to deal with," replied the manager, smiling. "In plain language, to make
an inquiry or two. He told me he'd been empowered by Mrs. Lester to deal
with us, and he wanted the particulars of what we'd advanced to her son,
and he got them--from me. But he never made me any offer. He just found
out what he wanted to know--and went away."
"And, evidently, next day travelled to Scarnham," observed Easleby.
"Now, Mr. Stipp, have you any idea whether his visit to Scarnham was in
connection with the money affair of yours and young Lester's?"
Again the look of undoubted surprise; again the appearance of genuine
perplexity.
"I?" exclaimed Mr. Stipp. "Not the least! Not the ghost of an idea! What
could his visit to Scarnham have to do with us? Nothing!--that I know
of, anyway."
"You don't think it rather remarkable that Mr. Hollis should go down
there the very day after he called on you?" asked Starmidge, putting in
a question for the first time.
"Why should I?" asked Mr. Stipp. "What do I know about him and his
arrangements? He never mentioned Scarnham to me."
Easleby laid a finger on the marked newspaper.
"You see some names of Scarnham people there, Mr. Stipp?" he observed.
"Those names--Horbury--Chestermarke. You don't happen to know 'em?"
"I don't know them," replied the manager, with obvious sincerity.
"Banking people, all of them, aren't they? I might have heard their
names, in a business way, some time--but I don't recall them at all."
"You said that Mr. Markham was here yesterday," suggested Starmidge.
"Did you tell him--you'll excuse my asking, but it's important--did you
tell him that Hollis had called last Friday on behalf of Mrs. Lester?"
"I just mentioned it," replied Mr. Stipp. "He took no particular
notice--except to say that what we claim from young Lester will have to
be--paid."
"You don't know if he knew Hollis?" inquired Starmidge.
The manager shook his head in a fashion which seemed to indicate that
Hollis's case was no particular business of either his or his
principal's.
"I don't think he did," he answered. "Never said so, anyhow. But, I say!
you'll excuse me, now--what is it you're trying to get at? Do you think
Hollis went to Scarnham on this business of young Lester's? And if you
do, why?"
Easleby rose, and Starmidge followed his example.
"We don't know yet--exactly--why Hollis went to Scarnham," said the
elder detective. "We hoped you could help us. But, as you can't--well,
we're much obliged, Mr. Stipp. That your governor over the chimney-piece
there?"
"Taken a few years ago," replied Mr. Stipp carelessly. "I say--you don't
know what Hollis was empowered to offer us, do you?"
The two detectives looked at each other; a quiet nod from Starmidge
indicated that he left it to Easleby to answer this question. And after
a moment's reflection, Easleby spoke.
"Mr. Hollis was empowered to offer ten thousand pounds in full
satisfaction, Mr. Stipp," he said. "And what's more--a cheque for that
amount was found on his dead body when it was discovered. Now, sir,
you'll understand why we want to know who it was that he went to see at
Scarnham!"
Both men were watching the money-lender's manager with redoubled
attention. But it needed no very keen eye to see that the surprise which
Mr. Stipp had already shown at various stages of the interview was
nothing to that which he now felt. And in the midst of his astonishment
the two detectives bade him good-day and left him, disregarding an
entreaty to stop and tell him more.
"My lad!" said Easleby, when he and Starmidge were out in the street
again, "that chap has no more conception that his master is Gabriel
Chestermarke than we had--twenty-four hours since--that Gabriel
Chestermarke and Godwin Markham are one and the same man. He's a clever
chap, this Gabriel--and now you can see how important it's been for him
to keep his secret. What's next to be done? We ought to keep in touch
with him from now."
"I'm expecting word from Gandam at noon at headquarters," answered
Starmidge, who had already told Easleby of the visit of the previous
night. "Let's ride down there and hear if any message has come in."
But as their taxi-cab turned out of Whitehall into New Scotland Yard
they overtook Gandam, hurrying along. Starmidge stopped the cab and
jumped out.
"Any news?" he asked sharply.
"He's off, Mr. Starmidge!" replied Gandam. "I've just come straight from
watching him away. He left his house about nine-twenty, walked to the
St. John's Wood Station, went down to Baker Street, and on to King's
Cross Metropolitan. We followed him, of course. He walked across to St.
Pancras, and left by the ten-thirty express."
"Did you manage to find out where he booked for!" demanded Starmidge.
"Ecclesborough," answered Gandam. "Heard him! I was close behind."
"He was alone, I suppose?" asked Starmidge.
"Alone all the time, Mr. Starmidge," assented Gandam. "Never saw a sign
of the other party."
Starmidge rejoined Easleby. For the last twenty-four hours he had let
his companion supervise matters, but now, having decided on a certain
policy, he took affairs into his own hands.
"Now, then," he said, "he's off--back to Scarnham. A word or two at the
office, Easleby, and I'm after him. And you'll come with me."
CHAPTER XXVI
THE LIGHTNING FLASH
At half-past seven that evening Starmidge and Easleby stepped out of a
London express at Ecclesborough, and walked out to the front of the
station to get a taxi-cab for Scarnham. The newsboys were rushing across
the station square with the latest editions of the evening papers, and
Starmidge's quick ear caught the meaning of their unfamiliar
North-country shoutings.
"Latest about the Scarnham mystery," he said, stopping a lad and taking
a couple of papers from him. "Something about the adjourned inquest--of
course that would be today. Now then--what's this?"
He drew aside to a quiet corner of the station portico, and with his
companion looking over his shoulder, read aloud a passage from the
latest of the two papers.
"'An important witness gave evidence this afternoon at the adjourned
inquest held at Scarnham on the body of Mr. Frederick Hollis, solicitor,
of London, who was recently found lying dead at the bottom of one of the
old lead-mines in Ellersdeane Hollow. It will be remembered that the
circumstances of this discovery--already familiar to our
readers--allied with the mysterious disappearance of Mr. John Horbury,
and the presumed theft of the Countess of Ellersdeane's jewels, seem to
indicate an extraordinary crime, and opinion varies considerably in the
Scarnham district as to whether Mr. Hollis--the reason of whose visit to
Scarnham is still unexplained--fell into the old mine by accident, or
whether he was thrown in.
"'At the beginning of the proceedings this afternoon, a shepherd named
James Livesey, of Ellersdeane, employed by Mr. Marchant, farmer, of the
same place, was immediately called. He stated in answer to questions put
by the Coroner, that on Monday morning last he had gone with his
employer to an out-of-the-way part of Northumberland to buy new stock,
and in consequence of his absence from home had not heard of the
Scarnham affair until his return this morning, when, on Mr. Marchant's
advice, he had at once called on the Coroner's office to volunteer
information.
"'Livesey's evidence, in brief, was as follows: At nine o'clock last
Saturday evening, he was walking home from Scarnham to Ellersdeane by a
track which crosses the Hollow, and cuts into the high road between the
town and the village at a point near the Warren, an isolated house which
is the private residence of Mr. Gabriel Chestermarke, banker, of
Scarnham. As he reached this point, he saw Mr. John Horbury, whom he
knew very well by sight, accompanied by a stranger, come out of the
Hollow by another path, cross the high road, and walk down the lane
which leads to the Warren. They were talking very earnestly, but Mr.
Horbury saw him and said good-night in answer to his own greeting. There
was a strong moonlight at the time, and he saw the stranger's face
clearly. He was quite sure that the stranger was the dead man whose body
had just been shown to him at the mortuary.
"'Questioned further, Livesey positively adhered to all his statements.
He was certain of the time; certain of the identity of the two
gentlemen. He knew Mr. Horbury very well indeed; had known him for many
years; Mr. Horbury had often talked to him when they met in the fields
and lanes of the neighbourhood. He had no doubt at all that the dead man
he had seen in the mortuary was the gentleman who was with Mr. Horbury
on Saturday night. He had noticed him particularly as the two gentlemen
passed him, and had wondered who he was. The moon was very bright that
night: he saw Mr. Hollis quite plainly: he would have known him again at
any time. He was positive that the two gentlemen entered the lane which
led to Mr. Gabriel Chestermarke's house. They were evidently making a
direct line for it when he first saw them, and they crossed the high
road straight to its entrance. That lane led nowhere else than to the
Warren--it was locally called the lane, but it was really a sort of
carriage-drive to Mr. Chestermarke's front door, and there was a gate at
the high-road entrance to it. He saw Mr. Horbury and his companion enter
that gate; he heard it clash behind them.
"'Questioned by Mr. Polke, superintendent of police at Scarnham, Livesey
said that when he first saw the two gentlemen they were coming from the
direction of Ellersdeane Tower. There was a path right across the
Hollow, from a point in front of the Warren, to the Tower, and thence to
the woods on the Scarnham side. That was the path the two gentlemen were
on. He was absolutely certain about the time, for two reasons. Just
before he saw Mr. Horbury and his companion, he heard the clock at
Scarnham Parish Church strike nine, and after they had passed him he had
gone on to the Green Archer public-house, and had noticed that it was
ten minutes past nine when he entered. Further questioned, he said he
saw no one else on the Hollow but the two gentlemen.
"'At the conclusion of Livesey's evidence, the Coroner announced to the
jury that, having had the gist of the witness's testimony communicated
to him earlier in the day, he had sent his officer to request Mr.
Gabriel Chestermarke's attendance. The officer, however, had returned to
say that Mr. Chestermarke was away on business, and that it was not
known when he would be back at the bank. As it was highly important that
the jury should know at once if Mr. Horbury and Mr. Hollis called at the
Warren on Saturday evening last, he, the Coroner, had sent for Mr.
Chestermarke's butler, who would doubtless be able to give information
on that point. They would adjourn for an hour until the witness
attended.'"
"That's the end of it--in that paper," remarked Starmidge. "Let's see if
the other has any later news. Ah!--here we are!--there is more in the
stop press space of this one. Now then----"
He held the second newspaper half in front of himself, half in front of
Easleby, and again rapidly read over the report.
"'Scarnham--further adjournment. On the Coroner's inquiry being resumed
at four o'clock, Thomas Beavers, butler to Mr. Chestermarke at the
Warren, said that so far as he knew, Mr. Horbury did not call on his
master on Saturday evening last, nor did any gentleman call who answered
the description of Mr. Hollis. It was impossible for anybody to call at
the Warren, in the ordinary way, without his, the butler's, knowledge.
As a matter of fact, the witness continued, Mr. Chestermarke was not at
home during the greater part of that evening. Mr. Joseph Chestermarke
had dined at the Warren at seven o'clock, and at half-past eight he and
his uncle left the house together. Mr. Chestermarke did not return until
eleven. Asked by Mr. Polke, superintendent of police, if he knew in
which direction Mr. Gabriel and Mr. Joseph Chestermarke proceeded when
they went away, the witness said that a short time after they left the
house, he, in drawing the curtains of the dining-room window, saw them
walking in a side-path of the garden, apparently in close conversation.
He saw neither of them after that until Mr. Gabriel Chestermarke
returned home, alone, at the time he had mentioned.
"'Later. The inquest was further adjourned at the close of this
afternoon's proceedings. Before adjourning, the Coroner informed the
jury that he understood there were rumours in the town to the effect
that Mr. Hollis had been strangled before being thrown into the old
lead-mine. He need hardly say that there were not the slightest grounds
for those rumours. But the medical men had some suspicion that the
unfortunate gentleman might have been poisoned, and he, the Coroner,
thought it well to tell them that a specialist was being sent down by
the Home Office, who, with the Scarnham doctors, would perform an
autopsy on his arrival. The result would be placed before the jury when
these proceedings were resumed.'"
Starmidge dropped the paper and looked at Easleby with an expression of
astonishment.
"Poison!" he exclaimed. "That's a new idea! Poisoned first!--and thrown
into that old mine after? That's--but, there, what's the good of
theorizing? Pick out the best of those cars, and let's get to Scarnham
as quick as possible. Something's got to be done tonight."
Easleby made no immediate answer. But presently, when they were in a
fast motor and leaving the Ecclesborough streets behind them, he shook
his head, and spoke more gravely than was usual with him.
"The big question, my lad," he said, "is--what to do? And there's
another--what's been done--and possibly, what's being done? It's my
impression something's being done now--still going on!"
"I know one thing!" exclaimed Starmidge determinedly. "We'll confront
Gabriel Chestermarke tonight with what we know. That's positive!"
"If we can find him," said Easleby. "You don't know! The coming down to
Ecclesborough may have been all a blind. You can reach a lot of places
from Ecclesborough--and you can leave a train at more than one place
between Ecclesborough and London."
"I telephoned Polke to keep an eye on him, anyway, if he did arrive at
either Scarnham or the Warren," answered Starmidge, still grimly
determined. "And it's my impression that he has come down--to see that
nephew of his. Easleby!--they're both in at it. Both!"
Again the elder detective made no answer. He was obviously much
impressed by the recent developments as related in the newspapers which
they had just read, and was deep in thought about them and the
possibilities which they suggested to him.
"Well!" he said at last, as the high roofs of Scarnham came in view,
"we'll hear what Polke has to tell. Something may have happened since
those inquest proceedings this afternoon."
But Polke, when they reached his office, had little to tell. Lord
Ellersdeane, Betty Fosdyke, and Stephen Hollis were with him, evidently
in consultation, and Starmidge at once saw that Betty looked distressed
and anxious in no ordinary degree. All turned eagerly on the two
detectives. But Starmidge addressed himself straight to Polke with one
direct inquiry.
"Seen him?--heard of him?" he asked.
"Not a word!" answered Polke. "Nor a sign! If he came down by that train
you spoke of, he ought to have been in the town by four o'clock at the
outside. But he's never been to the bank, and he certainly hadn't
arrived at his house three-quarters of an hour ago. And since ten
o'clock this morning t'other's disappeared, too!"
"What--Joseph?" exclaimed Starmidge.
"Just so!" replied Polke, with the expression of a man who feels that
things are getting too much for individual effort, "He was at the bank
at eight o'clock this morning--one of my men saw him go in by the back
way--orchard way, you know. The clerks say he went out--that way
again--at ten, and he's never been seen since."
"His house!" said Starmidge. "Have you tried that?"
"Know nothing of him there--the old man and old woman said so, at any
rate," answered Polke. "He seems to have cleared out. And now here's
fresh bother, though I don't know if it's anything to do with this. Mr.
Neale's missing--never been seen since six yesterday evening. Miss
Fosdyke's anxious----"
"He was to see me at nine last night," said Betty. "No one has seen him.
His landlady says he never returned home last night. Do you think
anything can have happened----"
"If anything's happened to Mr. Neale," interrupted Starmidge, "it's all
of a piece with the rest of it. Now, superintendent!" he went on,
turning to Polke, "never mind what news I've brought--we've got to find
these two Chestermarkes at once! We must go, some of us, to the Warren,
some to the Cornmarket. See here!--Easleby and I will go on to the
Cornmarket now--you get some of your men and follow. If we hear nothing
there--then, the Warren. But--quick!"
The two detectives hurried out of the police-station; Lord Ellersdeane
and Betty, after a word or two with Polke, followed. Outside, Starmidge
and Easleby paused a moment, consulting; the Earl stepped forward to
speak to them.
"As regards Mr. Neale," he began, "Miss Fosdyke thinks you ought to know
that----"
A sudden searching flash, as of lightning, glared across the open space
in front, lighting up the tower of the old church, the high roofs of the
ancient houses, and the drifting clouds above them. Then a crash as of
terrible thunder shook the little town from end to end, and as it died
away the street lamps went out, and the tinkle of falling glass sounded
on the pavements of the Market-Place. And in the second of dead silence
which followed, a woman's voice, shrill, terrified, shrieked loudly,
once, somewhere in the darkness.
CHAPTER XXVII
THE OLD DOVE-COT
On the previous evening, Wallington Neale, who had spent most of the day
with Betty Fosdyke, endeavouring to gain some further light on the
disappearance of her uncle, had left her at eight o'clock in order to
keep a business appointment. He was honourary treasurer of the Scarnham
Cricket Club: the weekly meeting of the committee of which important
institution was due that night at the Hope and Anchor Inn, an old tavern
in the Cornmarket. Thither Neale repaired, promising to rejoin Betty at
nine o'clock. There was little business to be done at the meeting: by a
quarter to nine it was all over and Neale was going away. And as he
walked down the long sanded passage which led from the committee-room to
the front entrance of the inn, old Rob Walford, the landlord, came out
of the bow-windowed bar-parlour, beckoned him, with a mystery-suggesting
air, to follow, and led him into a private room, the door of which he
carefully closed.
Walford, a shrewd-eyed, astute old fellow, well known in Scarnham for
his business abilities and his penetration, chiefly into other people's
affairs, looked at Neale with a mingled expression of meaning and
inquiry.
"Mr. Neale!" he whispered, glancing round at the panelling of the old
parlour in which they stood, as if he feared that its ancient boards
might conceal eavesdroppers, "I wanted a word with you--in private.
How's this here affair going? Is aught being done? Is aught being found
out? Is that detective chap any good?--him from London, I mean. Is there
aught new--since this morning?"
"Not to my knowledge, Mr. Walford," answered Neale, who knew well that
the old innkeeper was hand-in-glove with the Scarnham police, and
invariably kept himself well primed with information about their doings.
"I should think you know nearly everything--just as much as I do--more,
perhaps."
The landlord poked a stout forefinger into Neale's waistcoat.
"Aye!" he said. "Aye, so I do!--as to what you might call surface
matter, Mr. Neale. But--about the main thing, which, in my opinion, is
the whereabouts of John Horbury? Does yon young lady at the Scarnham
Arms know aught more about her uncle? Do you? Does anybody? Is there
aught behind, like; aught that hasn't come out on the top?"
"I don't know of anything," replied Neale. "I wish I did! Miss Fosdyke's
very anxious indeed about her uncle: she'd give anything or do anything
to get news of him. It's all rot, you know, to say he's run away--it's
my impression he's never gone out of Scarnham or the neighbourhood. But
where he is, and whether dead or alive, is beyond my comprehension," he
concluded, shaking his head. "If he's alive, why don't we hear
something, or find out something?"
Walford gave his companion a quick glance out of his shrewd old eyes.
"He might be under such circumstances as wouldn't admit of that there,
Mr. Neale," he said. "But come!--I've got something to tell
you--something that I found out not half an hour ago. I was going on to
tell Polke about it at once, but I remembered that you were in the house
at this cricket club meeting, so I thought you'd do instead--you can
tell Polke. I'm in a bit of a hurry myself--you know it's Wymington
Races tomorrow, and I'm off there tonight, at once, to meet a man that I
do a bit of business with in these matters--we make a book together,
d'ye see--so I can't stop. But come this way."
He led Neale out into the long sanded passage, and down through the rear
of the old house into a big stable-yard, enclosed by variously shaped
buildings, more or less in an almost worn-out and dilapidated condition,
whose roofs and gables showed picturesquely against the sky, faintly
lighted by the waning moon. To one of these, a tower-like erection,
considerably higher than the rest, the old landlord pointed.
"I suppose you know that these back premises of mine partly overlook
Joseph Chestermarke's garden?" he whispered. "They do, anyway--you can
see right over his garden and the back of his house--that is, in bits,
for he's a fine lot of tall trees round his lawns. But there's a very
fair view of that workshop he's built from the top storey of this old
dove-cot of mine--we use it as a store-house. Come up--and mind these
here broken steps--there's no rail, you see, and you could easy fall
over."
He led his companion up a flight of much-worn stone stairs which were
built against the wall of the old dove-cot; through an open doorway
twenty feet above; across a rickety floor; and up another stairway of
wood, into a chamber in which was a latticed window, from which most of
the glass and the woodwork had disappeared.
"Now, then," he said, taking Neale to this outlook, and pointing
downwards. "There you are!--you see what I mean?"
Neale looked out. Joseph Chestermarke's big garden lay beneath him. As
Walford had said, much of it was obscured by trees, but there was a good
prospect of one side of the laboratory from where Neale was standing.
That side was furnished with a door--and on the level of that door at
the extreme end of the building was a window fitted with a
light-coloured blind. All the other windows, as in the case of the side
which Neale had seen previously from the tree on the river-bank, were
high up in the walls and fitted with red material. And from the
curiously shaped smoke stack in the flat roof, the same differently
tinted vapours which he had noticed on the same occasion were curling up
above the elms and beeches.
"Now look here!" whispered the landlord. "D'ye see that one window with
the whitish blind and the light behind it? I came up here, maybe half an
hour ago, to see if we were out of something that's kept here, and I
chanced to look out on to Joseph Chestermarke's garden. Mr.
Neale!--there's a man in that room with the light-coloured blind--I saw
his shadow on the blind, pass and repass, you understand, twice, while I
looked. And--it's not Joseph Chestermarke!"
"Could you tell?--had you any idea?--whose shadow it was?" demanded
Neale eagerly.
"No!--he passed in a sort of slanting direction--back and forward--just
once," answered Walford. "But--his build was, I should say, about the
like of John Horbury's. Mr. Neale--Horbury might be locked up there!
He's a bad 'un, is Joe Chestermarke--oh, he's a rank bad 'un, my
lad!--though most folk don't know it. You don't know what mayn't be
happening, or what mayn't have happened in yon place! But look here--I
can't stop. Me and Sam Barraclough's going off to Wymington now, in his
motor--he'll be waiting at this minute. You do what I say--stop here and
watch a bit. And if you see aught, go to Polke and insist on the police
searching that place. That's my advice!"
"I shall do that, in any case, after what you've said," muttered Neale,
who was staring at the lighted window. "But I'll watch here a bit.
You've said nothing of this to anybody else?"
"No," replied the landlord. "As I said, I knew you were in the house.
Well, I'm off, then. Shan't be back till late tomorrow night--and I hope
you'll have some news by then, Mr. Neale."
Walford went off across the creaking floor and down the stairs, and
Neale leaned out of the dismantled window and stared into the garden
beneath. Was it possible, he wondered, that there was anything in the
old fellow's suggestion?--possible that the missing bank manager was
really concealed in that mysterious laboratory, or workshop, or whatever
the place was, into which Joseph Chestermarke never allowed any person
to enter? And if he was there at all, was it with his consent, or
against his will, or--what? Was he being kept a prisoner--or was
he--hiding?
In spite of his own knowledge of Horbury, and of Betty Fosdyke's
assertions of her uncle's absolute innocence, Neale had all along been
conscious of a vague, uneasy feeling that, after all, there might be
something of an unexplained nature in which the manager had been, or was
concerned. It might have something to do with the missing jewels; it
might be mixed up with Frederick Hollis's death; it might be that
Horbury and Joseph Chestermarke were jointly concerned in--but there he
was at a loss, not knowing or being able to speculate on what they could
be concerned in. Strange beyond belief it was, nevertheless, that old
Rob Walford should think the shadow he had seen to be the missing man's!
Supposing----
The door of Joseph Chestermarke's laboratory suddenly opened, letting
out a glare of light across the lawn in front. And Joseph came out,
carrying a sort of sieve-like arrangement, full of glowing ashes. He
went away to some distant part of the garden with his burden; came back,
disappeared; re-appeared with more ashes; went again down the garden.
And each time he left the door wide open. A sudden notion--which he
neglected to think over--flashed into Neale's mind. He left the upper
chamber of the old dove-cot, made his way down the stairs to the yard
beneath, turned the corner of the buildings, and by the aid of some
loose timber which lay piled against it, climbed to the top of Joseph
Chestermarke's wall. A moment of hesitation, and then he quietly dropped
to the other side, noiselessly, on the soft mould of the border. From
behind a screen of laurel bushes he looked out on the laboratory, at
close quarters.
Joseph was still coming and going with his sieve--now that Neale saw him
at a few yards distance he saw that the junior partner and amateur
experimenter was evidently cleaning out his furnace. The place into
which he threw the ashes was at the far end of the garden; at least
three minutes was occupied in each journey. And--yielding to a sudden
impulse--when Joseph made his next excursion and had his back fairly
turned, Neale crossed the lawn in half a dozen agile and stealthy
strides, and within a few seconds had slipped within the open door and
behind it.
A moment later, and he knew he was trapped. Joseph came back--and did
not enter. Neale heard him fling the sieve on the gravel. Then the door
was pulled to with a metallic bang, from without, and the same action
which closed it also cut off the electric light.
CHAPTER XXVIII
SOUND-PROOF
It needed no more than a moment's reflection to prove to Neale that he
had made a serious mistake in obeying that first impulse. Joseph
Chestermarke had gone away--probably for the night. And there had been
something in the metallic clang of that closing door, something in the
sure and certain fashion in which it had closed into its frame,
something in the utter silence which had followed the sudden extinction
of the light, which made the captive feel that he might beat upon door
or wall as hard and as long as he pleased without attracting any
attention. This place into which he had come of his own free will was no
ordinary place--already he felt that he was in a trap out of which it
was not going to be easy to escape.
He stood for a moment, heart thumping and pulses throbbing, to listen
and to look. But he saw nothing--beyond the faint indication of the
waning moonlight outside the red-curtained, circular windows high above
him, and a fainter speck of glowing cinder, left behind in the recently
emptied furnace. He heard nothing, either, save a very faint crackling
of the expiring ashes in that furnace. Presently even that minute sound
died down, the one speck of light went out, and the silence and gloom
were intense.
Neale now knew that unless Joseph Chestermarke came back to his workshop
he was doomed to spend the night in it--and possibly part of the next
day. He felt sure that it was impossible to obtain release otherwise
than by Joseph's coming. He could do nothing--in all probability--to
release himself. No one in the town would have the remotest idea that he
was fastened up within those walls. The only man to whom such an idea
could come on hearing that he, Neale, was missing, was old Rob
Walford--and Walford, by that time, would be well on his way to
Wymington, thirty miles off, and as he was to be there all night, and
all next day, he would hear nothing until his return to Scarnham,
twenty-four hours hence. No!--he was caught. Joseph Chestermarke had had
no idea of catching him--but he had caught him all the same.
And now that he was safely caught, Neale began to wonder why he had
slipped into that place. He had an elementary idea, of course--he had
wanted to find out if anybody was concealed in that room which the
landlord had pointed out. Certainly he had felt no fear about meeting
Joseph Chestermarke. Yet--now that he was there--he did not know what he
should have done if Joseph had come in, as he expected he would, nor
what he should, or could do now that he was in complete possession. If
he had been able to face Joseph, he would have demanded information,
point-blank, about the shadow on the blind; he even had some misty
notion about enforcing it, if need be. But--he was now helpless. He
could do no good; he could not tell Polke or anybody else what Walford
had reported. And if he was to be left there all night--which seemed
likely--he had only got himself into a highly unpleasant situation.
He moved at last, feeling about in the darkness. His hands encountered
smooth, blank walls, on each side of the door. He dared not step forward
lest he should run against machinery or meet with some cavity in the
flooring. And reflecting that the small, insignificant gleam which it
would make could scarcely be noticed from outside, he struck a match,
and carefully holding it within the flap of his outstretched jacket,
looked around him. A first quick glance gave him a general idea of his
surroundings. Immediately in front of him was the furnace; a little to
its side was a lathe; on one side of the place a long table stood,
covered with a multitude of tools, chemical apparatus, and the like; on
the other was a blank wall. And in that blank wall, to which Neale
chiefly directed his attention during the few seconds for which the
match burned, was a door.
The match went out; he dropped it on the floor and moved forward in the
darkness to the door which he had just seen. That, of course, must open
into the inner room to the outer window of which Walford had drawn his
attention. He went on until his outstretched fingers touched the door.
Then he cautiously struck another match and looked the door up and down.
What he saw added to the mystery of the whole adventure. Neale had seen
doors of that sort before, more than once--but they were the doors of
very big safes or of strong rooms. Before the second match burned
through he knew that this particular door was of some metal--steel,
most likely--that it was set into a framework of similar metal, and that
the room to which it afforded entrance was probably sound-proof.
He struck a third match and a fourth. By their light he saw there was
but one small keyhole to the door, and he judged from that that it was
fitted with some patent mechanical lock. There was no way by which he
could open it, of course, and though he stood for a long time listening
with straining ears against it he could not detect the slightest sound
from whatever chamber or recess lay behind it. If there really was a man
in there, thought Neale, he must surely feel himself to be in a living
tomb. And after a time, taking the risk of being heard from outside the
laboratory, he beat heavily upon the door with his fist. No response
came: the silence all around him was more oppressive, if possible, than
before.
The expenditure of more matches enabled Neale to examine further into
the conditions of what seemed likely to be his own prison for some
hours. He was not sorry to see that in one corner stood an old settee,
furnished with rugs and cushions--if he was obliged to remain locked up
all night, he would, at any rate, be able to get some rest. But beyond
this, the furnace, a tall three-fold screen, evidently used to assist in
the manipulation of draughts, and the lathe, table, and apparatus which
he had already seen, there was nothing in the place. There was no way of
getting at the windows in the top of the high walls: even if he could
have got at them they were too small for a man to squeeze through. And
he was about to sit down on the settee and wait the probably slow and
tedious course of events, when he caught sight of an object at the end
of the table which startled him, and made him wonder more than anything
he had seen up to that moment.
That object was a big loaf of bread. He struck yet another match and
looked at it more narrowly. It was one of those large loaves which
bakers make for the use of families. Close by it lay a knife: a nearer
inspection showed Neale that a slice had recently been cut from the
loaf: he knew that by the fact that the crumb was still soft and fresh
on the surface, in spite of the great heat of the place. It was scarcely
likely that Joseph Chestermarke would eat unbuttered bread during his
experiments and labours--why, then, was the loaf there? Could it be that
this bread was--that the slice which had just been cut was--the ration
given to somebody behind that door?
This idea filled Neale with the first spice of fear which he had felt
since entering the laboratory. The idea of a man being fastened up in a
sound-proof chamber and fed on dry bread suggested possibilities which
he did not and could not contemplate without a certain horror. And if
there really was such a prisoner in that room, or cell, or whatever the
place was, who could it be but John Horbury? And if it was John Horbury,
how, under what circumstances, had he been brought there, why was he
being kept there?
Neale sat down at last on the settee, and in the silence and darkness
gave himself up to thoughts of a nature which he had never known in his
life before. Here, at any rate, was adventure!--and of a decidedly
unpleasant sort. He was not afraid for himself. He had a revolver in his
hip-pocket, loaded--he had been carrying it since Tuesday, with some
strange notion that it might be wanted. Certainly he might have to go
without food for perhaps many hours--but he suddenly remembered that in
the pocket of his Norfolk jacket he had a biggish box of first-rate
chocolate, which he had bought on his way to the cricket club meeting,
with a view of presenting it to Betty, later on. He could get through a
day on that, he thought, if it were necessary--as for the loaf of bread,
something seemed to nauseate him at the mere thought of trying to
swallow a mouthful of it.
The rest of the evening went: the silence was never broken. Not a sound
came from the mysterious chamber behind him. No step sounded on the
gravel without: no hand unlocked the door from the garden. Now and then
he heard the clock of the parish church strike the hours. At last he
slept--at first fitfully; later soundly--and when he woke it was
morning, and the sunlight was pouring in through the red-curtained
windows high in the walls of his prison.
CHAPTER XXIX
THE SPARROWS AND THE SPHERE
Neale was instantly awake and on the alert. He sprang to his feet,
shivering a little in spite of the rugs which he had wrapped about him
before settling down. A slight current of cold air struck him as he
rose--looking in the direction from which it seemed to come, he saw that
one of the circular windows in the high wall above him was open, and
that a fresh north-east wind was blowing the curtain aside. The
laboratory, hot and close enough when he had entered it the previous
evening, was now cool; the morning breeze freshened and sharpened his
wits. He pulled out his watch, which he had been careful to wind up
before lying down. Seven o'clock!--in spite of his imprisonment and his
unusual couch, he had slept to his accustomed hour of waking.
Knowing that Joseph Chestermarke might walk in upon him at any moment,
Neale kept himself on the look out, in readiness to adopt a determined
attitude whenever he was discovered. By that time he had come to the
conclusion that whether force would be necessary or not in any meeting
with Joseph, it would be no unwise thing to let that worthy see at once
that he had to deal with an armed man. He accordingly saw to it that his
revolver, already loaded, was easily get-at-able, and the flap of his
hip-pocket unbuttoned: under the circumstances, he was not going to be
slow in producing that revolver in suggestive, if not precisely menacing
fashion. This done, he opened his box of chocolate, calculated its
resources, and ate a modest quantity. And while he ate, he looked about
him. In the morning light everything in his surroundings showed clearly
that his cursory inspection of the night before had been productive of
definite conclusions. There was no doubt whatever of the character of
the mysterious door set so solidly and closely in its framework in the
blank wall: the door of the strong room at Chestermarke's Bank was not
more suggestive of security.
He went over to the outer door when he had eaten his chocolate, and
examined that at his leisure. That, in lesser degree, was set into the
wall as strongly as the inner one. He saw no means of opening it from
the inside: it was evidently secured by a patent mechanical lock of
which Joseph Chestermarke presumably carried the one key. He turned from
it to look more closely at a shelf of books and papers which projected
from the wall above the table. Papers and books were all of a scientific
nature, most of them relating to experimental chemistry, some to
mechanics. He noticed that there were several books on poisons; his
glance fell from those books to various bottles and phials on the table,
fashioned of dark-coloured glass and three-cornered in shape, which he
supposed to contain poisonous solutions. So Joseph dabbled in
toxicology, did he? thought Neale--in that case, perhaps, there was
something in the theory which had been gaining ground during the last
twenty-four hours--that Hollis had been poisoned first and thrown into
the old lead-mine later on. And--what of the somebody, Horbury or
whoever it was, that lay behind that grim-looking door? Neale had never
heard a sound during the time which had elapsed before he dropped
asleep, never a faintest rustle since he had been awake again. Was it
possible that a dead man lay there--murdered?
A cheerful chirping and twittering in the space behind him caused him to
turn sharply away from the books and bottles. Then he saw that he was no
longer alone. Half a score sparrows, busy, bustling little bodies, had
come in by the open window, and were strutting about amongst the grey
ashes in front of the furnace.
Neale's glance suddenly fell on the loaf of bread, close at hand on the
edge of the table, and on the knife which lay by it. Mechanically,
without any other idea than that of feeding the sparrows and diverting
himself by watching their antics, he picked up the knife, quietly cut
off a half-slice of the loaf, and, crumbling it in his fingers, threw
the crumbs on the floor. For a minute or two he watched his visitors
fighting over this generous dole; then he turned to the shelf again, to
take down a book, the title of which had attracted him. Neale was an
enthusiastic member of the Territorial Force, and had already gained his
sergeant's stripes in the local battalion; he was accordingly deeply
interested in all military matters--this book certainly related to those
matters, though in a way with which he was happily as yet unfamiliar.
For its title was "On the Use of High Explosive in Modern Warfare," and
though Neale was no great reader, he was well enough versed in current
affairs to know the name of the author, a foreign scientist of
world-wide reputation.
He opened the book as he stood there, and was soon absorbed in the
preface; so absorbed indeed, that it was some little time before he
became aware that the cheerful twittering behind him had ceased. It had
made a welcome diversion, that innocent chirping of the little brown
birds, and when it ceased, he missed it. He turned suddenly--and dropped
the book.
Seven or eight of the sparrows were already lying on the floor
motionless. Some lay on their sides, some on their backs; all looked as
if they were already dead. Two were still on their feet; at any other
time Neale would have laughed to see the way in which they staggered
about, for all the world as if they were drunk. And as he watched one
collapsed; the other, after an ineffective effort to spread its wings,
rolled to one side and dropped helplessly. And Neale made another
turn--to stare at the loaf of bread and to wonder what devilry lay in
it. Poison? Of course it was poison! And--what of this man in that
jealously guarded room, behind that steel door? Had he also eaten of the
loaf?
He turned to the sparrows again at last, stood staring at them as if
they fascinated him, and eventually went over to the foot of the furnace
and picked one up. Then he found, with something of a shock, that the
small thing was not dead. The little body was warm with life; he felt
the steady, regular beating of the tiny heart. He laid the bird down
gently, and picked up its companions, one by one, examining each. And
each was warm, and the heart of each was beating. The sparrows were not
dead--but they were drugged--and they were very fast asleep.
Neale now began to develop theories. If a mere tiny crumb of that loaf
could put a sparrow, a remarkably vigorous and physically strong little
bird--to sleep within a minute or two, what effect would, say, a good
thick slice of it produce upon a human being? Anyway, the probability
was that the captive in that room was lying in a heavily drugged
condition, and that that was the reason of his silence. He would
wake--and surely some sound, however faint, would come. He himself would
wait--listening. The morning wore on--he waited, watched, listened. None
came--nothing had happened. He ate more of his chocolate. He read the
book on explosives. It interested him deeply--so deeply that in spite of
his anxiety, his hunger, his uncertainty as to what might happen, sooner
or later, he became absorbed in it. And once more he was called from its
pages by the sparrows.
The sparrows were coming to life. After lying stupefied for some four or
five hours they were showing signs of animation. One by one they were
moving, staggering to their feet, beginning to chirp. And as he watched
them, first one and then the other got the use of its wings; and,
finally, with one consent, they flew off to the open window--to
disappear.
Thereafter, Neale listened more keenly than ever for any sound from that
mysterious room. But no sound came. The afternoon passed wearily away;
the light began to fail, and at last he had to confess to himself that
the waiting, the being always on the alert, the enforced seclusion and
detention, the desire for proper food and drink--especially the
latter--was becoming too much for him, and that his nerves were
beginning to suffer. Was Joseph Chestermarke never coming? Had he gone
off somewhere?--possibly leaving a dead man behind, whose body was only
a few yards away. There was no spark of comfort visible save one. Old
Rob Walford would be home late that night from Wymington--sooner or
later he would hear of Neale's disappearance and he would sharpen his
naturally acute wits and come to the right conclusion. Yet--that might
be as far off as tomorrow.
As the darkness came, Neale, now getting desperate for want of food, was
suddenly startled by two sounds which, coming abruptly at almost the
same time, made him literally jump. One--the first--was a queer thump,
thump, thump, which seemed to be both close at hand and yet a thousand
miles away. The second was Joseph Chestermarke's voice in the garden
outside--heard clearly through the open window. He was bidding somebody
to tell a cab-driver to wait for him at the foot of the bridge. The next
minute, Neale heard a key plunged into the outer door--before it turned,
he, following out a scheme which he had decided on during his long
watch, had leaped behind the screen that stood near the furnace. Ere the
door could open, he was safely hidden--and in that second he heard the
thumping repeated and knew that it came from the inner room.
The electric light blazed up as Joseph Chestermarke strode in. He put
the door to behind him without quite closing it, and walked into the
middle of the laboratory, feeling in his waistcoat pocket for something
as he advanced. And Neale, peering at him through the high screen, felt
afraid of him for the first time in his life. For the junior partner had
shaved off his beard and moustache, and the face which was thus clearly
revealed, and on which the bright light shone vividly, was one of such
mean and malevolent cruelty that the watcher felt himself turn sick with
dread.
Joseph went straight to the door in the far wall, unlocked it with a
twist of the key which he had brought from his pocket, and walked in.
The click of an electric light switch followed, and Neale stared hard
and nervously into the hitherto hidden room. But he saw nothing but
Joseph Chestermarke, standing, hands planted on his sides, staring at
something hidden by the door. Next instant Joseph spoke--menacingly,
sneeringly.
"So you're round again after one of your long sleeps, are you?" he said.
"That's lucky! Now then, have you come to your senses?"
Neale thought his heart would burst as he waited for the unseen man's
voice. But before he heard any voice he heard something which turned his
blood cold with horror--the clanking, plain, unmistakable, of a chain!
Whoever was in there was chained!--chained like a dog. And following on
that metallic sound came a weary moan.
"Come on, now!" said Joseph. "None of that! Are you going to sign that
paper? Speak, now!"
It seemed to Neale an age before an answer came. But it came at
last--and in Horbury's voice. But what a changed voice! Thin, weak,
weary--the voice of a man slowly being done to death.
"How long are you going to keep me here?" it asked. "How long----"
"Sign that paper on the table there, and you'll be out of this within
twenty-four hours," replied Joseph. "And--listen, you!--you'll have good
food--and wine--wine!--within ten minutes. Come on, now!"
Further silence was followed by another moan, and at the sound of that,
Neale, whose teeth had been clenched firmly for the last minute or two,
slipped his hand round to the pocket in which the revolver lay.
"Don't be a damned fool!" said Joseph. "Sign and have done with it!
There's the pen--sign! You could have signed any time the last week and
been free. Get it done--damn you, I tell you, get it done! It's your
last chance. I'm off tonight. If I leave you here, it's in your grave.
Nobody'll ever come near this place for weeks--you'll be dead--starved
to death, mind!--long before that. Do you hear me? Come on, now!--sign!"
Neale half drew the revolver from his pocket. But, as he was about to
step from behind the screen, a sudden step sounded on the gravel outside
the outer door, and he shrank back, watching. The door opened--was
thrown back with some violence--and at the same instant Joseph darted
from the inner room, livid with anger, to confront Gabriel Chestermarke.
That the younger man had not expected to encounter the elder was
instantly evident to Neale. Joseph drew back, step by step, watching his
uncle, until his back was against the door through which he had just
rushed. His hand went out behind him and pulled the door to, heavily.
And as it closed he spoke--and Neale knew that there was fear in his
voice.
"What--what--is it?" he got out. "When did you come in here? Why----"
Gabriel Chestermarke had come to a halt in the middle of the floor, and
he was standing very still. His face was paler than ever, and his eyes
burned in their deep-set sockets like live coals. And suddenly he lifted
a forefinger and pointed it straight at his nephew.
"Thief!" he said, with a quietness which was startlingly impressive to
the excited spectator. "Thief! Thief and liar--and murderer, for aught I
know! But you are found out. Scoundrel!--you stole those securities! You
stole those jewels! Don't trifle--don't attempt to dispute! I know! You
got the jewels last Saturday night--you took those securities at the
same time. You may have murdered that man Hollis for anything I know to
the contrary--probably you did. But--no fencing with me! Now speak!
Where are the jewels? Where are those securities? And--where is Horbury!
Answer!--without lying. You devil!--I tell you I know--_know_! I have
seen Mrs. Carswell!"
Gabriel had moved a little as he went on speaking--moved nearer to his
nephew, still pointing the incriminating and accusing finger at him. And
Joseph had moved, too--backward. He was watching his uncle with a queer
expression. Neale saw the tip of his tongue emerge from his lips, as if
the lips had become dry, and he wanted to moisten them. And suddenly his
face changed, and Neale, closely watching him, saw his hand go quickly
to his breast pocket, and caught the gleam of a revolver....
Neale was a cricketer--of reputation and experience. On a felt-covered
stand close by him lay a couple of heavy spherical objects, fashioned of
some shining-surfaced metal and about the size of a cricket ball, which
he had previously noticed and handled in looking round. He snatched one
of them up now, and flung it hard and straight at Joseph Chestermarke,
intending to stun him. But for once in a way he missed his mark; the
missile crashed against the wall behind. And then came a great flash,
and the roar of all the world going to pieces, and a mighty lifting and
upheaving--and he saw and felt and knew no more.
CHAPTER XXX
WRECKAGE
The four people standing beneath the portico of the police-station
remained as if spell-bound for a full moment after the sudden flash and
the sudden roar. Betty Fosdyke unconsciously clutched at Lord
Ellersdeane's arm: Lord Ellersdeane spoke, wonderingly.
"Thunder?" he exclaimed. "Strange!"
Easleby turned sharply from Starmidge, who, holding by one of the
pillars, was staring towards the quarter of the Market-Place, from
whence the scream of dire fear had come.
"That's no thunder, my lord!" he said. "That's an explosion!--and a
terrible one, too! Are there any gasworks close at hand? It was
like----"
Polke came rushing out of the lobby behind them, followed by some of his
men. And at the same instant people began running along the pavements,
calling to each other.
"Did you hear that?" cried the superintendent excitedly. "An explosion!
Which direction?"
Starmidge suddenly started, as if from a reverie. He put up his hand and
wiped something from his cheek, and held the hand out to a shaft of
light which came from the open door behind them. A smear of blood lay
across his open palm.
"A splinter of falling glass," he said quietly. "Come on, all of you!
That was an explosion--and I guess where! Get help, Polke--come on to
the Cornmarket! Get the firemen out."
He set off running towards the end of the Market-Place, followed by
Easleby, and at a slower pace by Lord Ellersdeane and Betty. Crowds were
beginning to run in the same direction: very soon the two detectives
found it difficult to thread a way through them. But within a few
minutes they were in the Cornmarket, and Starmidge, seizing his
companion's arm, dragged him round the corner of Joseph Chestermarke's
house to the high garden wall which ran down the slope to the river
bank. And as they turned the corner, he pointed.
"As I thought!" he muttered. "It's Joseph Chestermarke's workshop!
Something's happened. Look there!"
The wall, a good ten feet high on that side, was blown to pieces, and
lay, a mass of fallen masonry, on the green sward by the roadside.
Through the gap thus made, Starmidge plunged into the garden--to be
brought up at once by the twisted and interlaced boughs of the trees
which had been lopped off as though by some giant ax, and then
instantaneously transformed into a cunningly interwoven fence. The air
was still thick with fine dust, and the atmosphere was charged with a
curious, acid odour, which made eyes and nostrils smart.
"No ordinary burst up, this!" muttered Starmidge, as he and Easleby
forced their way through branches and obstacles to the open lawn. "My
God!--look at it! Blown to pieces!"
The two men stood for a moment staring at the scene before them, as it
was revealed in the faint light of a waning moon. Neither had ever seen
the effect of high explosives before, and they remained transfixed with
utter astonishment at what they saw. Never, until then, had either
believed it possible that such ruin could be wrought by such means.
The laboratory was a mass of shapeless wreckage. It seemed as if the
roof had been blown into the sky--only to collapse again on the
shattered walls. The masonry and woodwork lay all over lawns and
gardens, and amidst the surrounding bushes and trees. In the middle of
it yawned a black, deep cavity, from the heart of which curled a wisp of
yellowish smoke. Between these ruins and the house a beech tree of
considerable size had been completely uprooted, and had crashed down on
the lower windows of the house, part of the wall and roof of which had
been wrecked. And on the opposite side of the garden a great gap had
been made in the smaller trees, and the shrubberies beneath them by the
falling in of Rob Walford's old dove-cot, the ancient walls and timber
roof of which had completely collapsed under the force of the explosion.
Over the actual area of the wreckage everything was still as death, save
for a faint crackling where some loose wood was just catching fire.
Starmidge began to make his way towards it.
"The thing is," he said mechanically, "the thing is, the thing is--yes,
is--was--there anybody here--anybody here! We must have lights."
And just then as he came to where the burst of flame was growing
bigger, and Polke with a body of firemen and constables came hurrying
through a gap in the lower wall, he caught sight of a man's face, turned
up to the half-light. Easleby saw it at the same time--together they
went nearer. And Starmidge bent down and found himself looking at
Gabriel Chestermarke.
"Him!" he whispered. "Then he came--here!"
"He's gone, anyway," muttered Easleby. "Dead as can be!" He lifted
himself erect and called to Polke who was making his way towards them.
"Bring a lantern!" he said. "There's a dead man here!"
"And keep the crowd out," called Starmidge. "Keep everybody out--while
we look round."
But at that moment he caught sight of Betty Fosdyke, who, with Lord
Ellersdeane in close attendance, had made her way into the garden and
was clambering towards him. Starmidge stepped back to her.
"Hadn't you better go back?" he urged. "There'll be unpleasant sights.
Do go back!--amongst the trees, anyway. We've found one dead man
already, and there'll probably be----"
"No!" she said firmly. "I won't! Not until I know who's here. Because I
think--I'm afraid Mr. Neale may be here. I must--I will stop! I'm not
afraid. Whose body have you found?"
"Gabriel Chestermarke's," replied Starmidge quietly. "Dead!
And--whoever's here, Miss Fosdyke, I don't see how he can possibly be
alive. Do go back and let us search."
But Betty turned away and began to search, climbing from one mass of
wreckage to another. Presently an exclamation from her brought the
others hurriedly to her side. She pointed between two slabs of stone.
"There!" she whispered. "A man's--face!"
Starmidge turned to Lord Ellersdeane.
"Get her away--aside--anywhere--for a minute!" he muttered. "Let's see
what condition he's in, anyway. The other--was blown to pieces."
Lord Ellersdeane took a firm grip of Betty's arm and turned her round.
"That was not--Mr. Neale?" he asked.
"No!" she said faintly. "No!"
"Then leave them to deal with that, and let us look elsewhere," he said.
"Come--after all, you don't know that he would be here."
"Where else should he be?" she answered. "I'm sure he's here, somewhere.
Help me!"
She turned away with him in another direction, and the two detectives,
with some of the firemen helping them, got to work on the place which
she had pointed out. Presently Polke directed the light of a bulls'-eye
on the dead face beneath them. He broke into an exclamation of
amazement.
"Who's this?" he demanded. "Look!"
One of the firemen bent closer, and suddenly glanced up at the
superintendent.
"It's young Chestermarke, sir," he said. "He must have shaved his beard
off. But--it's him!"
They took out what was to be found of Joseph Chestermarke at that
particular spot, and went on to search for the rest of him, and for
anything else. And eventually they came across Neale--unconscious, but
alive. His partial protection by the projecting iron walls of the
furnace had saved him; he had evidently been carried back with them when
the explosion occurred and wedged between them and the outer wall of the
laboratory. He came round to find a doctor administering restoratives to
him on one side, and Betty Fosdyke kneeling at the other. And suddenly
he remembered, and made a great shift to speak.
"All right!" he muttered at length. "Bit knocked out, that's all!
But--Horbury! Horbury's--somewhere! Get at him!"
They got at the missing bank manager at last--he, too, had been saved by
the thick wall which stood between him and the explosion. He was alive
and conscious when they had dug down to him--and his rescuers stared
from him to each other when they saw that the broken links of a steel
chain were still securely manacled about his waist.
CHAPTER XXXI
THE PRISONER SPEAKS
It was not until a week later that Neale, with a bandaged head and one
arm in a sling, and Betty Fosdyke, inexpressibly thankful that the
recent terrible catastrophe had at any rate brought relief in its train,
were allowed to visit Horbury for their first interview of more than a
few minutes' duration. Neale had made a quick recovery; beyond the
fracture of a small bone in his arm, some cuts on his head, and a
general shock to his system, he was little the worse for his experience.
But the elder victim had suffered more severely; he had suffered, too,
from a week's ill-treatment and starvation. Nevertheless, he managed an
approving smile when the two young people were brought to his bedside,
and he looked at them afterwards in a narrow and scrutinizing fashion,
which made Betty redden and grow somewhat conscious.
"Not more than three-quarters of an hour at most, the nurse said," she
remarked, as they sat down at the bedside. "So if you have anything to
say, Uncle John, you must get it said within that."
"One can say a lot within three-quarters of an hour, my dear," answered
the invalid. "There is something I wanted to say," he went on, glancing
at Neale. "I suppose there has been an inquest on the two
Chestermarkes?"
"Adjourned--until you're all right," replied Neale. "You and I, of
course, are the two important witnesses. You--principally. You know
everything--I only came in at the end."
"I suppose there are--and have been--all sorts of rumours?" said
Horbury. "I don't see how anybody but myself could know all that
happened in this horrible business. Hollis, for instance?--have they
come to any conclusion about his death?"
"None!" replied Neale. "All that's known is that he was found at the
bottom of one of the old lead mines. We," he added, nodding at Betty,
"were there when he was taken out."
Horbury's face clouded.
"And I," he said, shaking his head, "was there when--but I'll tell you
two all about it. I should like to go over it all again--before the
inquest is resumed. Not that I've forgotten it," he went on, with a
shudder. "I will never do that! It's all like a bad dream. You remember
the Saturday night when all this began, Neale? If I had had any idea of
what was to happen during the next week----!
"That night, between half-past five and six o'clock, I was rung up on
the telephone. Greatly to my surprise I found the caller to be Frederick
Hollis, an old schoolmate of mine, whom I had only seen once--I'll tell
you when later--since we were at school together. Hollis said he had
come down specially from London to see me; he was at the Station Hotel,
about to have some food, and would like to meet me later. He said he
had reasons for not coming to the Bank House; he wished to meet me in
some quiet place about the town. I told him to walk along the river-side
at half-past seven, and I would meet him. And after I had dined I went
out through my garden and orchard and met him coming along. I took him
over the foot-bridge into the woods.
"Hollis told me an extraordinary story--yet one which did not surprise
me as much as you might think. I knew that he was a solicitor in London.
He said that only a few days before this interview a lady friend of his
had privately asked his advice. She was a Mrs. Lester, the widow of a
man--an old friend of Hollis's--who in his time made a very big fortune.
They had an only son, a lad who went into the Army, and into a crack
cavalry regiment. The father made his son a handsome, but not sufficient
allowance--the son, finding it impossible to get it increased, had
recourse, after he was of age, to a London money-lender, named Godwin
Markham, of Conduit Street, from whom, in course of time, he borrowed
some seven or eight thousand pounds. Old Lester died--instead of leaving
a handsome fortune to the son, he left every penny he had to his wife.
The lad was pressed for repayment--Markham claimed some fifteen or
sixteen thousand. Young Lester was obliged to tell his mother. She urged
him to make terms--for cash. Markham would not abate a penny of his
claim. So Mrs. Lester called in Frederick Hollis and asked his advice.
At his suggestion she gave him a cheque for ten thousand pounds: he was
to see Markham and endeavour to get a settlement for that sum.
"The day before he came down to Scarnham--Friday--Hollis did two things.
He got young Lester to come up to town and tell him the exact
particulars of his financial dealings with Godwin Markham. Primed with
these, and knowing that the demand was extortionate, he went, alone, to
Markham's office in Conduit Street. Markham was away, but Hollis saw the
manager, a man named Stipp. He saw something more, too. On Stipp's
mantelpiece he saw a portrait which he recognized immediately as one of
Gabriel Chestermarke.
"Now, you want to know how Hollis knew Gabriel Chestermarke. In this
way: I told you just now that Hollis and I had only met once since our
school-days. Some few years ago--I think the year before you came into
the bank, Neale--Hollis came up North on a holiday. He was a bit of an
archæologist; he was looking round the old towns, and he took Scarnham
in his itinerary. Knowing that an old schoolmate of his was manager at
Chestermarke's Bank in Scarnham, he called in to see me. He and I
lunched together at the Scarnham Arms. I showed him round the town a
bit, after bank hours. And as we were standing in the upper-room window
of the Arms, Gabriel Chestermarke came out of the bank and stood talking
to some person in the Market-Place for awhile. I drew Hollis's attention
to him, and asked, jocularly, if he had ever seen a more remarkable and
striking countenance? He answered that it was one which, once seen,
would not readily be forgotten. And he had not forgotten it once he saw
the portrait at Markham's office--he knew very well that it was
extremely unlikely that so noticeable a man as Gabriel Chestermarke
could have a double.
"Now, Hollis was a sharp fellow. He immediately began to suspect things.
He talked awhile with Stipp, and contrived to find out that the portrait
over the mantelpiece was that of Godwin Markham. He also found out that
Mr. Godwin Markham was rarely to be found at his office--that there was
no such thing as daily, or even weekly attendance there by him. And
after mutual desires that the Lester affair should be satisfactorily
settled, but without telling Stipp anything about the ten thousand
pounds, he left the office with a promise to call a few days later.
"Next day, certain of what he had discovered, Hollis came down to see
me, and told me all that I have just told you. It did not surprise me as
much as you would think. I knew that for a great many years Gabriel
Chestermarke had spent practically half his time in London--I had always
felt sure that he had a finger in some business there, and I naturally
concluded that he had some sort of a _pied-à-terre_ in London as well.
One fact had always struck me as peculiar--he never allowed letters to
be sent on to him from Scarnham to London. Anything that required his
personal attention had to await his return. So that when I heard all
that Hollis had to tell, I was not so greatly astonished. In fact, the
one thing that immediately occupied my thoughts was--was Joseph
Chestermarke also concerned in the Godwin Markham money-lending
business? He, too, was constantly away in London--or believed to be so.
He, too, never had letters sent on to him. Taking everything into
consideration, I came to the conclusion that Joseph was in all
probability his uncle's partner in the Conduit Street concern, just as
he was in the bank at home.
"Hollis and I walked about the paths in the wood for some time,
discussing this affair. I asked at last what he proposed to do. He
inquired if I thought the Chestermarkes would be keen about preserving
their secret. I replied that in my opinion, seeing that they were highly
respectable country-town bankers, chiefly doing business with
ultra-respectable folk, they would be very sorry indeed to have it come
out that they were also money-lenders in London, and evidently very
extortionate ones. Hollis then said that that was his own opinion, and
it would influence the line he proposed to take. He said that he had a
cheque in his pocket, already made out for ten thousand pounds, and only
requiring filling up with the names of payee and drawer; he would like
to see Gabriel Chestermarke, tell him what he had discovered, offer him
the cheque in full satisfaction of young Lester's liabilities to the
Markham concern, and hint plainly that if his offer of it was not
accepted, he would take steps which would show that Gabriel Chestermarke
and Godwin Markham were one and the same person.
"Now, I had no objection to this. I had not told you of it, Neale, but I
had already determined to resign my position as manager at
Chestermarke's. I had grown tired of it. I was going to resign as soon
as I returned from my holiday. So I assented to Hollis's proposal, and
offered to accompany him to the Warren--I don't mind admitting that I
was a little--perhaps a good deal--eager to see how Gabriel would behave
when he discovered that his double dealing was found out--and known to
me. We therefore set off across Ellersdeane Hollow. I have been told
while lying here that some of you found the pipe which you, Betty, gave
me last Christmas, lying near the old tower--quite right. I lost it
there that night, as I was showing Hollis the view, in the moonlight,
from the top of the crags. I meant to pick it up as we returned, but
what happened put it completely out of my mind.
"Hollis and I crossed the moor and the high road and went into the
little lane, or carriage-drive, which leads to the Warren. Half-way down
it we met Joseph Chestermarke. He was coming away from the Warren--from
the garden. He, of course, wanted to know if we were going to see his
uncle. I told him that my companion, Mr. Frederick Hollis, a London
solicitor, had come specially from town to see Mr. Gabriel Chestermarke,
and that, being an old friend of mine, he had first come to see me.
Joseph therefore said that we were too late to find his uncle at home:
Gabriel, he went on, had been suffering terribly from insomnia, and, by
his doctor's advice, he was trying the effect of a long solitary walk
every night before going to bed, and he had just started out over the
moor at the back of his house. Turning to Hollis, he asked if he could
do anything--was his visit about banking business?
"Now I determined to settle at once the question as to Joseph's
participation in the affairs of the Conduit Street concern. Before
Hollis could reply, I spoke. I said, 'Mr. Hollis wishes to see your
uncle on the affairs of Lieutenant Lester and the Godwin Markham loans.'
I watched Joseph closely. The moonlight was full on his face. He
started--a little. And he gave me a swift, queer look which was gone as
quickly as it came--it meant 'So you know!' Then he answered in quite an
assured, off-hand manner, 'Oh, I know all about that, of course! I can
deal with it as well as my uncle could. Come back across the moor to my
house--we'll have a drink, and a cigar, and talk it over with Mr.
Hollis.'
"I nudged Hollis's arm, and we turned back with Joseph towards Scarnham,
crossing the Hollow in another direction, by a track which leads
straight from a point exactly opposite the Warren to the foot of
Scarnham Bridge, near the wall of Joseph Chestermarke's house. It is not
a very long way--half an hour's sharp walk. We did not begin talking
business--as a matter of fact, Hollis began talking about the curious
nature of that patch of moorland and about the old lead-mines. And when
we were nearly half-way, the affair happened which, I suppose, led to
all that has happened since. It--gave Joseph Chestermarke an opening.
"Having lost my pipe, and being now going in a different direction from
that necessary to recover it, I had nothing to smoke. Joseph
Chestermarke offered me a cigar. He opened his case. I was taking a
cigar from it when Hollis stepped aside to one of the old shafts which
stood close by, and resting his hands on the parapet leaned over the
coping, either to look down or to drop something down. Before we had
grasped what he was doing, certainly before either of us could cry out
and warn him, the parapet completely collapsed before him and he
disappeared into the mine! He was gone in a second--with just one
scream. And after that--we heard nothing.
"We hurried to the place and got as near as we dared. Joseph
Chestermarke dropped on his hands and knees, and peered over and
listened. There was not a sound--except the occasional dropping of
loosened pebbles. And we both knew that in that drop of seventy or
eighty feet, Hollis must certainly have met his death.
"We hastened away to the town--to summon assistance. I don't think we
had any very clear ideas, except to tell the police, and to see if we
could get one of the fire brigade men to go down. I was in a dreadful
state about the affair. I felt as though some blame attached to me. By
the time we reached the bridge I felt like fainting. And Joseph
suggested we should go in through his garden door to his workshop--he
had some brandy there, he said--it would revive me. He took me in, up
the garden, and into the workshop: I dropped down on a couch he had
there, feeling very ill. He went to a side table, mixed something which
looked--and tasted--like brandy and soda, brought it to me, and bade me
drink it right off. I did so--and within I should say a minute, I knew
nothing more.
"The next I knew I awoke in pitch darkness, feeling very ill. It was
some little time before I could gather my wits together. Then I
remembered what had happened. I felt about--I was lying on what appeared
to be a couch or small bed, covered with rugs. But there was something
strange--apart from the darkness and the silence. Then I discovered that
I was chained!--chained round my waist, and that the chain had other
chains attached to it. I felt along one of them, then along the
other--they terminated in rings in a wall.
"I can't tell you what I felt until daylight came--I knew, however, that
I was at Joseph Chestermarke's--perhaps at Gabriel's--mercy. I had
discovered their secret--Hollis was out of the way--but what were they
going to do with me? Oddly enough, though I had always had a secret
dislike of Gabriel, and even some sort of fear of him, believing him to
be a cruel and implacable man, it was Joseph that I now feared. It was
he who had drugged and trapped me without a doubt. Why? Then I
remembered something else. I had told Joseph--but not Gabriel--about my
temporary custody of Lady Ellersdeane's jewels, and he knew where they
were safely deposited at the bank--in a certain small safe in the strong
room, of which he had a duplicate key.
"I found myself--when the light came--in a small room, or cell, in which
was a bed, a table, a chair, a dressing-table, evidently a retreat for
Joseph when he was working in his laboratory at night. But I soon saw
that it was also a strong room. I could hear nothing--the silence was
terrible. And--eventually--so was my hunger. I could rise--I could even
pace about a little--but there was no food there--and no water.
"I don't know how long it was, nor when it was, that Joseph Chestermarke
came. But when he came, he brought his true character with him. I could
not have believed that any human being could be so callous, so brutal,
so coldly indifferent to another's sufferings. I thought as I listened
to him of all I had heard about that ancestor of his who had killed a
man in cold blood in the old house at the bank--and I knew that Joseph
Chestermarke would kill me with no more compunction, and no less, than
he would show in crushing a beetle that crossed his path.
"His cruelty came out in his frankness. He told me plainly that he had
me in his power. Nobody knew where I was--nobody could get to know. His
uncle knew nothing of the Hollis affair--no one knew. No one would be
told. His uncle, moreover, believed I had run away with convertible
securities and Lady Ellersdeane's jewels--he, Joseph, would take care
that he and everybody should continue to think so. And then he told me
cynically that he had helped himself to the missing securities and to
the jewels as well--the event of Saturday night, he said, had just given
him the chance he wanted, and in a few days he would be out of this
country and in another, where his great talent as a chemist and an
inventor would be valued and put to grand use. But he was not going
empty-handed, not he!--he was going with as much as ever he could rake
together.
"And it was on that first occasion that he told me what he wanted of me.
You know, Neale, that I am trustee for two or three families in this
town. Joseph knew that I held certain securities--deposited in a private
safe of mine at the bank--which could be converted into cash in, say,
London, at an hour's notice. He had already helped himself to them, and
had prepared a document which only needed my signature to enable him to
deal with them. That signature would have put nearly a quarter of a
million into his pocket.
"He used every endeavour to make me sign the paper which he brought. He
said that if I would sign, he would leave an ample supply of the best
food and drink within my reach, and that I should be released within
thirty-six hours, by which time he would be out of England. When I
steadily refused he had recourse to cruelty. Twice he beat me severely
with a dog-whip; another time he assaulted me with hands and feet, like
a madman. And then, when he found physical violence was no good, he told
me he would slowly starve me to death. But he was doing that all along.
The first three days I had nothing but a little soup and dry bread--the
remaining part of the time, nothing but dry bread. And during the last
two days, I knew that there was something in that bread which sent me
off into long, continued periods of absolute unconsciousness. And--I was
glad!
"That's all. You know the rest--better than I do. I don't know yet how
that explosion came about. He had been in to me only a few minutes
before it happened, badgering me again to sign that authority. And--I
felt myself weakening. Flesh and blood were alike at their end of
endurance. Then--it came! And as I say, that's all!--but there's one
thing I wanted to ask you. Have those jewels been found?"
"Yes!" replied Neale. "They were found--all safe--in a suit-case in
Joseph's house, along with a lot of other valuables--money, securities,
and so on. He was evidently about to be off; in fact, the luggage was
all ready, and so was a cab which he'd ordered, and in which he was
presumably going to Ellersdeane."
"And another thing," said Horbury, turning from one to the other, "I
heard this morning that you'd left the Bank, Neale. What are you going
to do? What has happened?"
Betty looked at Neale warningly, stooped over the invalid, kissed him,
rose and took Neale's unwounded arm.
"No more talk today, Uncle John!" she commanded. "Wait until tomorrow.
Then--if you're very good--we shall perhaps tell you what is going to
happen to--both of us!"
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's The Chestermarke Instinct, by J. S. Fletcher