an
elastic band, I took out and read, being puzzled greatly thereby. They
were all type-written and bore the post-mark "London, S.E." The first
had been received about three months before, the last as recently as a
fortnight ago. They were very friendly, commencing "Dear Eva," and
although the writer was apparently extremely intimate, there was,
however, not a word of love, a fact which gave me some satisfaction.
They all, without exception, contained a most mysterious reference to
"the Silence," in terms extremely guarded and curious, one urging the
utmost caution and declaring that a grave peril had unexpectedly arisen
which must, at all hazards, be removed. The writer did not appear to be
a very educated person, for in many places there were mistakes in
spelling, while all were devoid of both address or signature, bearing
only the single initial "Z."
I passed them over to Boyd, asking his opinion, and as he sat at the
writing flap reading them we were both suddenly startled by hearing a
plaintive cry near us. It was a poor lean cat, who had accidentally
been shut up there and was undoubtedly starving.
"These letters are very strange," Boyd observed, looking up at me. "I
wonder to what the silence refers?"
"I don't know," I said. "There's evidently some very good reason that
they've been concealed here."
As I was speaking I took from beneath some letters, still remaining in
the secret drawer Boyd had opened, a wooden pill-box, from which I
removed the lid, there being disclosed a small quantity of a peculiar
greyish-blue powder.
"Hulloa!" Boyd exclaimed, with a quick glance at it. "What's that, I
wonder? No label on the box. It looks suspicious!"
"Yes," I agreed. "I wonder what it is, that it should be so carefully
concealed?"
"Leave it aside for a moment," he said.
Then taking up a large envelope which, while I had been reading the
letters, he had been carefully examining, he drew from it two
photographs.
"Do you recognise the originals of these?" he inquired with a grave
smile.
"Great Heavens!" I gasped. "Why, they are the man and the woman whom
we found at Phillimore Place!"
"Exactly," he said, in a voice of satisfaction, just as his assistant
re-entered.
Then, before I could recover from my bewilderment, he took up the little
wooden box, exclaiming--
"This powder here is a very suspicious circumstance, but we'll test it
at once."