A Tragedy Unforeseen
For an instant I stood so, rigid with horror, scarcely breathing,
scarcely daring to believe my eyes. Then Godfrey snatched the torch from
my nerveless fingers, and bent down into the grave.
"Good God!" he murmured, after a moment's inspection of what lay there.
"I would never have guessed this! This is a thousand times worse than I
imagined! Here, Lester, hold the light. I'll uncover the face," and
thrusting the torch into my hands, he attacked the loose earth at the
other end of the grave.
I, too, moved somehow to the other end, and threw the light down into
the shallow hole. Godfrey worked with desperate energy, hurling the dirt
right and left. I watched the flying hands in such an agony of horror as
I hope never again to experience; stared down into the deepening hole,
with the cold sweat starting out across my forehead at the thought of
what any instant might reveal.
Again Godfrey dropped to his knees, and I was conscious of a face
growing beneath his hands, almost as if he were calling it out of the
darkness. Clearer and clearer it grew, as he brushed away the clinging
clay; then he stood erect with a little sigh of mingled horror and
satisfaction.
Staring up at us was a face--not a woman's face--not Marcia Lawrence's
face--but a man's face, florid, heavy-jowled, with a black moustache;
dead, yet not calm in death, but contorted by a hideous grimace, as
though chuckling with satisfaction.
"Miss Lawrence may, indeed, have sailed on the _Umbria_," murmured
Godfrey, after a moment's silent contemplation of the ghastly
countenance. "She had every reason to flee--to the earth's end, if
possible. For she left her husband here!"
I could find no word of answer; my throat was dry, contracted; I felt
that I was suffocating. So this was the secret! No wonder we had not
guessed it!
"One can easily build up the story," went on Godfrey, in a voice
carefully lowered. "She came here called by the note, desperate, ready
for anything--ready even to kill the devil who'd written it. For he was
a devil, Lester--look at his face!"
It was in truth, repellent enough--doubly repellent now with that
triumphant leer upon it--cold and hard, with cruel lines about the
mouth; a bloated face, too, marked by dissipation and bestiality. I
shuddered at the thought that Marcia Lawrence may have once been in his
power--that he had tried to drag her down from her sweet girlish
innocence----
"He deserved it!" I said hoarsely. "He deserved it--and more!"
"Yes," agreed Godfrey, "no doubt he did. If she was ever in his hands,
she must have suffered the torments of hell."
He fell silent a moment, staring down at the face.
"But I don't understand," I burst out, forgetting for a moment to lower
my voice; "I can't understand----"
Godfrey laid his hand sternly upon my lips.
"Neither do I," he said; "but don't shout like that."
The words recalled me suddenly to a sense of our danger.
"We'd better get out of this," I whispered.
"Yes--and as soon as we can. We'll have to call in the police. Besides,"
he added grimly, "I've got to get off the story and it's getting late."
"The story?" I echoed, suddenly sick at heart.
"So far as I know it, Lester. There can be no doubt about this body, I
suppose?"
A curious sound behind me, as of a dog panting for breath, sent a sudden
chill through me. I raised the torch and sent a beam of light sweeping
about the cellar. It rested for an instant on a face peering at us
around a corner of the wall--a face so distorted, so demoniac, that it
seemed scarcely human. Then there was a flash of flame, a report, and
the torch crashed from my hand, while a gust of acrid smoke whirled into
my face.
I felt Godfrey clutch me and pull me down beside him into the
half-filled grave; I even fancied that I touched the staring face which
lay there. In an agony of horror I struggled to free myself, to stand
erect, ready to brave any danger rather than that, but he held me fast.
"Steady, Lester, steady," he whispered. "If she fires again, I'll drop
her," and I knew that he held his revolver in his hand.
"Don't do that!" I gasped. "Don't do that! You've no right to do that!"
"I have the right to defend myself," retorted Godfrey grimly, and
waited, his muscles tense.
But she did not fire again. Instead, there was a long, unbroken silence,
during which, it seemed to me, I could feel my hair whitening on my
head. I also became conscious of a stinging numbness in my right hand.
Minute after minute passed, and still no sound came from the outer
cellar. I felt that if the silence endured a moment longer, I should
shriek aloud.
"Lie still," whispered Godfrey, at last, "and I'll try to find the
torch. Did she hit you?"
"My hand feels numb."
"Let me see," and I felt his fingers touching it softly here and there.
"It's just a scratch, I think. But wait till I find the torch."
I heard him groping about for it; then for a time all was still again.
Suddenly, from an angle of the wall, a shaft of light shot about the
cellar. It was empty.
"All right, Lester," said Godfrey's voice. "Let's have a look at the
hand."
I got up unsteadily and went to him. A moment's examination showed that
my wound was indeed only a scratch. The bullet had grazed the back of
the hand and struck the wrist-bone a glancing blow.
"We'll have it dressed as soon as we can," said Godfrey. "And now the
next thing is to get out of this place alive. Our enemy is probably
lying in wait for us with a loaded gun at the top of the stairs. By the
way, I caught only the merest glimpse of the face. Did you recognise
it?"
"Yes," I said; "it was the elder Miss Kingdon."
Godfrey gave a little whistle.
"It looked positively devilish," he said. "It gave me the worst scare
I've had for a long time. Did you notice the eyes, how they glared at
us?"
"Yes," I said, and shivered a little.
"I confess I don't like the thought of going up those stairs," he went
on, "but there's no other way out. This window's too small. So we'll
have to chance it. Give me your hand."
I stretched out my uninjured hand. In an instant we were in darkness,
and I knew that he had exchanged the torch for his revolver.
"Come on," he whispered, and we started forward.
At the foot of the stair we paused for a moment, listening; but no sound
came from above. We mounted a step, two steps, three----
Suddenly I felt a convulsive pressure on my hand. From above came a
quick succession of sharp taps, as of some one rapping with his knuckles
upon the wall. It rose, fell, rose again----
Involuntarily we retreated to the foot of the stair and took refuge
against the farther wall. The light flashed out again, and I saw Godfrey
mopping his face with his handkerchief. As for myself, I was fairly
bathed in perspiration.
"What was it?" I asked hoarsely.
"I don't know," Godfrey answered, in the same tone. "But I know one
thing--if we stay down here much longer, we'll both of us lose our nerve
completely. I'm going to make a dash for it," and he started for the
cellar steps.
I followed him, clenching my teeth convulsively.
But again a sound from overhead stopped us--a quick step across the
floor, the opening of a door, and then a scream so shrill, so agonised,
that it made my heart stand still.
"Come on!" cried Godfrey, and dashed up the stair.
In an instant, we reached the top. The kitchen was dark, but a stream of
light poured through the open door from the room beyond. We sprang to
it. I saw it was the dining-room; a light stood on the table and for a
second I thought the room was empty. Then my ear caught a kind of dry
sobbing, which seemed to come from one corner.
In an alcove between the chimney and the wall was a closet. Its door was
open and, as we peered into it, I saw a woman's figure clothed in white
straining at some dark and heavy object.
Godfrey took but one glance at it.
"Good God!" he cried, and sprang into the closet. "Bring the light,
Lester."
So shaken by I knew not what new horror that I could scarcely walk, I
yet had self-control enough to obey. I tottered to the table, took up
the lamp, and returned to the closet door. The rays of the light fell
within, revealing the whole terrible scene--Lucy Kingdon and Godfrey
holding up a figure clothed in black, a figure which swayed and wabbled,
turning at last so that I caught a glimpse of the swollen, distorted
face--the same face which had glared at us around a corner of the cellar
wall.