FACE TO FACE
When Kent-Lauriston had disappeared in his bedroom, and closed the door,
the Secretary, extinguishing his own candle, turned on his heel, and
walked slowly back to the head of the stairs. It was easy to preserve an
unruffled demeanour before his friend, but he was far from being as calm
as he appeared.
All was not right in the house, he knew. Some mischief was afoot, and he
meant to find out what it was, even though he dared not admit to himself
some of the possibilities which it suggested.
He softly descended the stairs. Everything was silent. He moved the
screen; the space behind it was vacant. Suddenly, his eye fell upon the
smoking-room door, and he drew in his breath softly. There was a line of
light showing under the crack. Yet he could have sworn that
Kent-Lauriston had turned off the switch, and while he stood hesitating
as to what it was best to do, a soft breath of wind upon his cheek
caused him to make another discovery. The great front door was open. He
stepped softly down the hall, and going out under the porte-cochere,
cast his eyes over the driveway. No one was in sight. He was about to
return to the house when he heard light steps coming down the hall.
Drawing back into the shadow to escape observation, he waited. Someone
was evidently leaving the house. A moment later, a hand was lightly laid
upon the door, and it was closed behind him, before he could realise
what was happening. He was shut out into the night.
His first impulse was to ring sharply for assistance. Second thoughts
showed him the foolishness of such an attempt. It would be merely
apprising the intruders of his presence, and long before a servant could
be aroused and the bell could be answered, they would have made their
escape.
The Secretary judged that shutting him out was unintentional. The
persons, whoever they were, had hidden somewhere, till he had gone
upstairs, had then slipped into the smoking-room, probably to arrange
their plans, and coming out while he was on the lawn, and seeing the
door ajar, had closed it, quite unconscious that by so doing they were
putting their pursuer in a very awkward predicament.
However, the Secretary told himself that there was nothing to prevent
him from seeing what was going on in the hall, and he hastened to make
his way round to the side of the house where there were several large
windows opening into that apartment. He had picked his way across
several flower-beds, and was just turning the corner to approach the
house when he was startled by seeing a dark figure loom up beside him,
and feeling a hand lightly laid on his shoulder, and a whispered word of
caution to be silent. Almost involuntarily, however, he exclaimed:--
"Inez! You here, and at this hour."
"Sh!" she said, "There are listeners. I, like you, am watching."
"Who are you watching?" he asked, softly.
"My husband."
"Your husband?"
"Yes," she replied. "Why has he entered this house secretly every night
since he has been here?"
"You amaze me," said the Secretary. "How has it been possible for him to
get in?"
"He has been aided by someone who opens the door for him."
"A man?"
"No, a woman."
The Secretary whistled softly.
"Well," he said, "we'll probe this mystery to the bottom. I, too, have
heard suspicious noises in the passages to-night, and, coming down,
after I had retired, to find out what they were, I was shut out from
within, though I don't think they were aware of my presence. We must go
round on the outside and see what we can through the windows."
"You can't," she said. "The approaches are protected by an iron fence
with spikes."
"But surely there's a gate?"
"Yes, but it's always padlocked."
"We'll have a look at it, any way," he replied; and they approached and
examined it closely.
The Secretary rattled the lock cautiously and found it old and shaky.
"I think I could smash this with a couple of bits of flint," he said,
"and if I have a new lock put on at my own expense, my hostess will,
under the circumstances, probably forgive me." And suiting the action to
the word, he managed, by a few judicious blows, with two bits of stone,
picked up from the driveway, to bend the hasp of the lock sufficiently
to release it.
There being no further impediment to their progress they hastened
through the gardens, and a moment later were standing outside one of the
great hall windows whose lower panes were on a level with their faces.
They could distinctly see three people, but their glances were riveted
on a circle of light farther up the hall, a circle that shifted and
danced over the surface of the secret door, flashing on the heads of the
silver nails; a circle that was made by the lens of a small bull's-eye
lantern, held in the grasp of a crouching figure whose back was turned
towards them. By his side were two others, apparently a man and a woman,
who seemed to be directing him at his work. For several minutes the
little group presented their backs to the spectators, but at an
incautious step of the Secretary's, which caused a dry twig to crackle,
they all turned sharply round, the owner of the lantern throwing its
rays full on the window outside which they were standing. The watchers
drew back, in time evidently to escape detection, for the absence of
footsteps and the recurrence, after a moment, of the curious sounds
which Stanley had noticed from the smoking-room, assured him that they
had once more returned to their work. The lantern, however, though it
had failed to discover them, had, for a brief second, illumined the
faces of the intruders, and both the Secretary and Madame Darcy
recognised the trio. The man at work on the door was the Colonel; his
assistants were Mr. Riddle and Miss Fitzgerald. The Secretary's worst
suspicions were confirmed, and a smothered sob at his side told him that
the discovery had inflicted no less keen a pang on his companion. She
slipped down in a little heap on the ground, and he dropped on his knees
beside her, whispering such consolation as he could without running the
risk of being overheard.
"I knew it must be so," she said, "and yet I hoped against hope that he
was not guilty of this last infamy."
Suddenly another thought seemed to have occurred to her.
"You knew," she said. "You must have known, and yet you did not tell
me."
"My dear Inez," he said. "How could I, when my suspicions were directed
against your own husband?"
"But why do I think of myself?" she said. "I am nothing. But it is
you--you, that my heart bleeds for. I, too, concealed my suspicions for
your sake."
"And you can think of me," he said, "at a time like this?"
"Of course," she replied. "Yours is the greater sorrow. I knew that my
husband was bad--worthless--capable of anything. My eyes are only
proving what my reason told me must be so. But with you, it is so much
harder. This is the woman you loved, and, whom loving, you must have
made your ideal. And now to find that she is--this." And she pressed his
hand silently.
"Don't talk about it," said the Secretary.
"You don't quite understand."
"But what is to be done?" she said.
"Nothing, unless they show signs of success, and that I do not think
likely. If the secret of the door has withstood the ingenuity of
generations in the past, it is likely to do so in the future, unless
they tried to force it, and that I think they'd hardly dare to do."
"Listen," she said. And the Secretary heard a noise of creaking,
straining wood.
"They are trying to force it!" he cried, springing up and looking
through the window. And she, following his lead, saw that Darcy was
working with might and main with some burglar's tool after the nature of
a lever. But though the old oaken door groaned in protest at such
treatment, it never gave an inch, and the Colonel, removing his
instrument, made a gesture of despair, and stood wiping the sweat from
his brow.
"What does this all mean?" said Madame Darcy, as they slipped down again
into their place of concealment.
"It means," said the Secretary shortly, "that your husband's secret
instructions are behind that door, and from his eagerness to get them I
should say that they contain a cipher of something that cannot be
duplicated in the time at his command."
"I do not understand," she said.
"Well, if you must know the truth," he replied, "he's to take over the
specie needed to defeat the treaty, and to get there in time he must
sail from England in a few days."
She nodded mournfully.
"I supposed it was something like that," she said. "I knew Mr. Riddle
had brought the gold. It is here."
"No," he said, "it's in the Victoria Street Branch of the Bank of
England, in London."
"How was it sent up?"
"Lieutenant Kingsland took it."
"Is he a member of the conspiracy?"
"It appears so--but I am not certain. He may be an innocent dupe,"
replied the Secretary.
"And you let the specie go?" she asked.
"Yes," he said. "When I discovered where they were sending the chests I
helped them. It's safer in the Bank than knocking round here, and I can
prevent its being drawn out any time I wish."
"By the arrest of the conspirators?" she said.
"I hope that it won't be necessary to arrest anybody," he replied.
"Then you have some plan?"
"Yes. But I'm afraid you mustn't ask me what that is. Nor must you write
a word of all this to your father. But I promise you that if it's
possible I'll save your husband from open disgrace, and I think it will
be."
"Thank you, thank you," she murmured. "You are indeed my friend," and
her hand again sought his, and he quivered under her touch.
"Listen!" she said. "They're moving."
He raised himself cautiously, and looked through the window. The attempt
for that night had evidently been given up. The three conspirators shook
hands, and Miss Fitzgerald and Mr. Riddle stole softly upstairs, leaving
Darcy to put his tools in a bag and let himself out. This he proceeded
to do in a leisurely manner. Once his companions were out of sight, he
again took out the lever, and made one more attempt to open the secret
door, bending all his force to the task. Madame Darcy and the Secretary
watched him breathlessly, but he was again unsuccessful, and with a
disgusted shrug of his shoulders he relinquished the attempt.
His attacks on the door had, however, evidently marred the wood, and he
produced from his receptacle a bottle of varnish and a brush, with which
he proceeded to repair the traces of the damage. The Secretary's eyes,
wandering from the Colonel, suddenly lighted on the figure of his
friend, Kent-Lauriston, who had evidently been awakened by the
returning footsteps of Darcy's companions as they sought their bedrooms,
and who was now stealing downstairs to intercept the intruder.
Before Stanley could restrain his friend, Kent-Lauriston had softly
approached the recumbent figure, so softly, indeed, that the Colonel,
who was intent on trying to repair the door, did not hear him, and was
aware of his presence only when a stout arm encircled his neck, throwing
him backwards on the floor, where he lay, with his captor's knee upon
his chest.
Stanley felt the need of being present also, and exerting his strength
on the sash, found, to his great satisfaction, that the butler had
neglected to bolt the window. With a quiet good-night to Madame Darcy,
who slipped away in the darkness, he swung himself over the sill, and
landing on his feet in the hall, joined the group, nodding to his friend
as he did so.
"Ah, my fine fellow. Burgling, were you?" said Kent-Lauriston to his
captive.
"You're mistaken," said the Secretary, stepping quietly up. "This is not
a thief; it's only Colonel Darcy, engaged, if I mistake not, in an
attempt to recover his lost property."
"I beg your pardon," returned Kent-Lauriston, releasing his prostrate
foe; and turning to Stanley, he continued: "Lacking the fineness of
perception bred of diplomatic training, I must confess I didn't see the
subtle distinction."
Darcy rose deliberately, growling a surly something, which might have
been equally well an apology or an oath, and snapped to the shutter of
his dark lantern.
"Yes, we shan't need that light now, thank you," said Stanley, turning
on the central lamp.
"Well, what are you going to do about it?" asked the Colonel, gruffly.
The diplomat was on his best behaviour.
"I'm so sorry," he said. "Of course, we did not know you were a caller.
The ladies have retired, and I'm sure you don't want to see us; we won't
detain you."
"I----" began Darcy, clenching his fist.
"Oh, I'll make your excuses to Mrs. Roberts," pursued the Secretary.
"Don't trouble about that."
"I'll be damned if I'll tolerate this interference," burst out the
Colonel.
"I'm sure you'll be the first, and will also endure the second, my dear
sir," continued Stanley in his most suave tones. "So we'll say no more
about it. The _front_ door is easy to open, Colonel Darcy, as of course
you know. Good-night."