THE UNTREASURED CHAMBER.
Their obstreperous summons at the door was speedily answered, and the
two cavaliers stood in the hall.
"Well, all's right, I suppose?" inquired Blarden, tossing his gloves
and hat upon the table.
"Yes, sir," replied the servant, "all but the lady's maid; Mr.
Chancey's been calling for her these five minutes and more, and we
can't find her."
"How's this--all the doors locked?" inquired Blarden vehemently.
"Ay, sir, every one of them," replied the man.
"Who has the keys?" asked Blarden.
"Mr. Chancey, sir," replied the servant.
"Did he allow them out of his keeping--did he?" urged Blarden.
"No, sir--not a moment--for he was saying this very minute," answered
the domestic, "he had them in his pocket, and the key of Miss Mary's
room along with them; he took it from Flora Guy, the maid, scarce a
quarter of an hour ago."
"Then all _is_ right," said Blarden, while the momentary blackness of
suspicion passed from his face, "the girl's in some hole or corner of
this lumbering old barrack, but here comes Chancey himself, what's all
the fuss about--who's in the upper room--the--the boudoir, eh?" he
continued, addressing the barrister, who was sneaking downstairs with a
candle in his hand, and looking unusually sallow.
"The Reverend Ebenezer and one of the lads--they're sitting there,"
answered Chancey, "but we can't find that little girl, Flora Guy,
anywhere."
"Have you the keys?" asked Blarden.
"Ay, dear me, to be sure I have, except the one that I gave to little
Bat there, to let you in this minute. I have the three other keys; dear
me--dear me--what could ail me?" And so saying, Chancey slapped the
skirt of his coat slightly so as to make them jingle in his pocket.
"The windows are all fast and safe as the wall itself--screwed down,"
observed Blarden, "let's see the keys--show them here."
Chancey accordingly drew them from his pocket, and laid them on the
table.
"There's the three of them," observed he, calmly.
"Have you no more?" inquired Blarden, looking rather aghast.
"No, indeed, the devil a one," replied Chancey, thrusting his arm to
the elbow in his coat pocket.
"D--n me, but I think this is the key of the cellar," ejaculated
Blarden, in a tone which energized even the apathetic lawyer, "come
here, Ashwoode, what key's this?"
"It _is_ the cellar key," said Ashwoode, in a faltering voice and
turning very pale.
"Try your pockets for another, and find it, or ----." The aposiopesis
was alarming, and Blarden's direction was obeyed instantaneously.
"I declare to God," said Chancey, much alarmed, "I have but the three,
and that in the door makes four."
"You d----d oaf," said Blarden, between his set teeth, "if you have
botched this business, I'll let you know for what. Ashwoode, which of
the keys is missing?"
After a moment's hesitation, Ashwoode led the way through the passage
which Mary and her companion had so lately traversed.
"That's the door," said he, pointing to that through which the escape
had been effected.
"And what's this?" cried Blarden, shouldering past Sir Henry, and
raising something from the ground, just by the door-post, "a
handkerchief, and marked, too--it's the young lady's own--give me the
key of the lady's chamber," continued he, in a low changed voice, which
had, in the ears of the barrister, something more unpleasant still than
his loudest and harshest tones--"give me the key, and follow me."
He clutched it, and followed by the terror-stricken barrister, and by
Sir Henry Ashwoode, he retraced his steps, and scaled the stairs with
hurried and lengthy strides. Without stopping to glance at the form of
the still slumbering drunkard, or to question the servant who sat
opposite, on the chair recently occupied by Chancey, he strode directly
to the door of Mary Ashwoode's sleeping apartment, opened it, and stood
in an untenanted chamber.
For a moment he paused, aghast and motionless; he ran to the bed--still
warm with the recent pressure of his intended victim--the room was,
indeed, deserted. He turned round, absolutely black and speechless with
rage. As he advanced, the wretched barrister--the tool of his worst
schemes--cowered back in terror. Without speaking one word, Blarden
clutched him by the throat, and hurled him with his whole power
backward. With tremendous force he descended with his head upon the bar
of the grate, and thence to the hearthstone; there, breathless,
powerless, and to all outward seeming a livid corpse, lay the devil's
cast-off servant, the red blood trickling fast from ears, nose, and
mouth. Not waiting to see whether Chancey was alive or dead, Mr.
Blarden seized the brandy flask and dashed it in the face of the stupid
drunkard--who, disturbed by the fearful hubbub, was just beginning to
open his eyes--and leaving that reverend personage drenched in blood
and brandy, to take care of his boon companion as best he might,
Blarden strode down the stairs, followed by Ashwoode and the servants.
"Get horses--horses all," shouted he, "to the stables--by Jove, it was
they we met on the road--the two girls--quick to the stables--whoever
catches them shall have his hat full of crowns."
Led by Blarden, they all hurried to the stables, where they found the
horses unsaddled.
"On with the saddles--for your life be quick," cried Blarden, "four
horses--fresh ones."
While uttering his furious mandates, with many a blasphemous
imprecation, he aided the preparations himself, and with hands that
trembled with eagerness and rage, he drew the girths, and buckled the
bridles, and in almost less than a minute, the four horses were led out
upon the broken pavement of the stable-yard.
"Mind, boys," cried Blarden, "they are two mad-women--escaped
mad-women--ride for your lives. Ashwoode, do you take the right, and
I'll take the left when we come on the road--do you follow me,
Tony--and Dick, do you go with Sir Henry--and, now, devil take the
hindmost." With these words he plunged the spurs into his horse's
flanks, and with the speed of a thunder blast, they all rode
helter-skelter, in pursuit of their human prey.