In the famous white drawing-room at Beaumanoir House Sybil Hanbury was
preparing to end a solitary evening by the simple process of going to
bed. The butler, a martyr to punctilio, had insisted on lighting every
jet in the chandeliers and in the sconces on the walls, with the result
that the vast apartment scintillated like a ball-room, accentuating the
loneliness of the black-clad little figure of its sole occupant.
Sybil laid aside her book, and surveyed the splendid emptiness of the
room with a smile of amusement for her monopoly of so much gorgeously
upholstered space. But as she realized that her monopoly of the white
drawing-room was only a detail in the much larger incongruity of her
monopoly of the Piccadilly mansion, her face took a graver look.
"I trust that the Vincents will be ready to take me in next week," she
mused with a touch of impatience. "The idea of a score of servants and
an acre of ducal palace being run for a simple body like me is too
ridiculous, especially with the rightful owner ready to take
possession."
She had been both puzzled and attracted by her cousin at General
Sadgrove's that afternoon. As a child she had heard so much contemptuous
obloquy poured on the absent ne'er-do-well that, in spite of his
generosity to Alec Forsyth and his consideration for herself, she had
been prepared to cling to the old prejudice. It had, however, at once
broken down under the pathetic plea for friendship which she had
discerned in the Duke's troubled eyes, for her womanly insight told her
that the new head of the family was under the influence of a mental
strain almost amounting to physical distress.
"He looks like a man sitting on an infernal machine, listening to the
tick-tack of the clock-work," she reflected. "Yet I don't think he's
wicked, or the sort of person with a past likely to fly up and hit him
in the face. I wish I knew what he is grizzling about, so that Alec and
I could do him a good turn in exchange for his benevolence."
She had risen with the intention of retiring to her own room, when the
butler entered hurriedly, and with traces of well-disciplined agitation
on his episcopal countenance. Mr. Prince had grown gray in the ducal
service; but, beyond a slight fatherliness of manner, he did not presume
on the fact towards the orphan scion of the great house.
"I really don't know, Miss, if I ought to disturb you so late on such a
matter," he said. "Two men have called to see his Grace, and, failing
him, insisted on my ascertaining if you would receive them."
"I know nothing of the Duke's affairs, and I am just going up to bed,"
Sybil replied, wondering at the usually correct retainer's excitement.
"Besides, Prince, 'insist' is rather a curious word to use here," she
added with a trace of asperity.
"I should not have ventured to repeat such an objectionable phrase,
Miss, if it had not been used with a sort of authority," the butler
hastened to put himself right. "I ought to have mentioned that they are
Scotland Yard detectives, which accounts for my being a bit flurried."
Sybil promptly sat down again and bade Prince show the visitors in. She
had no desire to pry into her cousin's business, nor did her reception
of the police-officers imply any such intention. But at that moment her
preconceived notion that the Duke was the center of a mystery took
definite shape, and she was above all things loyal to the house. She
decided that in her cousin's interest it would be wiser to see these
men, and, if possible, fore-arm herself with a knowledge of their
designs.
But when Prince returned it was to usher in not two men, but only one--a
cadaverous, middle-aged person in the garb of a clergyman, who waited
obsequiously near the door while his card was presented by the butler.
"I found when I got back into the hall that he'd sent the other man
away, Miss--said there was no need for two of them to intrude upon you,"
explained Prince in an undertone.
Sybil nodded, but the furtive glances of the clerically dressed visitor
caused her to call Prince back as he was retiring.
"I trust you didn't leave them alone in the hall?" she whispered.
"Oh, dear, no, Miss; William, the second footman, was on duty in the
hall while I came to you," was the reply, uttered in a slightly injured
tone.
Prince having taken a dignified departure, Sybil beckoned forward the
individual whom his card proclaimed to be "Inspector Chantrey, Criminal
Investigation Department." He advanced with a shambling walk and with
deprecating gestures in keeping with his disguise; but Sybil formed the
opinion that all his nervousness was not simulated. It struck her that
he was listening intently as he threaded his way through the priceless
Louis Seize garniture of the white drawing-room.
He stood before her at last, for all the world like a half-famished wolf
in the presence of a very wide-awake and dainty lamb that had not the
least intention of being devoured. He spoke hurriedly--almost
perfunctorily, as though he set no great store by his questions or the
answers to them; and all the time that listening attitude was
noticeable.
"I called in the hope of finding his Grace at home," he began, with a
half-note of interrogation.
"Well, the butler will have told you that he is not at home," said Sybil
sharply.
"True; but servants are not always reliable, and I thought I had better
see one of the family. Might I ask if the Duke is expected here
to-night?"
"No, he isn't. What do you want him for?" snapped Sybil.
The _aplomb_ of the question seemed to take the inquisitor back. He
glanced curiously at the girl in the high-backed arm-chair, first
scanning her tenacious little face, but quickly dropping his shifty eyes
to the carelessly crossed shoes.
He began to "hem" and "ha."
"The fact of the matter is, we have had a communication from the county
police at Prior's Tarrant, in respect of an assault on one of the
servants in the park yesterday. The local people think the attack may
have been intended for the Duke, and they have wired us to make
inquiries."
The reason alleged for his visit sounded plausible, and in some degree
might account for the hunted look she had surprised in the Duke's eyes.
Yet she was not altogether satisfied. It was conceivable that the police
should want to question the Duke, but the excuse for intruding on her at
such an hour hardly seemed adequate.
"I am still at a loss to see how I can be of service to you in a matter
of which I know nothing," she said, not attempting to keep the suspicion
out of her voice.
"I only desired to make sure, madam, that the Duke was not at home.
Having obtained that assurance from the fountain-head, pray permit me to
withdraw," was the nervously spoken reply, punctuated by an awkward bow
and the commencement of a hurried retreat. But the visitor had only
taken three steps down the long vista of the room when the door was
flung open, and Prince announced, with the air of one who springs a
surprise:
"His Grace the Duke!"
Beaumanoir was very pale, but he advanced without hesitation, meeting
Sibyl's interrogator half-way up the room. Startled as she was by her
cousin's unexpected appearance, the girl intuitively rose and went
forward, vaguely conscious of a desire to hear if the man repeated the
same tale.
"Well, sir?" said the Duke, curtly.
Sybil hardly knew whether or no she was relieved when, word for word,
the man repeated the reason he had just given her for his call. Watching
her cousin's face, she saw the pallor yield to a flush of evident
annoyance.
"Oh, yes; something of the kind occurred in the park at Prior's
Tarrant," he angrily replied. "But all this about the man being mistaken
for me is officious nonsense--too trivial to warrant your pushing your
way into this young lady's presence at eleven o'clock at night. I shall
complain to your superiors of this most impertinent intrusion."
"What could it mean?" Sybil asked herself. The man's nervous air--his
attitude of listening--had disappeared. His sly face grew sleekly
impudent under Beaumanoir's rebuke and it was quite jauntily that he
answered:
"Then I'll bid your Grace good-night. Very possibly you'll reconsider
the advisability of raising the question at Scotland Yard."
The clerical coat-tails went flapping down the room, the Duke following
them to the door, where he handed their owner over to Prince, who was
hovering in the hall. Having given a sharp order to "show the gentleman
out," Beaumanoir returned to Sybil, humbly apologetic, but with signs of
haste in his manner.
"My dear cousin, I am more than annoyed at Prince's laxity in admitting
that fellow," he said, taking her hand. "It is fortunate that I chanced
to look in in the hope of finding you up, and so was able to rid you of
him. I came to leave a message for Alec in case he calls presently."
"But Alec is the pink of propriety," exclaimed Sibyl, laughing in spite
of herself. "He doesn't call on an unprotected damsel, even if he is
engaged to her, at eleven o'clock at night."
"Nevertheless, I believe that he will call here very shortly; and I
should like him to be told that I am all right, and, in fact, that I am
going out of town for a few days to the sea-side. I will communicate
with him when I want him to enter on his secretarial duties. That is
all, I think. I must really be off now."
But Sybil would not at once take his proffered hand. She remembered that
he had mentioned that he was to spend the night at Alec's chambers, and
this sudden derangement of plans, coupled with the lurking suggestion in
his message, was, to say the least of it, mysterious. Looking into the
tired eyes, she found again that expression of sleepless worry that had
puzzled her. Why should it be necessary for this young man, newly come
to great wealth and station, to notify his friend so feverishly that he
was "all right," and in the same breath announce his retreat from London
to some vague destination--not to his own country-seat?
"As you expect Alec here, wouldn't it be better to wait for him?" she
urged; adding naively, "I could even offer you a bed, if you would
condescend to make yourself at home in your own house."
But Beaumanoir was in no mood to perceive the humor of the situation. He
was clearly fidgeting to be gone, and Sybil could only conclude that he
wanted to be gone before Alec arrived. With a girl's faith in her
lover's power to surmount most difficulties, she decided to try and
detain her cousin as long as possible; but her diplomacy was not called
into play. Prince, now wearing an air of mild protest at all these
excursions and alarums, appeared in the doorway to announce:
"Mr. Forsyth."
Beaumanoir was evidently disconcerted at not having made his exit in
time; and Sybil, recognizing that there was something between the two
men not for her ears, tactfully withdrew to the other end of the room,
after smiling a greeting to her lover. She thought none the worse of him
because he was too preoccupied to return it. She was beginning to
discern an undercurrent of serious import beneath the happenings of the
past half-hour.
"What made you break cover, old chap? You've given me a pretty scare,"
said Forsyth to the Duke. "When I found you'd gone, I came on here on
the off-chance."
"I didn't think it fair to subject you to the sort of night you might
have had with me as an inmate, so I cleared out," Beaumanoir replied,
wearily. "I guessed you'd inquire here, so I called in to leave word
that I was all right--up to date."
"You were not molested before quitting my chambers?"
"No. Why do you ask?"
"Because the place has been visited; it must have been after you left,"
said Forsyth, gravely. And he went on to relate how he had found the
door broken open, and how he had met two suspicious-looking men on the
stairs, one dressed as a clergyman and the other in shabby tweeds.
"Dressed as a clergyman?" cried Beaumanoir, startled into forgetfulness
of Sybil's presence in the room. "Then, Alec, I have stood face to face
with death in this house not ten minutes ago. I found your sham parson
here, professing to be an official detective; but I doubted him from the
first."
His raised tones reached Sybil, who realized that the house of
Beaumanoir was confronted by no ordinary emergency. What the peril could
be that threatened her noble relative she had no means of knowing, or
any wish to know; but the Duke's description of himself as standing
"face to face with death" amid the seeming security of his own white
drawing-room touched her with the icy hand of unknown dread, and,
moreever, filled her with a sense of responsibility. The man who was not
safe under the dazzling lights of that splendid apartment, with a host
of servants within call, was going forth into all the insecurity of the
London streets at midnight because, her instinct told her, he would not
expose her to the same danger.
Her cousin's chivalry appealed not only to her loyalty to the house, but
to that protective impulse which springs readily in every woman's heart.
"I couldn't help overhearing you," she said, coming forward. "I, too,
doubted that man--very strongly. I am sure he meant no good. But what I
want to say, Cousin Charles, is that you must remain here to-night. If
you go out of the house, I shall go also."
Forsyth shot a grateful look at her.
"The best possible plan," he said, quickly. "Now, don't be obstinate,
Duke. The man has left the premises, I presume? Good! That being so, we
shall be a poor lot if we can't prevent his getting in again, which he
is hardly likely to attempt. There is nothing to hinder you from
spending a quiet night here, without the slightest risk of
unpleasantness either to Sybil or to yourself, and in the morning you
and I can talk over your future movements at leisure."
"And I quite meant what I said," Sybil added, firmly. "If you won't stay
here, you will put me to the inconvenience of turning out and going to
an hotel at twelve o'clock at night. I have no intention of being forced
into the horrid feeling that I am keeping you from the shelter of your
own roof."
Under the pleading of the two pairs of kindly eyes turned on him
Beaumanoir wavered. The chance of sleep and rest was tempting. He
stepped to the door, and found Prince in the great entrance-hall.
"That man who called himself a detective has gone?" he inquired. "You
are sure there is no mistake about it? You showed him to the door
yourself, and saw him out?"
"And secured the door immediately afterwards, your Grace. Mr. Forsyth
will bear me out in that; I had to withdraw the bolts to admit him."
Beaumanoir returned to the drawing-room.
"You are both very good, and I will stay for to-night only," he
assented. "I wish I could make the explanation I owe you, but--well, I
am the victim of circumstances."
"The explanation will keep," said Forsyth, bluntly. "May I stay too?"
The permission was, of course, accorded, and Sybil bade them good-night
and retired to her room, giving orders on the way for two adjoining
bedrooms to be prepared for them. The two men went into the smoking-room
for a whisky and cigarette while the rooms were being got ready; but
each with tacit consent avoided the topic of the moment. The one idea in
Alec's mind was to let Beaumanoir have a good sleep, and persuade him
into a serious discussion in the morning.
They parted at the door of their bedrooms on the first floor, where the
late Duke's valet, who was still in the house, had done everything
possible to cope with the sudden emergency. Pajamas had been routed out,
and toilet requisites provided. The windows of both rooms looked out
over the ceaseless traffic of Piccadilly, so that no danger could be
apprehended from that quarter; yet Forsyth sat for a long time before
turning in to bed. In his ignorance of what was the source of the Duke's
danger, he had been loath to excite remark among the servants by fussing
about the proper locking up of the mansion; but the stately tread of
Prince going his rounds reassured him on that point, and eventually he
slept.
In the meanwhile, Sybil, in her room at the other end of the same
corridor, was finding a still greater difficulty in composing herself to
rest. The events of the evening, in such startling contrast with the
normal calm of the dignified establishment that had been her home, had
unsettled--not to say alarmed--her, and she felt no inclination to the
lace-edged pillow that usually wooed her to willing slumbers. She was a
sound, healthy girl, untroubled by nerves; but she felt a singular need
for alertness, unreasonable perhaps, but imperative.
The Duke's anxiety to make sure that the clerically dressed individual
had really left the house had impressed her; and now, too late for
inquiry, she remembered that she had omitted to mention that _two_ men
had called, one of them not having been shown into her presence. The
latter, Prince had said, had been dismissed by his colleague; but his
departure had only been witnessed by William, the second footman--a
dreamy servant at the best of times, and unreliable by reason of a
hopeless attachment to the senior housemaid. The thought thrilled Sybil
that the other man, having hoodwinked the footman, might still be in the
house, concealed in one of the many unused rooms.
The idea of a lurking prowler, biding his time in the stillness of the
sleeping household, kept her wakeful. Once or twice she looked out into
the corridor; but the flicker of her candle only showed two rows of
closed doors, without a sign of life, and each time she went back and
tried to fix her attention on a book. So the night dragged into the
small hours; and about three o'clock, after a longer interval than
before, she determined to take one more peep and then get into bed.
She had already grasped the door-handle, when she withdrew her hand as
though it had been stung by an adder. A faint scrooping sound told her
that someone was doing something in the corridor, and half a minute's
strained listening told her that, whatever that something was, it was
persistent and continuous. It went on and on, like the drone of a bee in
a bottle.
Silently crossing the room, she turned down her gas to a pin-point and
blew out the candle with which she had intended to investigate. Then she
returned to the door, and, opening it noiselessly, tiptoed into the
outer darkness. Here the sound, though still faint, was more distinctly
audible, and she was able to locate it at the door of the room occupied
by the Duke. The discovery left her no time for fear, or even for
conjecture. There was only one thing to be done--to rouse Alec and the
Duke, but without, till that supreme moment, alarming the unseen
manipulator at her cousin's door. Thus would she narrow the time at the
disposal of that mysterious person for revising his plans and effecting
his escape.
The thick pile carpet made for silence, and she stole quietly along the
broad passage, touching and counting the doors till she reached that of
Forsyth's room--only a few feet from the gentle buz-buz that had
attracted her attention, and only a few feet from someone stealthily at
work in the dark. A steady snore from the interior of the Duke's chamber
explained his complacence under that uncanny tampering with his
approaches.
Again giving herself no time for fear, Sybil beat a rat-tat on Forsyth's
door, calling him by name. The sound at the next door immediately
ceased, an instant of intense silence following, and then almost
simultaneously two things happened. An iron grip settled on the girl's
wrist, just as Forsyth flung open the door of his room, in which he had
wisely turned the gas full on as he leaped out of bed. The light
streamed into the corridor and shone upon a man in shabby tweeds and
bowler hat, who was holding Sybil, but not so hampered that he was
prevented from drawing a revolver and aiming straight at Forsyth's head.
[Illustration: _"The procession of three led by the stranger."_]
Whether he intended to fire or offer an ultimatum was not demonstrated,
for before he could do either he was taken in the rear and found himself
a target. There stood the Duke in his pajamas, with a handy little Smith
and Wesson not a foot from the intruder's temples, and with his left
hand significantly extended.
"Give me that pistol," he said, sternly.
Beaumanoir was dealing with a tangible foe at last, and with a thrill of
racial pride Sybil noted the light of battle in her relative's eye. It
was, therefore, more than a shock to her when the Duke, having relieved
the tweed-coated lurker of his weapon, calmly added:
"Now, sir, if you will be good enough to march in front of me down to
the front door, I will let you out. You two," he continued, addressing
Sybil and Forsyth in the same quiet tones, "will greatly oblige me by
not raising any alarm or disturbing the servants while I am gone."
"I am coming downstairs with you," said Forsyth, drily.
When the procession of three, led by the stranger with a brace of
pistols at his head, had filed off to the grand staircase, Sybil ran
back to her room and fetched her candle. An inspection of the Duke's
door showed that a panel had been partially cut out with a watch-spring
saw, which was still sticking in the almost invisible fissure.