ANOTHER MYSTERY
Lesbia Hale was small, fragile and, in a degree, romantic; but in
sufficiently strange contrast, her frame was strong and her nature
practical. An ordinary girl would have screamed and fainted, or
perhaps would have run away. Lesbia did none of these things. She
turned pale, it is true, and she trembled violently as she stared with
dilated eyes at the bound form of her lover. Then it came upon her
with a rush that immediate aid was required, and without even calling
for Tim, she set down her candlestick on a convenient chair, and knelt
beside the unfortunate young man. He was certainly in a very bad way;
but how he came to be in such a plight, Lesbia, with characteristic
commonsense, did not wait to inquire. The first thing was to loosen
him, and revive him with wine: then she could ask questions. The
answers promised to be interesting.
First she dexterously removed the handkerchief from across his mouth,
with which George had been gagged in a clumsy manner. This she threw
aside with a passing thought that later she would learn to whom it
belonged, and then proceeded to unloosen the knot of the rope with
which her lover was bound. There was only one rope and only one knot,
and when she had disentangled the somewhat complicated fastening, she
unwound the cord which curled round him from his broad shoulders to
his ankles. With his arms glued to his sides and his feet pressed
closely together, George Walker had been tied up with yards of
brand-new manila rope, so that he could not move, and was trussed as
stiffly as any fowl prepared for the market. And the person or persons
who had bound him thus, to make assurance doubly sure, had struck him
a heavy blow on the back of his head. Lesbia discovered this by the
half-dry blood which clotted his curly hair.
"What does it all mean?" asked Lesbia, when George was free from his
bonds, and lying almost as stiffly without them as he had when bound.
But the young man did not reply, for the very good reason that he had
fainted. At once Lesbia kissed him, and then went to the parlour door
to summon Tim.
She called loudly, quite heedless of the fact that she might waken her
father, who did not approve of young Walker. And even if he did not,
it was necessary that he should come to aid the unfortunate man. So
while the French clock on the mantelpiece struck a silvery twelve,
Lesbia shouted at the full pitch of her healthy young lungs. In a few
minutes the alarmed voice of Tim was heard, and by the time she was
again kneeling beside George, the dwarf shuffled hurriedly into the
dimly-lighted room, half-dressed, a candle in one hand and the kitchen
poker in the other.
"The saints be betwixt us and harm, Miss Lesbia," cried Tim, who
looked scared out of his senses, "what's come to you?"
"What's come to George, you mean," said Lesbia, looking up. "See, Tim,
I heard him call me and came downstairs a few minutes ago to find him
bound and wounded. Don't stand there shaking, and don't chatter. Get
the brandy and heat some water. He has fainted, and we must bring him
to his senses."
"But how the divil did Masther Garge come here?" demanded Tim, aghast.
"How should I know?" retorted Lesbia impatiently. "We can ask him when
he is able to speak. Go and do what I tell you while I waken my
father."
"Sure the masther isn't in, Miss," expostulated Tim, backing towards
the door. "He wint out afther dinner to spind the night wid Captain
Sargent at Cookham. An' that we shud have the bad luck av this, while
he's away. Oh, Miss Lesbia, wasn't it burglars I was thinking av? But
nivir murder, save the mark, an' sudden death at that."
"It will be sudden death if you don't get that brandy. Stop!" Lesbia
started to her feet. "I'll get it myself. Go and heat the water to
bathe his wound."
She ran into the dining-room and procured the spirit, while Tim went
to stoke up the kitchen fire. Lesbia forced George's teeth apart and
poured the brandy wholesale down his throat. The ardent liquor revived
him, and he opened his eyes with a faint sigh. "Don't speak, darling,"
she whispered, with a second kiss, and then set to work chafing his
limbs. By the time Tim appeared with a jug of boiling water, the young
man had quite recovered his senses, and attempted to explain.
"No," said Lesbia sharply, "you are too weak as yet. Bring a basin,
Tim, and a sponge. We must bathe his head."
Considering she had no practice Lesbia performed her Good Samaritan
task very dexterously and, having sponged the wound--a nasty, jagged
blow from some blunt instrument,--bound up her lover's head with that
cleverness and tenderness which come from love. When he had quite
recovered--save for a trifling weakness--she made him lie down on the
sofa, and fed him with weak brandy and water. Tim meanwhile lighted
the lamp, and exhausted himself in guessing the reason for the
condition of young Walker. "It's that blissed crass," moaned Tim,
moving round like an unquiet ghost, "bad luck to the same! Didn't I
say it wud bring throuble?"
"You did, Tim, you did," assented Lesbia, who was seated by the now
recovered man, and looking somewhat weary after her exertions, "but as
George is comparatively well, he can explain."
"The cross is quite safe," said Walker faintly. "I left it at home.
Oh, my head, how it aches. No wonder, when such a heavy blow was
struck."
"Who struck it, dear?" inquired Lesbia.
"I don't know," George's voice was weary. "It's a long story."
"Drink some more of this," said Lesbia, holding the glass to his pale
lips, "and wait until you feel stronger."
"Oh, I'm much better now," he replied, pushing the brandy and water
away, "but I shan't be able to go to the office to-morrow morning."
"Beg-ad, it's to-morrow morning already!" said Tim, glancing at the
clock. "Half-past twilve as I'm a sinner, an' here's Miss Lesbia an'
mesilf sittin' up like the quality. Oh, the sowl av me, what will the
masther say?"
"What can he say?" demanded Miss Hale tartly. "Father can't hold you
and me accountable for the unexpected."
"Unexpected, indeed," breathed George. "Who would have thought that I
would have been struck down on the towing-path. I can't guess the
reason, Lesbia, it's beyond me."
"The crass! the crass!" muttered Tim, shaking his shaggy head.
"What do you know about it?" demanded Lesbia.
"Divil a thing, but that it brings bad luck," answered Tim sturdily.
"It is not altogether bad luck that George has been brought here for
me to attend to him," she retorted.
"No, dear," Walker patted her hand, "this accident shows me what an
angel you are. But how did I come here?"
"Don't you know who brought you?"
"I know nothing from the time I was struck down on the towing-path
near Medmenham, until the moment I saw you standing in yonder doorway
with a candle in your hand."
Lesbia knitted her pretty brows. "I can't understand. Some enemy----"
"I have no enemies," murmured George positively.
"Then it's a mystery," declared the girl, still more perplexed. "Tell
me exactly what took place."
Walker passed his hand wearily across his forehead, for his head ached
considerably. "After leaving you with your father, darling, I rowed
back to Medmenham, and went home to the cottage. My mother was not
within, as she had gone up to town early in the day and did not intend
to return until to-morrow----"
"That's to-day, begob!" interpolated Tim, again looking at the clock.
"Then it is to-day she returns," said Walker, in a stronger voice,
"about three in the afternoon. But to continue, Lesbia, I had my
dinner and smoked a pipe. Then I grew restless, wondering if you were
having a bad time with your father on my account. I thought he would
make things unpleasant for you, and determined to come down and see
what had happened. That was about ten o'clock."
Lesbia patted his hand. "You need not have troubled, dear. My father
and I got on very well together."
"I did not know that, and so was anxious. I ferried over the river to
the towing-path, and walked down towards Marlow, intending to cross
the bridge and come here."
"I was in bed at ten."
"So soon. I thought you might be sitting up."
"Well, I did not expect you, dear," explained the girl. "As Tim was
out on the river, and my father had gone away, I found it dull. I went
to bed because I could think of nothing else to do. Then I fancied I
heard you calling for help, and came down to find you gagged and
bound."
"I did not call for help because I was gagged," said George, "and
almost insensible. I expect you were dreaming."
"A very serviceable dream," said Lesbia drily. "Go on, George,
darling."
"About half way between Medmenham and Marlow, while I was walking
along in the moonlight, I heard a soft step behind me, and turned to
see a man almost on top of me. I had not even time to see what he was
like, so quickly did he attack me. Aiming a blow at my head with a
bludgeon, he struck me hard, and I fell insensible on the path."
"And then?"
"Then I woke to find you looking at me in this room. That's all."
Lesbia examined her lover searchingly. He wore white flannel trousers,
a silk shirt, a white flannel coat, and brown shoes. His panama hat
was missing.
Then Lesbia uttered an exclamation, and pointed to his pockets. All
these, both in coat and trousers, were turned inside out, and the
buttons of his shirt were undone, as though he had been searched to
the skin. "It's robbery," said Lesbia firmly.
"Robbery! Impossible! Why should anyone rob a pauper like me? I have
nothing."
"You have the crass!" murmured Tim, who was squatting on the floor,
and who looked like a goblin.
"Tim." It was Lesbia who spoke. "Do you think that Mr. Walker was
attacked to get the amethyst cross?"
"Faith, an' I can't say, Miss. But me mother--rest her sowl--towld me
that the crass brought bad luck, and it's come to Masther Garge here.
Maybe it's only talk, but there you are," and he pointed to the young
man.
Walker reflected for a moment or so, while Lesbia turned over Tim's
explanation in her mind. "I daresay he is right," said George
pensively, "and you also, Lesbia. I was rendered insensible so that I
might be robbed, as is proved by my pockets being turned inside out.
As the only article of value I possessed was the cross, and I only
acquired that yesterday evening, I expect it was the cross this man
was after. If so, he must be very much disappointed, for I left your
gift in the drawer of my dressing-table, before I came to see you at
ten o'clock."
"What was the man like?"
"I told you that I only caught a glimpse of him," said Walker
fretfully, for the conversation wearied him. "He seemed to be a tall
man, and was roughly dressed. His soft hat was pulled over his eyes,
and--and I know, nothing more about him."
Seeing that he was still weak, Lesbia stood up. "You can lie here on
the sofa and go to sleep," she said softly. "To-morrow morning we can
talk."
"But I have to get to London by the eight o'clock train--the office!"
"Bother the office!" said Lesbia inelegantly. "You are not fit to go
to the office. Try to sleep. Tim, give me that rug you brought. There,
dear," she tucked him in. "I have left a glass of water beside you.
Tim can come in every now and then to see how you are."
"Augh," groaned Tim, yawning, "it's just as well, Miss. I cudn't slape
forty winks, wid blue murther about. But the masther will come back
after breakfast, an' what will we say at all, at all?"
"Say," snapped Lesbia, who was at the door, looking extremely weary.
"Tell the truth, of course. My father will quite approve of what we
have done. George, don't talk to Tim, who is a chatterbox, but go to
sleep. You need all you can get, poor boy."
George, already nearly asleep, murmured an incoherent reply and,
leaving Tim to watch over him, Lesbia returned to her room, but not to
sleep for at least an hour. Lying on her bed, she tried to fathom the
mystery of this assault upon her unoffending lover. Apparently the
cross had to do with the matter, as George had never been attacked
before. And then in a flash the girl remembered that her father was
desirous of regaining the ornament, and apparently, from the way in
which he had talked, was prepared to go to great lengths to get it.
Could it be that he had struck down her lover? He had been absent all
the evening, and would be absent all the night, at Sargent's Cookham
cottage, according to the message he had left with Tim. He did not
like Walker, and moreover was tall, as the assailant had been. It
really seemed as though Mr. Walter Hale had taken the law into his own
hands and, to get back his property, as he averred the cross to be,
had committed something uncommonly like highway robbery. Lesbia
worried over the problem half the night, as she could not believe that
her father would act so basely. Finally, towards dawn she fell into an
uneasy sleep.
It was ten o'clock when she woke, and at once her thoughts reverted
to the late exciting event. No such sensational happening had ever
before disturbed the quietness of the riverside cottage, and the
mystery which environed it was an added fascination. As Lesbia slowly
dressed--and in her prettiest frock for the sake of George,--she again
wondered if her father was connected with the assault and the
attempted robbery.
George could only have been attacked for the sake of the amethyst
cross, and her father alone--so far as she knew--desired that cross.
Yet if Mr. Hale was guilty, why had he brought his victim into his own
house? No one else could have brought George, for no one else could
have entered. Lesbia had no great love for her father, since he
invariably repelled all her proffers of affection; but she now felt
that she could actively hate him for his wickedness in so dealing with
the man she loved. And yet, as she reflected when she descended the
stairs, she could not be sure that her father was guilty, even in the
face of such evidence.
When Lesbia entered the dining-room she found George quite his old
self. The night's rest had done him good, and a cold bath had
refreshed him greatly. With Tim's willing assistance he had made
himself presentable and, save for a linen bandage round his head,
looked much the same as he had done on the previous day. He came
forward swiftly with sparkling eyes, and took Lesbia in his arms,
murmuring soft and foolish words, after the way of lovers, even less
romantic.
"Darling! Darling! Darling! How good you have been to me."
"I could have done no less for anyone," replied Lesbia, leading him to
a chair. "Sit down, dearest, you are still weak."
"On the contrary I am quite strong, although my head still aches a
trifle from that cowardly blow. Besides, I am hungry, and there is Tim
bringing in a magnificent breakfast. Sweetest and best," he went on,
leading her to the well-spread table, "this is just as if we were
married. You at the top of the table and I at the bottom. Give me a
cup of coffee, Lesbia, and I'll serve out the eggs and ham. Tim, you
needn't wait."
Tim grumbled a trifle, as he loved to wait on Lesbia, But he was an
Irishman and appreciated a love affair. It did not need much
cleverness to see that young Walker wished to be alone with his
beloved, if only to enjoy the unique situation. Tim therefore departed
and the couple had their breakfast in heavenly solitude. Lesbia wished
to talk about the adventure on the towing-path, and to ask questions,
but George positively refused to speak of anything save the most
frivolous matters.
"Your father will return soon," he explained, passing his cup for more
coffee, "and then I shall have to tell my story all over again. Let us
talk about ourselves and of our future."
Lesbia, after a faint resistance, was only too pleased to obey, so
they had an extremely pleasant meal. The room was cheerful with the
summer sun, which poured in floods of light and warmth through the
windows, and the feeling of spring was still in the air. Most
prosaically they enjoyed their food and unromantically ate a large
breakfast, but all the time they kept looking at one another and
relishing the novel situation. It was brought to an end only too
speedily by the sudden entrance of Mr. Hale. Tall, lean, cold and
stern, he appeared on the threshold, and stared in surprise at the way
in which young Walker was taking possession, not only of his house but
of his daughter.
"What the devil does this mean?" asked Hale, politely indignant.
"Look at George's head," cried Lesbia with a shiver, for her doubts
returned fortyfold at the sight of her aristocratic father.
"That explains nothing," said Hale drily, "perhaps, Mr. Walker, you
will undertake to tell me how it comes that I find you making yourself
at home in my poor abode?"
George, who was perfectly cool and collected, told his story. Hale
listened, much more discomposed than he chose to appear, and at the
conclusion of the narrative asked one question, which showed where his
thoughts were.
"The cross," he said eagerly, "have you been robbed of the cross?"
"No," answered Walker positively, "although I believe that I was
attacked for the sake of it. But luckily I left it in the drawer of my
dressing-table. Can you guess who attacked me?"
"No," said Hale coolly, "I cannot."
"Still, if you know about the cross----"
"I only know that it belonged to my wife and that I want to get it
back as soon as possible. Lesbia should never have given it to you. As
to your being attacked so that you might be robbed of it, I can't
believe that story. The cross, as a jewel, is not so very valuable.
Besides, no one but myself and Lesbia and Tim knew that you had it. I
presume," ended Hale, in his most sarcastic manner, "that you do not
suspect any one of us three."
"Oh no," rejoined Walker promptly, and spoke as he believed in spite
of the troubled look which Lesbia cast on him. "Still----"
Hale threw up his hand to interrupt. "We can talk of your adventure
later, Mr. Walker. After all, the cross may have something to do with
the way in which you were assaulted, although--as I said--it appears
unlikely. I want to recover it immediately, and am the more eager, now
that I have heard of your adventure. Give me a note to your mother
saying that the cross is to be given to me, and I shall consent to
your marriage with Lesbia."
George looked at the girl, who nodded. "Let my father have back the
cross, since he so greatly desires it," she said. "I can give you
something else, dear. I am willing to pay that price for my father's
consent."
George shrugged his shoulders. "It is immaterial to me," he said
calmly, "so long as you are pleased, dear. I only wished to keep the
ornament as your first love-gift to me. Have you a pencil, Mr. Hale.
Thank you."
He scribbled a note. "To Jenny, our maid-servant," he explained, when
handing it to the tall, silent man, "she will admit you into my
bedroom and you will find the cross in the right-hand drawer of my
dressing-table."
"But your mother----"
"My mother went to London yesterday and will not be back until three
o'clock to-day. If you like to wait I can go over with you later."
"No," said Hale brusquely, "your mother might make objections. I know
how difficult she is to deal with. I'll go myself: you stay here with
Lesbia."
George was nothing loth, and when Mr. Hale departed he walked with his
beloved in the garden. They should have talked of the adventure, and
Lesbia should have told George the thought that was uppermost in her
mind--namely, that her father was cognisant of the assault. But she
did not care to make such an accusation upon insufficient grounds, and
moreover hesitated to accuse her father of such a crime. She therefore
willingly agreed to postpone all talk of the adventure until Mr.
Hale's return, and surrendered herself to the pleasure of the moment.
The lovers spent a long morning in the garden of love, gathering the
rosebuds which Herrick recommends should be culled in youth. Time flew
by on golden wings, and Hale was no sooner gone all the way to
Medmenham, than he seemed to come back. He could not have been away
for more than five minutes, as it appeared to these two enthralled by
Love. For them time had no existence.
But their dream of love fled, when Hale came swiftly down the path
looking both angry and alarmed, and, indeed, perplexed. "The cross has
gone," he said.
"Impossible," cried George, starting to his feet, astonished. "I left
it----"
"The cross has gone," repeated Hale decisively, "your cottage has been
robbed, burgled. I repeat, the cross has gone."