IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT.
"I cannot do it," Vera said quietly. "Forgive me if my words hurt you,
but so far I have no evidence to prove that you are anything more than
a mere impostor. You claim to be my mother, and perhaps you are. But
till tonight I had no mother. For eighteen years Lord Ravenspur has
been more than a father to me. If you can give me any satisfactory
explanation of this plot against my safety----"
"Oh, I can," the Countess cried. "Two years ago--"
"Be silent!" Silva cried furiously. "I beg your pardon, madam, but I
am forgetting myself. I will venture to remind you that your train
will not wait."
"That is quite sufficient," Vera said, with dignity. "I will return to
my room again. Perhaps the next time I see you, you will have more
time for an explanation."
The girl turned and left the room. She walked slowly and sadly up the
stairs, and locked herself in. It was not long before she heard the
click of the fastening outside. She knew that she was a prisoner once
more. It was out of the question to try and realise the meaning of all
this extraordinary mystery. There was a certain sense of comfort in
the knowledge that she was safe from personal violence. But, beyond
this, there was little to light up the dreary prospect. Vera sat there
thinking the matter over till the clock struck eleven. Then she
glanced up at the ceiling, and stared at the trap-door long and
thoughtfully.
She could not hear a sound in the house. Doubtless Silva had retired
long ago. Perhaps he was asleep by this time. As to the servants, they
were probably not returning till an early hour in the morning. Vera
calculated that the house was sufficiently far from London to make a
return after the theatre impossible. She was going to risk it. If
Silva caught her attempting to escape she could only return to her
room again. She changed her dress rapidly. In the pocket of her skirt
she placed a a box of matches and a night-light, which she found on
the dressing-table. To get through the trap was a matter of a moment.
With the aid of a match she found the top of the iron ladder, and when
she had let herself down she came at length, as she had expected, to
the top of the servants' staircase. The house was absolutely quiet,
and plunged in darkness. Vera scarcely dared to breathe, till, at
length, she found herself in the hall. It was tense and nervous work,
and the girl was trembling from head to foot. She hardly dared to
touch the bolts. She drew them back a fraction at a time. Then she
slid off the chain; the links clicked together with a noise that
sounded in the girl's ears almost like a pistol shot. She turned the
handle hurriedly. One moment more, and she would be in the garden.
The disappointment was swift and cruel. The door was locked, and the
key was not there. Evidently this was no way of escape. After the
first feeling of despair Vera shot the bolts back, and put up the
chain once more. It was no use trying the back door, for that would
probably be locked, and the key gone. The only possible exit was by
way of one of the windows on the ground floor. But here again Vera was
doomed to disappointment, for every door was fastened and every key
had vanished.
Vera blew out her night-light, and crept softly up the stairs again.
She wondered if it were possible to open one of the bedroom windows
and leap to the ground. Trembling in every limb she groped her way
into one of the rooms, the door of which was open. Once more she
ventured to strike a light. The room she was in was furnished like a
study. Here was a large table with paper and pens and ink. The walls
were lined with books. A strong current of air came in from somewhere;
then Vera realised that one of the windows was open. There was a
balcony beyond, and on to this she stepped, trying to measure with her
eye the distance to the ground. But it was too dark for that. The risk
was too great to take. It was like standing on the edge of a
precipice. Vera drew back with a shudder. She really had not the
courage for such a desperate venture. It would be far better for her
to remain where she was until her friends came to her assistance.
With this thought uppermost in her mind Vera turned back to the room
again. A sudden gust of air from the open window extinguished the
night-light. It was just as well, for almost at the same instant
another door opened on the landing, and a shaft of brilliant light
shot out. In its rays Vera could see Silva and another man who was a
stranger to her. Silva appeared to be in high good spirits. He was
chatting gaily to his companion.
"Now you know exactly what I want," he said. "You are to wait by the
gate till two o'clock if necessary, and when those people come along,
you are to give me the signal. If they don't come by two o'clock, then
we can conclude that something has interfered with their plans, and
the thing has been postponed."
"Oh, I'll do what you want," the other man said hoarsely.
"I'll see that you do," Silva went on. "I suppose those fools thought
they deceived me this morning. It was just as well that I followed
them. Well, if they like to come here, they will be pretty sure of a
welcome. And now I will just come and let you out, and fasten the door
behind you. It will be fun to sit here watching till they are
overhead, and then I shall have them in a fine trap. I am looking
forward to it with the greatest possible pleasure. Then you had better
meet me in London tomorrow, and I will give you the money I promised.
Ah, my good Stevens, this is the best week's work you ever did in your
life. A few more such jobs and you will be able to retire from your
honorable profession."
The man addressed as Stevens smiled sourly. Vera made a note of the
name; she also made a note of the man's features. Then, as the two of
them went down into the hall, she slipped back to her own room again
by means of the iron ladder. Her breath was coming thick and fast, but
her courage had returned, and she felt braced up and ready to meet any
emergency.
It was quite clear to her what was happening. As far as she herself
was concerned, she was practically a prisoner. She could not get away
even if she wished to. And now she had no desire to leave. Her
instincts had been quite correct. Beyond all question the men on the
lawn in the earlier part of the day had been her own friends. The dog
had guided them here, and even at that moment they were probably on
their way to effect a rescue.
But they had not been quite clever enough for Silva. He had been too
suspicious to let an incident like that pass. He had appeared to bow
to the inevitable, but, all the same, he had followed his unwelcome
visitors, and probably discovered their secret. And the worst of it
was, Silva was now quite prepared for the intruders. It was
impossible, too, for Vera to warn her friends. She racked her brains
for some way of giving them a signal. There was only one desperate
step to take, and she decided to risk it. Back once more she went
until she came at length to the landing on the first floor. Her idea
was to find out where Silva was hiding. There was a strong smell of
cigarette smoke in the house, which appeared to come from the ground
floor. There was only one thing for it, and that was to descend to the
hall. Under the morning-room door there was just a thin slit of light.
It was here that the smell of cigarette smoke was the strongest. It
was here, no doubt, that Silva was waiting for the fray. So far as
Vera could judge the morning-room was on one side of the house, so
that in all probability the light would not be seen, or perhaps there
were some heavy curtains or drapery over the window. From his own lips
Vera knew something of what Silva's plans were. He was going to wait
there till he had his enemies trapped overhead. He probably would not
move till the critical moment came.
It was a desperate idea, but there was nothing else for it. Vera crept
up to the little sitting-room, and hastily dashed off a few words of
warning which she hoped might fall into Walter's hands. She did not
doubt for a moment that he would be one of the rescuers. It seemed
to her that if she placed the note on the little table with the
night-light behind it, and left the door open, it would be bound to
attract Walter's attention. Then he would be prepared for the attack
from below. There was practically no chance of Silva coming upstairs
in the meantime, so that there was no reason why the little plot
should fail. It was done at length, and then Vera again crept up the
iron ladder to the side of the tank. But she did not return to her
room. She knew that she was perfectly safe where she was. And,
besides, at any moment her assistance might be of the greatest value.
She stood there in the pitchy darkness, the leaden moments creeping on
like so many hours.
Her ears were strained to catch the slightest sound; even the trickle
of a water-tap sounded like pistol shots. A mouse behind the wainscot
appeared to be making noise enough to wake the dead. Then, above the
creeping silence, came a quick snap, which was like the breaking of
wood. Vera's heart gave a great leap. It seemed to her that the attack
was commencing in earnest.
A minute or two later and she fancied she could hear footsteps in the
hall. But this she dismissed as mere fancy. She could hear the trees
rustling outside as they swayed to a sudden breeze. She hoped the wind
would not be strong enough to blow out her night-light. She wished now
that she had closed the window. Then she jumped with a nervous start
as a door banged like the thud of artillery. She heard a quick, sharp
cry, and then the laboured breathing as if two men were locked in a
struggle to the death.