A VOICE IN THE DARK.
Vera turned away and walked quietly from the room, leaving the two men
face to face. Lord Ravenspur was the first to speak.
"I am sorry for this," he said; "more sorry than I can tell you.
Strange how one should be so wilfully blind. Strange how frequently
even the cleverest man will overlook the inevitable. But I suppose I
thought that you two had come to regard one another as brother and
sister. Oh, I am not disputing your taste. There is not a more
beautiful and fascinating girl in London than Vera. It is only natural
that you should fall in love with her. But she knows the views I have
for you. She knows to what an extent she is indebted to me. That being
so it is her plain duty----"
"My dear uncle," Walter broke in eagerly, "if there is anybody to
blame, it is I. Vera knows her duty plainly enough, and she would have
acted upon it but for me. When I came in here tonight I was struck by
the unhappiness of her face, and, naturally, I began to ask questions.
It seems an egotistical thing to say, but Vera is as deeply attached
to me as I am to her, and that was the source of her trouble. She had
made up her mind to go away. She had made up her mind to get her own
living. And why? Simply because she knew that you had other views for
me, and that she stood in the way of your plans. It was only by a mere
accident that the whole thing came out. But I have spoken the words
now that are beyond recall, even if I wished to recall them, which I
do not. There will never be another woman in the world for me."
"But the thing is impossible," Lord Ravenspur broke out harshly. "It
is absolutely out of the question. I had other views for you, but I
certainly should not have pressed them against your wishes. But all
that is as nothing compared to this--this tragedy. I blame myself
bitterly for my want of foresight. My conduct has been almost
criminal. But, be that as it may, there must be no engagement between
Vera and yourself. Don't press me to tell you why, because my lips are
sealed, and I dare not speak. But, as you value your future, I implore
you to carry this thing no further. I know this sounds an outrageous
request, but I am speaking from the bottom of my heart. It is the
fashion of the world to regard me as one of the most fortunate and
enviable of men. I tell you, with all the force at my command, that I
would cheerfully change places with the humblest labourer on my
estate. I have never dropped the mask before, and I probably never
shall again. I am only doing it now so that you may be warned in time.
Go back to Vera, and tell her what I say. Tell her that there are
urgent reasons why a marriage between you is utterly out of the
question. And if you will persist in having your own way, then let me
ask you one final favour. Let the engagement be kept a secret. And now
I have no more to say. Perhaps I have said too much as it is, only if
you were aware what the last twenty-four hours has brought forth----"
Ravenspur broke off abruptly as if fearful of saying too much. His
whole attitude had changed; his features quivered with an almost
uncontrollable emotion. Then he turned on his heel, and strode down
the corridor in the direction of the studio. Walter could hear the
latch of the door click as it closed behind him. . . .
Ravenspur was alone with his own troubled thoughts. For a long time he
paced up and down the room, then he took up the photograph which had
excited so much attention amongst his guests earlier in the evening.
He laid it down on a little table, and gazed at the face there long
and sadly.
"Amazing!" Ravenspur muttered to himself. "Absolutely inexplicable! I
could have sworn that I had the photograph still under lock and key.
When did I take it from the safe, and why? Beyond all question, it was
not on the table yesterday. Is this a mere coincidence, or is it a
menace and warning of the old trouble which has never ceased to be
with me night and day the last twenty years? And how the whole thing
works together! First of all, poor Delahay is found murdered in his
studio, and now something like the same thing happens to one of my
guests who was unquestionably mistaken for me in the darkness. And as
if that was not enough, those two young fools must take it into their
heads to fancy that they are in love with one another. Heaven only
knows how I shall make my way out of this terrible coil, even if I
have the good luck to escape the consequences of my folly! The most
fortunate man in London! The most popular and most sought for! What a
bitter travesty upon the truth it is! If they only knew! If there were
only some power to lift the roof off of every house in London, what
tragedies would be revealed! And how many friends would be left to
me?"
Time was going on. A dozen clocks in different parts of the house
struck twelve. As Ravenspur stood by the table, his moody eyes still
bent upon the photographs, there was a sudden click and snap, and the
whole place was plunged in darkness. The thing was so quick and
unexpected that something like a cry of alarm broke from Ravenspur's
lips. It all came to him in a flash that the tragedy of Fitzjohn
Square was going to be repeated with himself in the _rôle_ of the
victim. This is just what had happened the previous evening, only
there had been nothing to try his nerves then as they were being
strained to breaking point now. Shaking and agitated in every limb he
made his way across to where the switches were, but there was nothing
wrong with them. He could hear no commotion in the house, such as
would naturally follow the extinguishing of the light. Indeed,
underneath the doorway he could see by the slit of light that the
electrics in the corridor were still working.
The full horror of it was almost more than he could bear. A wild
desire for light and companionship came upon him. His unsteady hand
fumbled at the latch, which seemed in some way to have gone wrong, for
the door refused to open. Ravenspur was breathing thickly and heavily.
But he was sufficiently in possession of his faculties to realise that
he was no longer alone in the room. He could distinctly hear someone
breathing close to him. Then he caught the sound of a low chuckle.
"Not so fast," a voice hissed in his ear; "I haven't come all this way
for the benefit of your society to lose you like this. You needn't
worry about the door, because you can't escape in that way."
In a sudden frenzy of rage and anger and fear, Ravenspur stretched out
his arm and encountered that of the mysterious stranger, whose
dramatic entrance had so startled him. But, strong man as he was, and
in the pink of good condition, Ravenspur could make nothing of his
assailant. The man appeared to be not more than half his size, but his
arms and body were tough and elastic as the finest whipcord. Gradually
Ravenspur was borne backward. He dropped on his knees with a grip
about his throat that caused him to gasp for breath, and brought a
million stars dancing before his eyes. He wanted help more earnestly
than he had ever required it in his life before, but his pride was
stubborn still, and he tried to choke down the cry which rose to his
lips. He must fight for himself to the end.
"So that is to be the end of it?" Vera asked. "It breaks my heart to
speak like this, but after what Lord Ravenspur has said, there must be
an end to the matter."
"But, my dearest girl, the thing is absurd," Walter cried. "What have
we done that we should be treated in this way? Surely our position is
clear enough. We are to be parted for the sake of some ridiculous whim
which is not even capable of an explanation. I am not going to leave
matters here. I decline to obey until I know the reason why. At any
rate, nothing can prevent our loving each other. And, as far as I am
concerned, I am quite prepared to keep the matter secret between us.
But I intend to have the matter out with my uncle before I sleep
tonight. I am not a boy to be treated in this sentimental fashion. So
long as I know that your feelings remain unchanged----"
"What is that?" Vera cried. "Didn't you hear anything--a kind of
horrible muffled scream? There it is again."
The sound came again and again, ringing through the silent house,
horrible and insistent in its note of tragedy. Vera turned a pale,
scared face to her companion.
"Where is it?" she gasped. "Where does it come from?"
"The studio," Walter exclaimed. "It is my uncle's voice. Something
terrible has happened to him."
Without another word Walter dashed from the room, and flew along the
corridor leading to the studio. Just for a moment there was a
strained, tense silence; then, as the door of the studio was reached,
a strange, muffled scream burst out again. With his hand on the lock
Walter shook the door, which refused to give way to him. He called
aloud on Ravenspur, but no reply came. He shook the door in a fit of
angry exasperation, and once more from inside the room came that
queer, choking noise, followed by a low chuckle. It was maddening,
exasperating to a degree, to stand so close to the threshold of
tragedy and yet to be so far away.
There was only one thing for it, and that was to break down the door.
Flinging himself full against the woodwork, Walter literally forced
his way in. Then he stood just for a moment looking into the gloom and
darkness, trying to see where the figure of the unhappy man lay.