Ann Hopley startled.
The morning sun was chasing the dew from the grass: and the lawn at
the Maze, glittering so brightly in the welcome rays, told no tales of
the strange feet that had, unbidden and unsuspected, trodden it in the
night. Mrs. Grey, looking wondrously pretty and delicate in her white
morning gown, with her golden hair as bright as the sunshine, sat at
breakfast in a little room whose window was beside the entrance porch.
Her baby, wide awake, but quiet and good, lay covered up on the sofa
in its night-dress. She was talking to it as she eat her breakfast,
and the wide-open little eyes were turned to her as if it understood.
"Good little darling! Sweet, gentle baby! It does not scream and fight
as other babies do: no never. It is mamma's own precious treasure--and
mamma is going to dress it presently and put on its pretty worked
robe. Oh, baby, baby!" she broke off, her mood changing, and the
distress at her heart rising to the surface, above the momentary
make-believe dalliance, "if we could but be at rest as others are! We
should be happier than the day has hours in it."
The accession of illness, attacking Sir Adam on the previous day, the
great risk they ran in calling in a doctor to him, had shaken poor
Rose's equanimity to the centre. She strove to be brave always, for
his sake; she had been in the habit of keeping-in as well as she could
the signs of the dread that ever lay upon her, and she had done so in
a degree yesterday. But in the evening when the doctor had safely
gone, and the day and its troubles were over, she had yielded to a
sudden fit of hysterical weeping. Her husband came into the room in
the midst of it. He partly soothed, partly scolded her: where was the
use of fretting, he asked; better take matters as they came. With
almost convulsive efforts she swallowed her sobs and dried her eyes;
and turned the tables on him by gently reproaching him with getting
up, when Dr. Cavendish had peremptorily enjoined him to stay in bed.
Sir Adam laughed at that: saying he felt none the worse for his
fainting fit, or whatever it was, and was not going to lie abed for
all the doctors in Christendom.
The cheery morning sun is a great restorer--a gladdening comforter:
and Rose felt its influence. During her sleepless night, nothing could
be more disheartening, nothing more gloomy than the view pervading her
mind: but this morning, with that glorious light from heaven shining
on all things, she and the earth alike revived under it. One great
thing she felt incessant thankfulness for; it was a real mercy--that
that miserable visitation of the detective and his policemen had not
been delayed to the day of Sir Adam's illness. Had they caught him in
bed, no earthly power, she thought, could have saved him. Karl,
stealing over for a few minutes at night, to see for himself what this
alarm of increased illness of his brother's could mean, had warned
them both to be prepared, for he had reason to fancy the search might
be repeated.
"This spot is getting more dangerous day by day," murmured Rose to
herself, pouring out another cup of tea. "Oh, if we could but get away
from it! London itself seems as though it would be safer than this."
She proceeded with her meal very slowly, her thoughts buried in
schemes for their departure. Of late she had been ever weaving a web
of possibility for it, a cunning plan of action: and she thought she
had formed one. If necessary _she_ would stay on at the Maze with her
baby--oh, for months--for years even--so that Adam could but get away.
Until this man the detective--more feared by her, more dreadful to
contemplate than any man born into the world yet--should take his
departure from the place, nothing might be attempted: they could only
remain still and quiet; taking what precautions they could against
surprise and recapture, and she praying always that her husband might
be spared this last crowning calamity: beyond which, if it took place,
there would never more be anything in this world but blank despair.
Ann Hopley was upstairs, making the beds, and attending to matters
there generally. Until her room was ready, and the fire had burnt up
well to dress the baby by, Mrs. Grey would stay where she was:
consequently she was at full liberty to linger over her breakfast.
There was something in the extreme quietness of the little child, and
in its passive face, that to a more experienced eye might have
suggested doubts of its well-being: a perfectly healthy infant is apt
to be as troublesome as it can be. Mrs. Grey suspected nothing. It had
improved much since its baptism, and she supposed it to be getting
strong and healthy. A soft sweet plaintive note escaped the child's
lips.
"Yes, my baby. Mamma has not forgotten you. The room will soon be
warm, and baby shall be dressed. And then mamma will wrap it up well
and wrap herself up, and sit out of doors in the sunshine. And
papa----"
The words broke off in a low wail of horror; her heart seemed to die
away in the faintness of sick despair. Something like a dark cloud had
passed the window, shutting out for a moment the glad sunshine on the
grass. It was Mr. Detective Strange: and, following closely on his
heels, were the two same policemen, both of them this time in official
clothes. They had come through the maze without warning, no doubt by
the help of the passe-partout, and were making swiftly for the
entrance-door--that lay open to the morning air. Her supposition was
that they had fathomed Adam's system of concealment.
"God help us! God save and protect us!" breathed the poor wife,
clasping her hands, and every drop of blood going out of her ashy
face.
Mr. Strange, who had seen her through the window, was in the room
without a moment's delay. He was courteous as before; he meant to be
as considerate as the nature of his mission allowed him to be: and
even before he had spoken a word, the keen, practised eye took in the
visible signs. The small parlour affording no possibility for the
concealment of Salter; the baby on the sofa; the breakfast, laid for
one only, of which Mrs. Grey was partaking.
He was very sorry to be obliged to intrude upon her again: but he had
orders once more to search the Maze, and could but obey them. And he
begged her to believe that she herself, individually, should be
subjected to no annoyance or restraint.
She made no answer: she could collect neither thoughts nor words to do
so in her terrible fear. Mr. Strange retreated with a bow and closed
the door again, making a mental comment upon her evident distress, her
ghastly looks.
"There's no mistake, I think, that he is ready to our hands this time:
her face alone would betray it. The curious thing is--where was he
before?"
Ann Hopley had finished the rooms, and was kneeling before the fire in
her mistress's chamber, coaxing an obstinate piece of coal to burn,
and blowing at it with her lips with all her might, when a slight
noise caused her to turn. There stood Mr. Strange, a policeman at his
elbow. She had not heard the entrance. Up she got, and stood staring;
unable to believe her eyes, and startled almost into screaming. But
she knew how much lay upon her--almost life or death.
"Goodness bless me!" cried she, speaking freely, as she strove to
brave it out, and shaking inwardly. "Whatever brings you folks here
again?"
"We have to go through the house once more."
"How did you get in?"
"Quite legally," replied Mr. Strange. "I have to do my duty."
So entirely was she unprepared for this, and perhaps fearing that in
her state of dismayed perplexity she might let fall some dangerous
word of admission, feeling also that she could do no good to her
master by staying, but might do harm, Ann Hopley withdrew, after
giving the fire a gentle lift with the poker, and went down to the
kitchen with a cool air, as if resolved not to let the affair
interrupt her routine of work. Taking up a small basket of what she
would have termed "fine things," recently washed, consisting of caps
and bits of lace, and such like articles pertaining to the baby, she
carried it out of doors beyond the end of the lawn, and began putting
the things on gooseberry bushes to dry. Old Hopley was pottering about
there, doing something to the celery bed. The policeman left on guard
below, and standing so that his sight could command all things,
surveyed her movements with a critical eye. She did not go out of his
sight, but came back with the basket at once. While spreading the
things, she had noted him watching her.
"I daresay I'm a kind of genteel prisoner," ran her thoughts. "If I
attempted to go where those ugly eyes of his couldn't follow me, he
might be for ordering me back, for fear I should be giving warning to
the master that they are here. Well, we can do nothing; it is in
Heaven's hands: better they came in to-day than yesterday!"
Mr. Detective Strange had rarely felt surer of anything than he was
that he should find Philip Salter in bed, and capture him without the
slightest difficulty in his sick state. It was not so to be. Very much
to his amazement, there appeared to be no sign whatever of a sick man
in the place. The rooms were all put in order for the day, the beds
made; nothing was different from what it had been at the time of his
previous entrance. Seek as he would, his practised eye could find no
trace--nay, no possibility--of any hidden chamber. In fact, there was
none.
"Where the deuce can the fellow be?" mused Mr. Strange, gazing about
him with a thoughtful air.
The underground places were visited with as little success, though the
search he made was minute and careful. He could not understand it.
That Salter had not been allowed time to escape out of doors, so rapid
was their first approach, he knew; but, nevertheless, the trees and
grounds were well examined. Hopley lifted his poor bent back from his
work in the celery-bed--from which, as the watching policeman could
have testified, he had not stirred at all--to touch his straw hat when
the detective passed. Mr. Strange answered by a nod, but did not
accost him. To question the deaf old man would be only waste of time.
There was some mystery about all this; a mystery he--even he--could
not at present fathom. Just one possibility crossed his mind and was
exceedingly unwelcome--that Salter, alarmed by the stir that was being
made, had in truth got away. Got away, in spite of the precautions
that he, Strange, in conjunction with the police of Basham, had been
for the past day or two taking, secretly and unobserved.
He did not believe it. He did not wish to believe it. And, in truth,
it seemed to him not to be possible, for more reasons than one. A man
in the condition of health hinted at by Dr. Cavendish would be in no
state for travelling. But still--with the Maze turned, as he honestly
believed, inside out, and showing no signs or trace of Salter, where
was he?
This took up some time. Ann Hopley had got her preparations for dinner
forward, had answered the butcher's bell and taken in the meat: and by
and by went across the garden again to cut two cauliflowers. She was
coming back with them in her apron, when Mr. Strange met her, and
spoke.
"I have a question or two to put to you, Mrs. Hopley, which I must
desire of you to answer--and to answer correctly. Otherwise I shall be
obliged to summon you before the magistrates and compel your answers
on your oath. If you are wise you will avoid giving me and yourself
that trouble."
"As far as answering you goes, sir, I'd as soon answer as be silent,"
she returned, in a temperate but nevertheless injured tone. "But I
must say that it puts my temper up to see an innocent and inoffensive
young lady insulted as my poor mistress is. What has she done to be
signalled out for such treatment? If she were not entirely unprotected
here, a lone woman, you'd not dare to do it. You told her the other
day you were in search of one Salter: and you know that you looked in
every hole and corner our house has got, and must have satisfied
yourself that no Salter was here. And yet, here you come in, searching
again!"
"It was not Salter, I suppose, who was ill yesterday; for whom Dr.
Cavendish was telegraphed?" rejoined Mr. Strange, significantly,
having allowed her speech to run on to its end. "Perhaps you will tell
me that?"
"Salter! That I'll take my oath it was not, sir."
"Who was it, then?"
"Well, sir, it was no one that you could have any concern with."
"I am the best judge of that. Who was it? Remember, I ask you in the
name of the law, and you must answer me."
"That gentleman came down on a short visit to my mistress, and was
taken ill while he stayed. It frightened us out of our senses; it was
a fainting-fit, or something of that sort, but he looked for all the
world like a man dead; and I ran off and telegraphed for a doctor."
The detective's eyes were searching Ann Hopley through and through.
She did not flinch: and looked innocent as the day.
"What has become of him?"
"He went away again last night, sir."
"Went away, did he!"--in a mocking tone of incredulity.
"He did, sir. After the doctor left he got up and dressed and came
down, saying he was better. He didn't seem to think much of his
illness; he had been as bad, he said, before. I confess I was
surprised, myself, to hear he was going away, for I thought him not
well enough to travel. But I believe he was obliged to go."
"What was his name?"
"I did not hear it, sir. He was here but a few hours in all."
"Look here, Mrs. Hopley: if you will tell me where that gentleman came
from, and what his name is, I will give you five sovereigns."
Her eyes opened, apparently with the magnitude of the offer.
"I wish I could, sir. I'm sure I should be glad to earn all that, if
it were in my power; for I don't believe Hopley will be able to work
over-much longer, and we are laying up what little we can. I think he
came from London, but I am not sure: and I think he's going off to
some foreign country, for he and my mistress were talking of the sea.
She wished him a good voyage and a safe landing. I heard her."
The detective paused. Was this true or false? "What was his name?
Come, Mrs. Hopley?"
"Sir, I have said that I did not hear his name. He came without our
expecting him, or I might have heard beforehand. My mistress called
him Edward: but of course that must be his Christian name. I
understood him to be some relation of hers."
"I wonder what Hopley could tell me of this?" cried the detective,
looking at her.
"Hopley could tell you nothing--but of course you are welcome to ask
him if you please. Hopley never saw him at all, as far as I know; and
I did not say anything to the old man about it. If you question
Hopley, sir, I must help you--you'd be a month making him hear,
yourself."
"How is it that you keep your husband in ignorance of things?--as you
seem to do."
"Of what things, sir?" rejoined the woman. "I'm sure I don't keep
things from him: I have no things to keep. It's true I didn't tell him
of this. I was uncommonly tired last night, for it had been a trying
day, and full of work besides; and it takes no little exertion, I can
testify, to make Hopley understand. One can't gossip with him, as one
can with people who have got their hearing."
This was no doubt true. The detective was frightfully at fault, and
did not conceal from himself that he was. The woman seemed so honest,
so open, so truthful; and yet he could have staked his professional
fame that there lay mystery somewhere, and that the sick man had not
gone away. Instinct, prevision--call it what you will--told him that
the man was lying close to his hand--if he could only put that hand
out in the right direction and lay it on him. Bending his head, he
took a few steps about the grass: and Ann Hopley, hoping she was done
with, went into the kitchen with her cauliflowers.
Letting them fall on to the dresser out of her apron, she gave a sharp
look around, indoors and out. The detective was then conversing with
his two policemen, whom he had called up. Now was her time. Slipping
off her shoes--though it was not likely her footsteps could be heard
out on the lawn--she went across the passage, and opened the door of
the little room: from which Mrs. Grey, in her fear and distress, had
not dared to stir.
"Mistress," she whispered, "I must give you the clue of what I have
been saying, lest they come and ask you questions too. It would never
do for us to have two tales, you one and me another. Do you mind me,
ma'am?"
"Go on, Ann. Yes."
"The sick gentleman came unexpectedly yesterday, and was taken sick
here. You and me got frightened, and sent telegraphing off for a
doctor. He got up after doctor left--said he was better--didn't seem
to think much of his illness, said he had been as bad before. Went
away again at night; had to go; was going off to sea, I thought, as I
heard you wish him a good voyage and safe landing. I didn't know his
name, I said; only heard you call him Edward: thought it was some near
relation of yours.--Can you remember all this, ma'am?"
"Oh yes. You had better go back, Ann. If they see you talking to
me--oh, go back! Ann, I--I feel as though I should die."
"Nay, but you must keep up," returned the woman in a kind tone. "I'll
bring you in a beat-up egg with a drop of wine in it. And, ma'am, you
might say he was your brother if they come to close questioning: or
brother-in-law. Don't fear. I'd lay all I'm worth they won't light
upon the master. Twice they went within a yard or two of him, but----"
There was some noise. Ann Hopley broke off, closed the door softly,
stole back again, and slipped her feet into her shoes. In less than a
minute, when one of the men sauntered up, throwing his eyes through
all the windows, she was in the scullery pumping water over her
cauliflowers with as much noise as she could make.
Ann Hopley had judged correctly. Mr. Strange went to the little room,
knocking for permission to enter, and there held an audience of its
mistress. The baby lay on her lap now, fast asleep. His questions were
tended to get a confirmation--or contradiction--of the servant's ready
tale. Mrs. Grey, though in evident tremor, and looking only fit for a
ghost, had caught the thread of her lesson well, and answered
correctly. Some particulars she had to improvise; for his questions
were more minute than they had been to Ann Hopley.
His name?--Grey. What relation?--Brother-in-law. What did he come down
for?--To say goodbye before embarking for Australia. Where would he
take ship?--She did not know; forgot: oh, now she remembered, it was
Gravesend. Was she in the habit of seeing him?--Not often. He was
never long together in one place, always travelling about. But was he
in a fit state to travel? She did not know. She had thought he looked
very ill and begged him to remain at least until to-day, but he said
he could not as he might lose his ship. Did he come down to Foxwood by
train?--Oh yes, by train: there was no other way. And go up by train
I--To be sure. _Which_ train?--One of the evening trains: thought it
was past eight when he left the Maze.
"It's the time for my mistress to take her egg," interposed Ann Hopley
at this juncture, entering the room with the said egg in a tumbler. "I
suppose she's at liberty to do it."
To this last little fling Mr. Strange answered nothing. Ann Hopley put
the tumbler on the table and withdrew. Poor Mrs. Grey looked too weak
and ill to lift it to her lips, and let it stay where it was.
"Can it possibly be true that you are still in search of Philip
Salter?--here?" she asked, raising her troubled eyes to the
detective's.
"It is quite true," he replied.
"And that you really believe him to be concealed here?"
"Madam, I could stake my life upon it."
She shook her head in feeble impotence, feeling how weak she was to
combat this fixed belief. It was the old story over again.
Nevertheless she made one more effort. Mr. Strange was watching her.
"Sir, I do not know what to say more than I said before. But I declare
to you once again, as solemnly as I can ever speak anything in this
life, as solemnly as I shall one day have to answer before my Maker,
that I know nothing of Philip Salter. He never was here at all to my
knowledge, later or earlier. Why will you not leave me in peace?"
Mr. Detective Strange began to think that he should have to leave her
in peace. Twice had he carried this fortress by storm to search at
will its every nook and corner: and searched in vain. Armed with great
power though he was, the law would not justify these repeated forcible
entries, and he might be called to account for exceeding his duty. But
the man was there--as surely as that the sun was in the heavens: and
yet he could not unearth him. He began to think there must be caves
underground impenetrable to the eye of man, with some invisible subtle
entrance to them through the earth itself--and perhaps a subterranean
passage communicating with Mr. Smith's abode opposite.
And so, the second search ended as the first had done--in signal
failure. Once more there was nothing left for the detective but to
withdraw his men and himself, and to acknowledge that he was for the
time defeated.