TREACHERY
The sunlight was streaming through the window when at last my pen ceased
to move. I rubbed my eyes and looked out in momentary amazement.
Morning had already broken across the sea. My green-shaded lamp was
burning with a sickly light. The moon had turned pale and colourless
whilst I sat at my desk.
I stretched myself and, lighting a cigarette, commenced to collect my
papers. Immediately a dark figure rose from a couch in the farther
corner of the room and approached me.
"Can I get you anything, sir?"
I turned in my chair. The man-servant whom the Duke had put in charge
of the "Brand," my present habitation, and who remained with me always
in the room while I worked, stood at my elbow.
"I would like some coffee, Grooton," I said. "I am going to walk up to
the house with these papers, and I shall want a bath and some breakfast
directly I get back."
"Very good, sir. It shall be ready."
I folded up the sheets and maps, and placing them in an oilskin case,
tied them round my body under my waistcoat. Then I withdrew all the
cartridges save one from the revolver which had lain all night within
easy reach of my right hand, and slipped it into my pocket.
"Coffee ready, Grooton?"
"In one moment, sir."
I watched him bending over the stove, pale, dark-visaged, with the
subdued manners and voice which mark the aristocracy of servitude. My
employer's confidence in him must be immense, for while he watched over
me I was practically in his power.
"Have you been long with the Duke, Grooton?" I asked him.
"Twenty-one years, sir. I left his Grace to go to Lord Chelsford, who
found me some work in London."
"Secret service work, wasn't it, Grooton?"
"Yes, sir."
"Interesting?"
"Some parts of it very interesting, sir."
I nodded and drank my coffee. Grooton was watching me with an air of
respectful interest.
"You will pardon my remarking it, sir, but I hope you will try and get
some sleep during the day. You are very pale this morning, sir."
I looked at the glass, and was startled at my own reflection. This was
only my third day, and the responsibilities of my work were heavy upon
me. My cheeks were sunken and there were black rings around my eyes.
"I will lie down when I come back, Grooton," I answered.
Outside, the fresh morning wind came like a sudden sweet tonic to my
jaded nerves. I paused for a moment to face bareheaded the rush of it
from the sea. As I stood there, drinking it in, I became suddenly aware
of light approaching footsteps. Some one was coming towards the cottage
from the Park.
I did not immediately turn my head, but every nerve in my body seemed to
stiffen into quivering curiosity.
The pathway was a private one leading from the house only to the
"Brand," and down the cliff to Braster. It was barely seven o'clock,
and the footsteps were no labouring man's. I think that I knew very
well who it was that came so softly down the cone-strewn path.
We faced one another with little of the mask of surprise. She came like
a shadow, flitting between the slender tree trunks out into the
sunshine, where for a moment she seemed wan and white. Her dark eyes
flashed a greeting at me. I stood cap in hand before her. It was the
first time we had met since I had taken up my abode at the "Brand."
"Good-morning, Mr. Ducaine," she said. "You need not look at me as
though I were a ghost. I always walk before breakfast in the country."
"There is no better time," I answered.
"You look as though you had been up all night," she remarked.
"I had work to finish," I told her.
She nodded.
"So you would have none of my advice, Mr. Secretary," she said softly,
coming a little nearer to me. "You are already installed."
"Already at work," I asserted.
She glanced towards the "Brand."
"I hope that you are comfortable," she said. "A couple of hours is
short notice in which to make a place habitable."
"Grooton is a magician," I told her. "He has arranged everything."
"He is a wonderful servant," she said thoughtfully.
A white-winged bird floated over our heads and drifted away skywards.
She followed it with her eyes.
"You wonder at seeing me so early," she murmured. "Don't you think that
it is worth while? Nothing ever seems so sweet as this first morning
breeze."
I bowed gravely. She was standing bareheaded now at the edge of the
cliff, watching the flight of the bird. It was delightful to see the
faint pink come back to her cheeks with the sting of the salt wind.
Nevertheless, I had an idea in my mind that it was not wholly for her
health's sake that Lady Angela walked abroad so early.
"Tell me," she said presently, "have you had a visitor this morning?"
"What, at this hour?" I exclaimed.
"There are other early risers besides you and me," she said. "The
spinney gate was open, so some one has passed through."
I shook my head.
"I have not seen or heard a soul," I told her. "I have just finished
some work, and I am on my way up to the house with it."
"You really mean it?" she persisted.
"Of course I do," I answered her. "Grooton is the only person I have
spoken to for at least nine hours. Why do you ask?"
She hesitated.
"My window looks this way," she said, "and I fancied that I saw some one
cross the Park while I was dressing. The spinney gate was certainly
open."
"Then I fancy that it has been open all night," I declared, "for to the
best of my belief no one has passed through it save yourself. May I
walk with you back to the house, Lady Angela? There is something which
I should very much like to ask you."
She replaced her hat, which she had been carrying in her hand. I stood
watching her deft white fingers flashing amongst the thick silky coils
of her hair. The extreme slimness of her figure seemed accentuated by
her backward poise. Yet perhaps I had never before properly appreciated
its perfect gracefulness.
"I was going farther along the cliffs," she said, "but I will walk some
of the way back with you. One minute."
She stood on the extreme edge, and, shading her eyes with her hand, she
looked up and down the broad expanse of sand--a great untenanted
wilderness. I wondered for whom or what she was looking, but I asked no
question. In a few moments she rejoined me, and we turned inland.
"Well," she said, "what is it that you wish to say?"
"Lady Angela," I began, "a few weeks ago there was no one whose
prospects were less hopeful than mine. Thanks to your father and
Colonel Ray all that is changed. To-day I have a position I am proud
of, and important work. Yet I cannot help always remembering this: I am
holding a post which you warned me against accepting."
"Well?"
"I am very curious," I said. "I have never understood your warning. I
believe that you were in earnest. Was it that you believed me incapable
or untrustworthy, or--"
"You appear to me," she murmured, "to be rather a curious person."
I bent forward and looked into her face. There was in her wonderful
eyes a glint of laughter which became her well. She walked with slow
graceful ease, her hands behind her, her head almost on a level with my
own. I found myself studying her with a new pleasure. Then our eyes
met, and I looked away, momentarily confused. Was it my fancy, or was
there a certain measure of rebuke in her cool surprise, a faint
indication of her desire that I should remember that she was the Lady
Angela Harberly, and I her father's secretary? I bit my lip. She
should not catch me offending again, I determined.
"You must forgive me," I said stiffly, "but your warning seemed a little
singular. If you do not choose to gratify my curiosity, it is of no
consequence."
"Since you disregarded it," she remarked, lifting her dress from the
dew-laden grass on to which we had emerged, "it does not matter, does
it? Only you are very young, and you know little of the world. Lord
Ronald was your predecessor, and he is in a lunatic asylum. No one
knows what lies behind certain unfortunate things which have happened
during the last months. There is a mystery which is as yet unsolved."
I smiled.
"In your heart you are thinking," I said, "that such an unsophisticated
person as myself will be an easy prey to whatever snares may be laid for
me. Is it not so?"
She looked at me with uplifted eyebrows.
"Others of more experience have been worsted," she remarked calmly.
"Why not you?"
"If that is a serious question," I said, "I will answer it. Perhaps my
very inexperience will be my best friend."
"Yes?"
"Those before me," I continued, "have thought that they knew whom to
trust. I, knowing no one, shall trust no one."
"Not even me?" she asked, half turning her head towards me.
"Not even you," I answered firmly.
A man's figure suddenly appeared on the left. I looked at him puzzled,
wondering whence he had come.
"Here is your good friend, Colonel Mostyn Ray," she remarked, with a
note of banter in her tone. "What about him?"
"Not even Colonel Mostyn Ray," I answered. "The notes which I take with
me from each meeting are to be read over from my elaboration at the
next. Nobody is permitted to hold a pen or to make a note whilst they
are being read. Afterwards I have your father's promise that not even
he will ask for even a cursory glance at them. I deliver them sealed to
Lord Chelsford."
Ray came up to us. His dark eyebrows were drawn close together, and I
noticed that his boots were clogged with sand. He had the appearance of
a man who had been walking far and fast.
"You keep up your good habits, Lady Angela," he said, raising his cap.
"It is my only good one, so I am loth to let it go," she answered. "If
you were as gallant as you appear to be energetic," she added, glancing
at his boots, "you would have stopped when I called after you, and taken
me for a walk."
His eyes shot dark lightnings at her.
"I did not hear you call," he said.
"You had the appearance of a man who intended to, hear nothing and see
nothing," she remarked coolly. "Never mind! There will be no breakfast
for an hour yet. You shall take me on to Braster Hill. Come!"
They left me at a turn in the path. I saw their heads close together in
earnest conversation. I went on towards the house.
I entered by the back, and made my way across the great hall, which was
still invaded by domestics with brushes and brooms. Taking a small key
from my watch-chain, I unfastened the door of a room almost behind the
staircase, and pushed it open. The curtains were drawn, and the room
itself, therefore, almost in darkness. I carefully locked myself in,
and turned up the electric light.
The apartment was a small one, and contained only a few pieces of heavy
antique furniture. Behind the curtains were iron shutters. In one
corner was a strong safe. I walked to it, and for the first time I
permitted myself to think of the combination word. Slowly I fitted it
together, and the great door swung open.
There were several padlocked dispatch-boxes, and, on a shelf above, a
bundle of folded papers. I took this bundle carefully out and laid it
on the table before me. I was on the point of undoing the red tape with
which it was tied, when my fingers became suddenly rigid. I stared at
the packet with wide-open eyes. I felt my breath come short and my
brain reeling. The papers were there sure enough, but it was not at
them that I was looking. It was the double knot in the pink tape which
fascinated me.