THE YOGI CONQUERS
The events of the day that followed--Sunday--I shall pass over as
briefly as may be. It was for me a day of disappointment, culminating
in despair, and, looking back at it, I remember it as a grey day,
windy, and with gusts of rain.
Dr. Hinman stopped for us, and Godfrey and I accompanied him to the
service over the body of the murdered man. We were the only outsiders
there, besides the undertaker and his assistants, and they were not
admitted to the ceremony. This was witnessed only by Miss Vaughan,
Mahbub and us three. The servants were not there, and neither were
Miss Vaughan's nurses.
I have never seen a more impressive figure than Silva made that
morning. His robes were dead black, and in contrast to them and to his
hair and beard, his face looked white as marble. But, after the first
moments, the ceremony failed to interest me; for Silva spoke a
language which I supposed to be Hindustani, and there was a monotony
about it and about his gestures which ended in getting on my nerves.
It lasted half an hour, and the moment it was over, Miss Vaughan
slipped away. The yogi and Mahbub followed her, and then we three
stepped forward for a last look at the body.
It was robed all in white. The undertaker had managed to compose the
features, and the high stock concealed the ugly marks upon the neck.
So there was nothing to tell of the manner of his death, and there was
a certain majesty about him as he lay with hands crossed and eyes
closed.
We left the room in silence, and Hinman signed to the undertaker that
the service was ended.
"I am going with the body to the crematory," he said, and presently
drove away with the undertaker, ahead of the hearse. Godfrey and I
stood gazing after it until it passed from sight, then, in silence, we
walked down the drive to the entrance. The gardener was standing
there, and regarded us with eyes which seemed to me distinctly
unfriendly. He made no sign of recognition, and, the moment we were
outside, he closed the gates and locked them carefully, as though
obeying precise instructions.
"So," said Godfrey, in a low tone, as we went on together, "the lock
has been repaired. I wonder who ordered that done?"
"Miss Vaughan, no doubt," I answered. "She wouldn't want those gates
gaping open."
"Perhaps not," Godfrey assented; "but would she want the barrier
intact? Remember, Lester, it's as much a barrier from one side as from
the other."
"Well, she won't be inside it much longer," I assured him. "I'm going
to get her out this afternoon."
The words were uttered with a confidence I was far from feeling, and I
rather expected Godfrey to challenge it, but he walked on without
replying, his head bent in thought, and did not again speak of Miss
Vaughan or her affairs.
He drove into the city shortly after lunch, and it was about the
middle of the afternoon when I presented myself again at the gates of
Elmhurst and rang the bell. I waited five minutes and rang again.
Finally the gardener came shuffling down the drive and asked me what I
wanted. I told him I had an appointment with his mistress; but,
instead of admitting me, he took my card and shuffled away with it.
I confess that I grew angry, as I stood there kicking my heels at the
roadside, for he was gone a long time, and all these precautions and
delays were incomprehensible to me. But he came back at last, unlocked
the gate without a word, and motioned me to enter. Then he locked it
again, and led the way up the drive to the house. The housemaid met
us at the door of the library, as though she had been stationed there.
"If you will wait here, sir," she said, "Miss Vaughan will see you."
"I hope she is well," I ventured, thinking the girl might furnish me
with some clue to all this mystery, but she was already at the door.
"Quite well, sir," she said, and the next instant had disappeared.
Another ten minutes elapsed, and then, just as I was thinking
seriously of putting on my hat and leaving the house, I heard a step
coming down the stair. A moment later Miss Vaughan stood on the
threshold.
I had taken it for granted that, relieved of her father's presence,
she would return to the clothing of every day; but she still wore the
flowing white semi-Grecian garb in which I had first seen her. I could
not but admit that it added grace and beauty to her figure, as well as
a certain impressiveness impossible to petticoats; and yet I felt a
sense of disappointment. For her retention of the costume could only
mean that her father's influence was still dominant.
"You wished to see me?" she asked; and again I was surprised, for I
had supposed she would apologise for the delay to which I had been
subjected. Instead, she spoke almost as to a stranger.
"I had an appointment for this afternoon," I reminded her, striving
to keep my vexation from my voice.
"Oh, yes," and she came a few steps into the room, but her face lost
none of its coldness. "I had forgotten. It is not to speak of
business?"
"No," I said; "it is to speak of your going to friends of Mr. Swain
and me--for a time, at least."
"You will thank your friends for me," she answered, calmly; "but I
have decided to remain here."
"But--but," I stammered, taken aback at the finality of her tone, "do
you think it wise?"
"Yes--far wiser than going to people I do not know and who do not
know me."
"And safe," I persisted; "do you think it safe?"
"Safe?" she echoed, looking at me in astonishment. "Certainly. What
have I to fear?"
I had to confess that I myself did not know very clearly what she had
to fear, so I temporised.
"Are you keeping the nurses?"
"No; I do not need them. They left an hour ago."
"But the servants," I said, in a panic, "they are here? They are going
to stay?"
Again she looked at me.
"Your questions seem most extraordinary to me, Mr. Lester. Of course
the servants will stay."
"And--and the Hindus?" I blurted out.
"Yes, and the Hindus, as you call them. This is their home. It was my
father's wish."
I gave it up; her manner indicated that all this was no concern of
mine, and that my interference was a mere impertinence. But I tried
one parting shot.
"Mr. Swain is very anxious you should not stay here," I said. "He will
be deeply grieved when he learns your decision."
To this she made no answer, and, finding nothing more to say, sore at
heart, and not a little angry and resentful, I started to leave the
room.
"There is one thing more," I said, turning back at the threshold. "I
shall have to go in to the city to-morrow, but I shall come out again
in the evening. Would it be convenient to have our business conference
after dinner?"
"Yes," she agreed; "that will do very well."
"At eight o'clock, then?"
"I shall expect you at that time," she assented; and with that I took
my leave.
It was in a most depressed state of mind that I made my way back to
Godfrey's; and I sat down on the porch and smoked a pipe of bitter
meditation. For I felt that, somehow, Miss Vaughan was slipping away
from me. There had been a barrier between us to-day which had not been
there before, a barrier of coldness and reserve which I could not
penetrate. Some hostile influence had been at work; in death, even
more than in life, perhaps, her father's will weighed upon her. I
could imagine how a feeling of remorse might grow and deepen, and urge
her toward foolish and useless sacrifice.
And just then Mrs. Hargis came out and told me that someone wanted me
on the 'phone. It was Swain.
"They let me come out here to the office to 'phone to you," he said,
as he heard my exclamation of surprise. "Simmonds happened in and told
them it would be all right. He's here now."
"And they're treating you all right?"
"They're treating me like the star boarder," he laughed. And then his
voice grew suddenly serious. "Have you seen Miss Vaughan?"
"Yes," I answered; for I knew of course that the question was coming.
"Well?"
"Miss Vaughan refuses to go to the Royces', Swain."
There was a moment's silence.
"Then where will she go?"
"She won't go anywhere."
"You don't mean," he cried, panic in his voice, "that she's going to
stay out there?"
"Yes; she laughed when I mentioned danger. There's one
consolation--the servants will stay."
"Did you tell her how anxious I was for her?"
"Yes; I did my best, Swain."
"And it made no difference?"
"No; it made no difference. The fact is, Swain, I fancy she's a little
remorseful about her father--his death has unnerved her--and there was
the funeral to-day--and, as a sort of atonement, she's trying to do
what she imagines he would wish her to do."
"He wished her to become a priestess," said Swain, his voice ghastly.
"Oh, well, she won't go that far," I assured him cheerfully; "and no
doubt in a few days, when the first impression of the tragedy has worn
off, she will be ready to go to the Royces'. I'll keep suggesting it,
and I'm going to have Mrs. Royce call on her."
"Thank you, Mr. Lester," he said, but his voice was still shaking.
"I--this sort of knocks me out--I hadn't foreseen it. I'll have to
think it over. But there's one thing you _can_ do."
"What is it?"
"Watch the house!" he cried. "Watch the house! And be ready if she
screams again."
"All right," I said, soothingly, "I'll do that. But tell me, Swain,
what is it you fear?"
"I fear Silva!" said Swain, in a voice husky with emotion. "It isn't
remorse for her father--it's Silva who's working on her. I feel it,
some way--I'm sure of it. God knows what he'll try--any villainy. You
must watch the house, Mr. Lester--day and night you must watch the
house!"
"All right," I said, again, strangely impressed by his words. "You may
count on me."
"Thank you," he said. "Remember, we've only you. Good-bye."
Swain's words gave me plenty to think over, and left me so troubled
and uneasy that I made a trip to the top of the ladder to take a look
over Elmhurst. But everything appeared as usual. Perhaps Swain was
right--perhaps it _was_ Silva who was using every minute to increase
his influence; but what could I do? So long as he committed no overt
act, there was no excuse for interference, and Miss Vaughan would
undoubtedly resent it. As Swain had said, there was nothing that I
could do but watch.
Two hours later, just as I was getting up from a dinner to which, in
my perturbed condition, I had done small justice, I heard a ring at
the bell, and presently Mrs. Hargis entered to tell me that there was
a gentleman asking for me. I went out to meet him, and was astonished
to find that it was Simmonds.
"I don't wonder you're surprised," he said, as we sat down. "Fact is,
I'm surprised myself, for I don't know exactly what I'm to do out
here. But Swain, after he got back to his cell, was like a crazy man;
he was sure something dreadful was going to happen to Miss Vaughan if
she stayed in the house with those Hindus. In the end, he got me kind
of scared, too, and made me promise to come out and help you keep
watch. I went down to the _Record_ office and had a talk with Godfrey
before I started. I half expected him to laugh at me; but he seemed to
think I'd better come. The fact is," concluded Simmonds, shifting his
cigar to the other side of his mouth, "he was so serious about it,
that I brought two men along. One of them's patrolling the road in
front of the house, and the other the road along the side. I've
arranged for two others to relieve them at midnight. Now, what's it
all about, anyway?"
"Well," I said, "in the first place, neither Godfrey nor I believes
that Swain strangled that man."
"I can't hardly believe it myself," agreed Simmonds, "for he seems a
nice young feller; but it's a clear case: there's the motive, he was
on the ground, and there's the finger-prints. How can you explain them
away?"
"I can't explain them away. But, just the same, Godfrey believes the
murder was committed by one of those Hindus."
"He intimated something of the sort to me," said Simmonds; "but
there's no evidence against them."
"No," I conceded; "that's what we've got to find."
"Where are we going to look for it?"
"There's only one place to look for it, and that's in the house where
the murder was committed. I only wish we could get Miss Vaughan out of
it--that would give us a freer hand."
"What's the matter with the fool girl, anyway?" demanded Simmonds. "I
should think she'd jump at a chance to get away."
"So should I--but she isn't reasonable, just now. I can't make her
out. Perhaps she'll come round in a day or two, but meanwhile, if she
should happen to need help, I don't see how your men out on the road,
on the other side of a twelve-foot wall, could do any good."
Simmonds rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"What would you suggest?" he asked, at last.
"Why not put them in the grounds, as soon as it is dark, and let them
conceal themselves near the house? They can get over the wall on this
side. We've got ladders. Besides," I added, "it would be a great
mistake to give Silva any reason to suspect he's being watched. He'd
see the men out on the road, sooner or later; but they could keep out
of sight among the shrubbery."
Simmonds considered this for a moment.
"I don't know but what you're right," he agreed, at last. "We'll
arrange it that way, then," and he went away presently to call in his
men. He soon came back with them, and gave them careful and detailed
instructions as to what he wanted them to do, dwelling especially upon
the importance of their keeping carefully concealed. Then we got the
ladders and put them in place.
"Be careful not to touch the top of the wall," I cautioned them;
"there's broken glass on top, and the merest touch may mean a bad
injury."
"When you get down on the other side," Simmonds added, "take down the
ladder and hide it in the shrubbery at the foot of the wall. Somebody
might see it if you left it standing there. But for heaven's sake,
don't get mixed up so you can't find it again. Be back here at
eleven-thirty, and your relief will be ready. You've got your
whistles? Well, blow them good and hard if there's any trouble. And
be mighty careful not to let anyone see you, or you may get snake-bit!"
The men mounted the ladder, crossed the wall and disappeared on the
other side, and Simmonds and I turned back to the house. I felt as
though a great load had been lifted from my shoulders. With those two
men so close at hand, surely nothing very serious could happen to Miss
Vaughan!
Simmonds and I spent the remainder of the evening in discussing the
case, but neither of us was able to shed any new light upon it.
Shortly after eleven, the two men who were to form the relief arrived,
and just as we started for the wall, Godfrey drove in from the
highway. It needed but a moment to tell him of our arrangements, which
he heartily approved. He joined us, and we were soon at the foot of
the ladder. While we waited, Simmonds gave the new men the same minute
instructions he had given the others; and presently we heard a slight
scraping against the wall, and the men who had been on duty recrossed it.
They had nothing of especial interest to report. The yogi and Miss
Vaughan had taken a stroll through the grounds early in the evening;
and my heart sank as the detective added that they seemed to be
talking earnestly together. Then they had re-entered the house, and
Miss Vaughan had remained in the library looking at a book, while her
companion passed on out of sight. At the end of an hour, she had
closed the book, shut and locked the outer door, and turned out the
light. Another light had appeared shortly afterwards in a room
upstairs. It, too, had been extinguished half an hour later, and the
detectives presumed that she had gone to bed. After that, the house
had remained in complete darkness. The servants had spent the evening
sitting on a porch at the rear of the house, talking together, but had
gone in early, presumably to bed.
When the men had finished their report, Simmonds dismissed them, and
the two who were to take up the watch crossed the wall and passed from
sight.
"And now, Simmonds," said Godfrey, "come along and I'll show you what
started me to watching that house, and caused me to get Lester out here."
Simmonds followed him up the ladder without a word, and I came along
behind. We were soon on the limb.
"Of course," Godfrey added, when we were in place, "it is just
possible that nothing will happen. But I think the show will come off
as usual. Look straight out over the trees, Simmonds--ah!"
High in the heavens that strange star sprang suddenly into being,
glowed, brightened, burned steel-blue; then slowly and slowly it
floated down, straight down; hovered, burst into a thousand sparks....
And, scarcely able to believe my eyes, I saw standing there against
the night two white-robed figures, with arms extended and faces
raised; and then they vanished again into the darkness.
For an instant we sat there silent, still staring. Then Godfrey drew a
deep breath.
"I feared so!" he said. "Miss Vaughan has become a convert!"
And he led the way down the ladder.