On entering old Mr Mutimer's house a telegram addressed to Raife lay
upon the hall-table. Tearing it open, he read the brief summons. "Come
at once, urgent.--Mother."
The words were startling in their brevity. Turning to his friend, he
exclaimed in alarmed accents: "Something serious has happened at home,
old man. See what the mater has wired." He handed the telegram to
Teddy.
Teddy read it and gave it back. "I'm awfully sorry, Raife. There's a
good train in about an hour from now. While you are waiting, you might
ring up home and find out what's the matter."
"A good idea," said Raife. And at once he entered the study, and,
taking up the telephone receiver, got a trunk call.
In less than five minutes he was speaking with Edgson, the old butler at
Aldborough Park, his father's fine place near Tunbridge Wells.
"Is Lady Remington there?" asked Raife, eagerly. "Tell her I want to
speak to her."
"She's--oh, it's you, Master Raife, sir! She's--I'm sorry, sir, her
ladyship's not well, sir."
"Not well? What's the matter?" asked the young fellow, speaking eagerly
into the mouthpiece.
"Oh, sir, I--I--I can't tell you over the 'phone," replied the old
servant. "Her ladyship has forbidden us to say anything at all."
"But, Edgson, surely I may know!" cried the young man, frantically.
"We thought you were on your way home, sir," the butler replied. "Can't
you come, Master Raife?"
"Yes, of course, I'm leaving now--at once. But I'm anxious to know what
has happened."
"Come home, sir, and her ladyship will tell you."
"Go at once and say that I am at the 'phone," Raife ordered, angrily.
"I'm very sorry, sir, but I can't," was the response. "I have very
strict orders from her ladyship, but I'm sorry to have to disobey you,
sir."
"Can't you tell me anything? Can't you give me an inkling of what's the
matter?" urged Raife.
"I'm very sorry, sir, I can't," replied the old man, quietly, but very
firmly.
Raife knew Edgson of old. With him the word of either master or
mistress was law. Edgson had been in his father's service ever since
his earliest recollection, and though fond of a glass of good port, as
his ruddy nose betrayed, he was the most trusted servant of all the
staff.
He would give no explanation of what had occurred, therefore, Raife,
furiously angry with the old man, "rang off."
The train journey from Southport seemed interminable. His mind was in a
whirl. The brief words of the telegram, "Come home at once, urgent,"
kept ringing in his ears, above the roar of the carriage wheels. He had
the sensations of a man in a nightmare. What could have happened, and
to whom? His mother had sent the "wire," and therefore it most probably
concerned his father.
And ever and again, at the back of his mind, racked with this horrible
suspense and uncertainty, was the image of the mysterious girl whose
acquaintance he had made on the Southport front. He could hear the low,
sweet tones of her musical voice, he could see the grace of her dainty
figure. Should he ever meet her again? Would she ever be to him more
than a fascinating acquaintance?
When at length he got into London, he felt he could not bear the slow
torture of another railway journey. He went to a garage close to the
station and hired a motor-car. From there to Tunbridge Wells seemed but
a short distance: at any rate, there was action in the movement of the
throbbing car, as opposed to the monotony of the train.
But even though the speed limit was exceeded many times in the course of
that journey, it seemed hours to his impatient mood before they reached
the lodge gates and raced up the stately avenue.
The avenue was three-quarters of a mile long, but at last, Raife
Remington, at a bend in the drive, came in view of his home--a great,
old, ivy-covered Tudor mansion, with quaint gables, high, twisted
chimneys, and two pointed towers. At one end was the tall,
stained-glass window of the private chapel, while at the other were
domestic offices of later date, and in other forms of architecture.
Passing the inner gate, and between the lawns, where the flower beds
were gay with geraniums, the car entered the great open gateway, and
drew up in the ancient courtyard, around which the grand old place was
built--that same quiet courtyard where the horse's hoofs of King Henry
the Seventh had so often echoed upon the uneven cobbles, where Sir Henry
Reymingtoune, Chancellor to Elizabeth, had bowed low and made his
obeisance to his capricious royal mistress, and where Charles the
Second, in later days, had idled, surrounded by his elegant, silk-coated
sycophants.
The Remingtons had, ever since the fourteenth century, played their part
in England's government: once a great and powerful family, and even
to-day a notable and honourable house.
As the car drew up at the door, Raife sprang out, and rushing through
the great stone hall, the flags of which were worn hollow by the tread
of generations, and where stood the stands of armour of dead
Reymingtounes, he came face to face with old Edgson, grave and
white-haired.
"Ah, Master Raife!" cried the old man, "I'm so glad you've come, sir.
Her ladyship is in the boudoir awaiting you."
"What's happened, Edgson?" demanded the young man.
"Please don't ask me, sir. Her ladyship will tell you," was the old
servant's response, in a half-choked voice, and he turned away.
A few moments later, Raife entered the small, cosy little room, with the
high, diamond-pane windows, whereon were stained-glass escutcheons. Two
women were there, his mother seated with her face buried in her hands,
sobbing bitterly, and, beside her, her faithful companion, an elderly
spinster named Miss Holt, who had been in the family for many years and
had, indeed, been at school with Lady Remington.
Miss Holt, who was on her knees trying to comfort Raife's mother, rose
as the son entered.
"Mother!" he cried, rushing towards her. "What's the matter? Tell me--
for heaven's sake! Edgson will tell me nothing."
But all the response from the agonised woman was a long, low groan.
"Miss Holt," he said, turning to her companion. "Tell me, what has
happened?"
The angular woman, whose face was pale and thin, raised a warning
finger, and pointed in silence to the sobbing lady. Then she whispered:
"Come into the next room, and I will tell you."
Both passed into the inner room, and when Miss Holt had closed the door,
she said:
"I am sorry to have to break the awful news to you, Mr Raife, but a
most remarkable and terrible affair occurred here, early this morning.
From what I am able to gather, your father, who--as you know--sleeps
over the library, was awakened about three o'clock by an unusual noise,
and, listening, came to the conclusion that a slow, sawing process was
in progress in the library--that some one was below."
"Burglars!" ejaculated Raife.
"Your father took his revolver and the little electric flash-lamp which
he always has in his room, and, preferring to investigate before ringing
and alarming the household, crept downstairs and noiselessly opened the
library door. Inside, he saw a small light moving. In an instant, a
man who had already opened the safe, drew a revolver and fired point
blank at your father."
"Shot my father!" gasped Raife, staring at her. "Yes. Unfortunately
the bullet struck Sir Henry. He fell, but while on the ground, and
before the burglar could escape, he fired and shot him dead. We were
all alarmed by the shots--and for the rest, well, you had better ask
Edgson. He will tell you. I must go back to your poor mother."
"But my father?"
"Alas! he is dead," was the thin-faced woman's hushed response.
"Dead!" gasped Raife, staggered. "Then the fellow murdered him!"
Miss Holt nodded in the affirmative.
At that moment old Edgson entered with a message. The doctor had
returned to see her ladyship.
Raife barred the old servant's passage, saying:
"Miss Holt has told me, Edgson. Explain at once what had happened when
you were all alarmed."
"Well, Master Raife, I rushed down, sir," replied the old fellow,
white-faced and agitated. "Burton, the footman, got down first, and
when I rushed into the library I found the poor master lying on the
carpet doubled up, with blood all over his pyjama-jacket. He recognised
me, sir, and declared, in a low, weak voice, that the thief had shot
him. At first I was so scared that I couldn't act or think. But, on
switching on the lights, I saw the body of a stranger--an elderly man,
wearing thin indiarubber gloves--lying near the French window."
"Then my father was still conscious?"
"Quite. I sent Burton to the telephone to ring up Doctor Grant, in
Tunbridge Wells, while I did all I could to restore the poor master. He
was then quite sensible. With Burton's aid I managed to get him on to
the couch in the bedroom, and then he spoke several disjointed sentences
while we waited for the doctor's arrival. He asked for you, sir, and
told me to give you a message."
"A message, Edgson! What message did he leave for me?" asked the son,
eagerly.
"His words were these, sir: `Tell Master Raife that the blackguard
deliberately shot me! Tell him--to be careful--to be wary of the trap.
I--I hesitated to tell the boy the truth, but now, Edgson, alas! it is
too late!'"
"The truth!" ejaculated young Remington. "What did he mean, Edgson?
What did he mean about being careful of the trap?"
"Ah! I don't know, Master Raife," replied the old servant, shaking his
head gravely. "Some secret of his, no doubt. I pressed the master to
reveal it to me; but all he would reply was: `I was a fool, Edgson. I
ought to have told my boy from the first. Every man has a skeleton in
his cupboard, Edgson. This is mine!' Then he murmured something about
`her' and `that woman'--a woman in the case, it struck me, Master
Raife."
"A woman!" echoed young Remington.
"So it seemed. But, Master Raife, in my position I couldn't well
inquire further into the poor master's secret. Besides, her ladyship
and others came in at the moment. So he uttered no other word--and died
before Doctor Grant could arrive."
"But what does this all mean, Edgson?" asked the dead man's son,
astounded.
"I don't know, Master Raife," replied the grave-faced old man. "I
really don't know, sir."
"To my mind, it seems as though his secret was, in some mysterious way,
connected with the fellow who shot him," declared the young fellow, pale
and anxious. "My poor mother does not know--eh?"
"She knows nothing, Master Raife. In the years I have been in the
service of your family, I have learnt discretion. I have told you this,
sir, because you are my master's son," was the faithful man's response.
"You had no inkling of any secret, Edgson?"
"None in the least, sir, though I have been in Sir Henry's service
thirty-two years come next Michaelmas."
"It's a complete mystery then?"
"Yes, sir, a complete mystery. But perhaps you'd like to see the
master's murderer? We've taken his body over to the empty cottage at
the stables. I'm expecting the detectives from London every minute.
Inspector Caldwell, from Tunbridge Wells, has wired to Scotland Yard for
assistance."
"Yes. Take me over there, Edgson," said Raife, boldly. "I wonder if I
know him! This secret of my father's which he intended to reveal to me,
though prevented by death, I mean to investigate--to unravel the
mystery. Come, Edgson."
And the young master--now Sir Raife Remington, Baronet--followed the
grave old man out of the house and down the broad, gravelled drive,
where, in the sunshine, stood the big square stables, the clock of
which, in its high, round turret, was at that moment clanging out the
hour.