IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT
Madge was asleep almost as soon as she was between the sheets,
and it seemed to her that as soon as she was asleep she was awake
again--waking with that sudden shock of consciousness which is not the
most agreeable way of being roused from slumber, since it causes us to
realise too acutely the fact that we have been sleeping. Something had
woke her; what, she could not tell. She lay motionless, listening with
that peculiar intensity with which one is apt to listen when woke
suddenly in the middle of the night. The room was dark. There was the
sound of distant rumbling: they were at work upon the line, where they
would sometimes continue shunting from dusk to dawn. She could hear,
faintly, the crashing of trucks as they collided the one with the
other. A breeze was murmuring across the common. It came from Clapham
Junction way--which was how she came to hear the noise of the
shunting. All else was still. She must have been mistaken. Nothing had
roused her. She must have woke of her own accord.
Stay!--what was that? Her keen set ears caught some scarcely uttered
sound. Was it the creaking of a board? Well, boards will creak at
night, when they have a trick of being as audible as if they were
exploding guns. It came again--and again. It was unmistakably a board
that creaked--downstairs. Why should a board creak like that
downstairs, unless--it was being stepped upon? As Madge strained
her hearing, she became convinced that there were footsteps down
below--stealthy, muffled footsteps, which would have been inaudible
had it not been for the tell-tale boards. Some one was creeping along
the passage. Suddenly there was a noise as if a coin, or a key, or
some small object, had fallen to the floor. Possibly it was something
of the kind which had roused her. It was followed by silence--as if
the person who had caused the noise was waiting to learn if it had
been overheard. Then once more the footsteps--she heard the door of
the sitting-room beneath her open, and shut, and knew that some one
had entered the room.
In an instant she was out of bed. She hurried on a pair of bedroom
slippers which she kept beside her on the floor, and an old
dressing-gown which was handy on a chair, moving as quickly and as
noiselessly as the darkness would permit. Snatching up her
candlestick, with its box of matches, she passed, without a moment's
hesitation, as noiselessly as possible from the room. On the landing
without she stood, for a second or two, listening. There could be no
doubt about it--some one was in the sitting-room. Someone who wished
to make himself or herself as little conspicuous as possible; but
whose presence was still sufficiently obvious to the keen-eared
auditor.
Madge went to Ella's room, and, turning the handle, entered. As she
did so, she could hear Ella start up in bed.
"Who's there?" she cried.
"Hush! It's I. There's some one in the sitting-room."
Lighting a match, Madge applied it to the candle. Ella was sitting up
in bed, staring at her, with tumbled hair and sleepy eyes, apparently
only half awake.
"Madge!--what do you mean?"
"What I say. We're about to experience another of the drawbacks of
rural residence. There's some one in the sitting-room--another
uninvited guest."
"Are you sure?"
"Quite. If you care to go downstairs and look, you'll be sure."
"Whatever shall we do?"
"Do!--I'll show you what we'll do. Where's that revolver of Jack
Martyn's, which he lent you?"
"It's in my handkerchief drawer--but it's loaded."
"All the better. I've fired off a revolver before to-day, and I am
quite willing, at a pinch, to fire off another one to-night. I'll show
you what we'll do." While she spoke, Madge had been searching the
drawer in question. Now she stood with the weapon in her hand.
"Perhaps you'll be so good as to get out of bed, and put something on,
unless you prefer to go downstairs as the Woman in White. I suppose
you're not afraid?"
Ella had got so far out of bed as to sit on the side, with her feet
dangling over the edge.
"Well--I don't know that I am exactly afraid, but if you ask me if
being woke in the middle of the night, to be told there's burglars in
the house, is the kind of thing I'm fond of, I'll admit it isn't."
Madge laughed. Ella's tone, and air of exceeding ruefulness,
apparently struck her as comical.
"It occurs to me, Miss Duncan, that it won't be long before Mr. Martyn
makes a convert of you. As for me, now my blood's getting up--and it
is getting up--I am beginning to think that it is rather fun."
"Are you? Then I'm afraid your sense of humour must be keener than
mine." She followed Madge's example--putting on a pair of slippers and
a dressing-gown. "Now, what are you going to do?"
"I'm going down to ask our guest to show me his card of invitation."
"Madge! Hadn't we better open the window and scream? Or you might fire
into the air--if you're sure you do know how to fire a revolver."
"I'll soon show you if I know--and I'll show our visitor too. And I
don't think we'd better open the window and scream. Are you coming?"
Madge moved out of the room, Ella going after her with a rush.
"Madge!--don't leave me!"
The two girls stood listening at the top of the stairs--Madge with the
candlestick in one hand, and the revolver in the other.
"It strikes me that we sha'n't be able to inquire for that card of
invitation, because he doesn't mean to stay for us to ask him. His
intention is not to stand upon the order of his going, but to go at
once."
Apparently the proceedings in Ella's bedroom had been audible below.
Evidently the person in the sitting-room had become startled. There
was a stampede of heavy feet across the floor; the noise of furniture
being hastily pushed aside; then they could hear the sound of the
window being unlatched, and opened. It was plain that the intruder,
whoever it was, was bent on showing a clean pair of heels.
It seemed as if the certitude of this fact had inspired Ella with
sudden courage. Anyhow, she there and then shouted, with the full
force of her lungs, as if she all at once had found her voice.
"Who's that downstairs?"
"Speak!" exclaimed Madge, with a nearly simultaneous yell, "or I
fire!"
And she did fire--though no one spoke; or, for the matter of that, had
a chance of speaking; for the words and the shot came both together.
What she fired at was not quite plain, since, if appearances could be
trusted, the bullet lodged in the ceiling; for, at the same moment, a
small shower of plaster came tumbling down.
"Madge!" cried Ella. "I believe you've sent the bullet right through
the roof! How you frightened me!"
"It was rather a startler," admitted Madge, in whose voice there
seemed a slight tendency to tremor. "I'd no idea it would make such a
noise--the other revolver I fired didn't. Ella!--what are you doing?"
The question was induced by the fact that Ella had rushed to the
landing window, thrown the sash up, thrust her head out, and was
shouting as loudly as she could:
"Thieves! thieves!--help!"
Madge came up and put her head out beside her.
"Can you see him? Has he gone?"
"Of course he's gone--there he is, running down the road."
"Are you sure it's a man?"
"A man! It's a villain!--Help! thieves! help!"
"Don't make that noise. What's the use? No one can hear you, and it
only gives him the impression that we're afraid of him, which we're
not; as, if he comes back again, we'll show him. There's more bullets
in this revolver than one--I remember Jack saying so; and I'm not
forced to send them all through the roof."
Ella drew her head inside. There was colour in her cheeks, and fire in
her eyes. Now that the immediate danger seemed past her humour was a
ferocious one.
"I wish you'd shot him."
Madge was calmer, though still sufficiently sanguinary.
"Well--I couldn't very well shoot him if I never caught a glimpse of
him, could I? But we'll do better next time."
Ella clenched her fists, and her teeth too.
"Next time!--Oh, I think a burglar's the most despicable wretch on the
face of the earth, and, if I had my way, I'd send every one caught in
the act right straight to the gallows."
"Precisely--when caught. But you can scarcely effect a capture by
standing on the top of the stairs, and inquiring of the burglar if
he's there."
"I know I behaved like a coward--you needn't remind me. But that was
because I was taken by surprise. If he were to come back----"
"Yes--if he were to come back?" Madge looked out of the
window--casually. "I fancy there's some one coming down the road--it
may be he returning."
Ella clutched at her arm.
"Madge!"
"You needn't be alarmed, my dear, I was mistaken; it's no one after
all. Suppose, instead of breathing threatenings and slaughters 'after
the battle is over,' we go down and see what mementoes of his presence
our visitor has left behind--or, rather, what mementoes he has taken
with him."
"Are you sure he was alone?"
"We shall be able to make sure by going down to see."
"Oh, Madge, do you think----"
"No, my dear, I don't, or I should be no more desirous of going down
than you. I'm only willing to go and see if there is some one there
because I'm sure there isn't."
There was not--luckily. There was little conspicuously heroic about
the bearing of the young ladies as they descended the stairs to
suggest that they would have made short work of any ruthless ruffian
who might have been in hiding. About halfway down, Madge gave what was
perhaps an involuntary little cough; at which Ella started as if the
other had been guilty of a crime; and both paused as if fearful that
something dreadful might ensue. The sitting-room door was closed. They
hung about the handle as if it had been the entrance to some
Bluebeard's den, and unimaginable horrors were concealed within.
When Madge, giving the knob a courageous twist, flung the door wide
open, Ella's face was pasty white. Both perceptibly retreated,
as if expecting some monster to spring out on them. But no one
sprang--apparently because there was no one there.
A current of cold air came from the room.
"The window's open."
Ella's voice was tremulous. Her tremor had the effect of making Madge
sarcastic.
"That's probably because our visitor opened it. You could hardly
expect him to stop to close it, could you?"
She went boldly into the room--Ella hard on her heels. She held the
candle above her head--to have it almost blown out by the draught. She
placed it on the table.
"If we want to have a light upon the subject, we shall have to shut
that window."
She did so. Then looked about her.
"Well, he doesn't seem to have left many tokens of his presence.
There's a chair knocked over, and he's pushed the cloth half off the
table, but I don't see anything else."
"He seems to have taken nothing."
"Probably that was because there was nothing worth his taking. If he
came here in search of plunder, he must have gone away a disgusted
man."
"If he came here in search of plunder?--what else could he have come
for?"
"Ah! that's the question."
"What's this?" Stooping, Ella picked up something off the floor.
"Here's something he's left behind, at any rate."
She was holding a scrap of paper.
"What is it--a _pièce de conviction_ of the first importance: the
button off the coat by means of which the infallible detective hunts
down the callous criminal?"
"I don't know what it is. It's a sort of hieroglyphic--if it
isn't--nonsense."
Madge went and looked over her shoulder. Ella was holding half a sheet
of dirty white notepaper, on which was written, with very bad ink and
a very bad pen, in a very bad hand:--
"TOM OSSINGTON'S GHOST."
"Right--Straight across--three--four--up.
"Right--cat--dog--cat--dog--cat--dog--cat--dog--left eye--push."
The two girls read to the end--then over again. Then they looked at
each other--Madge with smiling eyes.
"That's very instructive, isn't it?"
"Very. There seems to be a good deal of cat and dog about it."
"There does, I wonder what it means."
"If it means anything."
Madge, taking the paper from Ella's hand, went with it closer to the
candle. She eyed it very shrewdly, turning it over and over, and
making as if she were endeavouring to read between the lines.
"Do you know, Ella, that there is something curious about this."
"I suppose there is, since it's gibberish; and gibberish is curious."
"No, I'm not thinking of that. I'm thinking of the heading--'Tom
Ossington's Ghost.' Do you know that that enterprising stranger, who
came in search of music lessons he didn't want, asked me if my name
was Ossington, and if no one of that name lived here."
"Are you sure Ossington was the name he mentioned? It's an unusual
one."
"Certain; it was because it was an unusual one that I particularly
noticed it. Then that dreadful woman was full of her ghosts, even
claiming, as you heard, to be the ghost's wife. Doesn't it strike you,
under the circumstances, as odd that the paper the burglar has left
behind him, should be headed 'Tom Ossington's Ghost'?"
"It does seem queer--though I don't know what you are driving at."
"No; I don't know what I am driving at either. But I do know that I am
driving at something. I'm beginning to think that I shall see a
glimmer of light somewhere soon--though at present I haven't the
faintest notion where."
"Do you think it was either of your visitors who has paid us another
call to-night?"
"No; but I tell you what I do think."
"What?"
"I shouldn't be surprised if we've been favoured with a call from the
individual who wasn't one of my visitors; the man in the road, who
took to his heels in such a hurry at the sight of the woman."
"What cause have you to suppose that?"
"None whatever, I admit it frankly; but I do suppose it all the same.
In the first place the man was burning to be one of my visitors, of
that I'm persuaded--and he would have been if the woman hadn't come
along. And in the second, he looked a burglar every inch of him. Ella,
I'll tell you what!" She brought her hand on to the table with a crash
which made Ella start, "There's a mystery about this house--you mark
my words and see. It's haunted--in one sense, if it isn't in another."
Ella cast furtive glances over her shoulder, which were suggestive of
anything but a mind at ease.
"You've a comfortable way of talking, upon my word."
Madge threw her arms out in front of her.
"There is a mystery about the house; it's one of these old, ramshackle
sort of places in which there is that kind of thing--I'm sure of it.
Aren't you conscious of a sense of mystery about the place, and don't
you feel it's haunted?"
"Madge, if you don't stop talking like that, I'll leave the house this
instant."
"The notion is not altogether an agreeable one, I'll allow; but facts
are----"
"What's that?"
"What's what?"
Ella, clutching at Madge's arm, stared over her shoulder with a face
white as a sheet.
"Did--didn't I hear s-something in the kitchen?"
"Something in the kitchen? If you did hear something in the kitchen,
I'll shoot that something as dead as a door nail."
Madge caught up the revolver, which she had placed on the table.
"Madge, for goodness sake don't do anything rash!"
"I will do something rash--if you call it rash to shoot at sight any
scoundrel who ventures to intrude on my premises at this hour of the
night!--and I'll do it quickly! Do you think I'm going to be played
the fool with because I'm only a woman! I'll soon prove to you I'm
not--that is, if it is to be proved by a little revolver practice."
Madge spoke at the top of her voice, her words seeming to ring through
the house with singular clearness. But whether this was done for the
sake of encouraging herself and Ella, or with the view of frightening
a possible foe, was an open question. She strode out of the room with
an air of surprising resolution. Ella clinging to her skirts and
following her, simply because she dare not be left behind. As it
chanced, the kitchen door was open. Madge marched bravely into the
room--only to find that her display of courage was thrown away, since
the room was empty.
Having made sure of this, Madge turned to Ella with a smile on her
face--though her cheeks, like her friend's, were whiter than they were
wont to be.
"You see, we are experiencing some of the disadvantages of two lone,
lorn young women being the solitary inhabitants of a rural
residence--Jack Martyn scores."
For answer Ella burst into tears. Madge took her in her arms--as well
as she could, for the candle in one hand and the revolver in the
other.
"Don't cry, girl; there's nothing to cry at. You'll laugh at and be
ashamed of yourself in the morning. I'll tell you what--I'll make an
exception!--you shall have half my bed, and for the rest of the night
we'll sleep together."