_The Seat Perilous_
Wednesday, the twentieth of June, was the blackest of all black days.
When Betty's letter came I found it very unsatisfactory reading.
Warriner had been making the most of his opportunities; that was
certain. He had been over twice for five-o'clock-tea, and a number of
pleasant affairs were in prospect--a water party on the Bowl, a day's
golf at Pittsfield, a masked ball at Lenox; so it went. Apparently Betty
was in for a royal good time, and she had no compunction in making me
aware of the fact. My intrusion upon the forbidden ground of the library
was, it seemed, a matter of no importance; not even mentioned. Later on,
I realized that she could not have received my communication on the
subject--but never mind; I felt aggrieved, and the black dog of jealousy
heeled me wherever I went that long, beautiful June day. Surely, I was
the most miserable man alive, and it is not surprising that I diligently
continued the digging of the pit into which I was so soon to fall.
Thursday, the twenty-first, brought a number of business matters to my
attention, and under the pressure of these imperative duties I half
forgot about my troubles. Again Betty's letter was non-committal and
made no references to my doings or delinquencies. I should have enjoyed
calling it evasive, but that was hardly possible seeing that Warriner's
name was mentioned three or four times; the fellow was assuredly making
hay. After my solitary evening dinner I thought it wise to keep my mind
at work, and, accordingly, I started in on a big batch of farm accounts.
I had heard the trampling of a horse's hoofs on the gravel drive, but
had paid no attention; now a heavy step echoed along the black-and-white
chequers of the great hall, and I became conscious that Marcus, the
house-boy, stood at the door in the act of announcing a visitor. I
looked up and saw John Thaneford.
Amazement held me speechless for a moment; then I found my feet and
blurted out some form of greeting; I can't be sure that we actually
shook hands, but this was my house and he had come as a guest; I must
observe the decencies.
"Black Jack" had changed but little in the two years since I had seen
him. Perhaps a trifle broader in girth, while the cleft between his
sable eyebrows was deeper than ever. Apparently, he was quite at his
ease, and I fancied that he took a furtive and malicious pleasure in my
embarrassment. Now we were seated; I pushed the box of cigars to his
hand, and waited, tongued-tied and flushing, for the conversational ice
to be broken.
"So we meet again, Cousin Hugh!" he began, with perfect aplomb. "You
don't appear to be overjoyed."
"Why should I be?" I retorted. "But I don't forget that you are under my
roof. Naturally, I am somewhat surprised."
"At my return, or because I am seeking you out at the 'Hundred?'
Possibly, you have forgotten that I no longer possess even the apology
of a shelter that was once 'Thane Court.'"
"You can hardly hold me responsible for the fire," I said, feeling
somewhat nettled at his tone.
"Oh, surely not," he assented, flicking the ash from his cigar with an
airy wave of his hand--that well remembered, big hand with its
black-tufted knuckles.
"As for the property, I bought it in at public sale to protect myself.
You can have it back at any time for the price I paid. And no interest
charges."
"Very good of you, Cousin Hugh, and later on I may hold you to your
offer. I may say that I am in quite the position to do so," he added
with a boastful flourish.
"Glad to hear it," I said shortly. And in my heart of hearts I did
rejoice, for I had an acute realization of what this man's heritage in
life might have been had Francis Graeme and I never met. Somehow the
whole atmosphere of our foregathering had suddenly lightened, and I
experienced a feeling of hospitality toward Thaneford which was
certainly cordial and almost friendly. "By the way, have you dined?" I
asked. "The cook has gone home, but I dare say Effingham could find some
cold meat and a salad."
"I had supper at the hotel in Calverton, but a drop or two of whiskey
wouldn't go amiss. The prohibition lid is clamped down pretty tight
around here."
I rang for Effingham. "Bring a bottle of 'King William,'" I ordered. "Or
perhaps you would prefer rye or bourbon?"
"Scotch suits me right enough," he answered carelessly. He rose and
began pacing the room. "I heard something in Calverton about your
closing up the library," he said abruptly.
"It was Mrs. Hildebrand's wish. You can understand that Miss Trevor's
death was a great shock to her."
Not a muscle in his face moved, but he stopped short in his tracks.
"Eunice dead!" he ejaculated. "When and where?"
"In June two years ago. She was found dead, sitting in the library."
John Thaneford drew a long breath. "I wondered that her letters ceased
so suddenly," he said coolly. "But Eunice was always doing something out
of the common, and I laid it to some queer slant in her mind. You never
can tell what a woman will do or won't do."
The callous selfishness of the man was still rampant, and it disgusted
me. Doubtless, he had no idea that I was well aware of the relations
that had existed between him and the unfortunate girl. And then, to my
astonishment, a new note of softness, of regret even, stole into his
voice. "Do you mind opening up the room?" he asked. "So much for
remembrance," he added in an undertone that I barely caught.
This time my promise to Betty did occur to my mind, but already the
covenant had been broken, and further infraction could not greatly
signify.
We walked down the corridor, and I unlocked the door and pushed it open,
calling to the house-boy to bring in a lamp.
"So you've cleaned everything out," remarked Thaneford, as he glanced
around. "That is, about everything but the big teak desk, the leather
screen, and the swivel-chair."
"The desk was too cumbersome for use in the other room," I answered. "As
for the chair you see it is riveted down into the floor--not even
screwed in the ordinary way. I fancy it would be a job to get it free."
"And no object either. Poor Eunice, you say, died here?"
"Sitting in that very chair."
"Like Francis Graeme before her," mused Thaneford.
"Yes, and before him four other men, all masters of 'Hildebrand
Hundred'--Yardley, and Randall, and Horace, and Richard. But perhaps you
know these things even better than I do."
"Evidently a seat perilous," he said sardonically. "No wonder you do not
choose to occupy it."
I don't know what mad, foolish impulse moved me to go and sit down in
the big, swivel-chair, but there I presently found myself, my face
reddening a trifle under the quizzical stare of John Thaneford's dull,
black eyes. Effingham entered with the whiskey and glasses, and I bade
him put the tray on the desk and fetch a chair for Mr. Thaneford.
"Good medicine!" approved my guest as he tossed off his glass. There was
a plate of biscuit at his elbow; he took one of the little round
crackers and bit into it; then, with a smothered ejaculation, he spewed
forth the half masticated fragments. I looked my natural surprise.
"I never could abide those damned saltines," he explained, with a touch
of his old glowering sulkiness. "I'll drink with you, Cousin Hugh, till
the swallows homeward fly, but I'll not taste your salt; I reserve the
right to withdraw the flag of truce without notice."
Well, I should have had warning a-plenty by this time, but it was all to
no purpose; I had the full realization that I was treading a dangerous
path, and yet it was not in my conscious power to take one single step
toward safety. Call it fatalism if you will, or the pure recklessness
engendered by the growing conviction that Betty was lost to me for good
and all; whatever the secret springs of my present course of action,
the outcome inevitably must have been the same; a Scotchman would have
said that I was fey. And perhaps I was.
I never had been what you call a drinking man, but to-night I was
matching glass for glass with "Black Jack" Thaneford, who could put any
man, yes any three men in King William County, under the table. The
night came on apace, and twice Effingham had been ordered to bring in
another supply of spirits. Suddenly John Thaneford broke away from the
trivial subjects which we had been discussing.
"Some two years ago, Cousin Hugh," he began, "I gave you a choice--Betty
Graeme or the 'Hundred.' Do you remember?"
"I remember," I answered steadily.
"But you would not make it; you took them both."
"What right had you to force such an issue?" I demanded hotly.
"That is beside the point. I did force it."
"Well?"
"I'll give you the final opportunity."
"Possibly, you have forgotten that Betty is now my wife?"
"I have not forgotten it."
"And as for the 'Hundred'----"
"The 'Hundred,'" he repeated, a dull, red flush dyeing his high
forehead.
"There is another interest now besides my own that I am bound to
protect; I have a son."
"Ah, I had not heard. Of course that does make a difference."
"All the difference. See here, Thaneford," I went on impulsively, "I
don't want to play an ungenerous part, and I can see something of your
side of the case. I am prepared to make some provision, indeed an ample
one; but the 'Hundred' must remain where it is."
"And that is your last word?" he queried almost indifferently.
"My last word," I answered, looking him straight in the eye.
"Then we know where we are," he responded. "The bottle stands with you,
Cousin Hugh."
We renewed our potations, but thenceforth in silence; for the space of
an hour and more not another word passed between us.
And the silence was an hostile one, the quiet of watchful and eternal
enmity. I know that I hated John Thaneford and that he hated me;
moreover, this condition could never change or alter until the end of
time itself. Well, anything was better than the false cordiality of
conventional speech; at least we knew where we stood. And still our grim
wassail went on.
* * * * *
I can't recall falling to sleep in the great chair, but now, with a
sudden, painful start, I awoke to realize that it was broad
daylight--Friday, the twenty-second of June. My head was aching
frightfully, and my arms and legs seemed singularly cramped and
constricted. Then I came face to face with the ugly fact that I was
bound fast in my chair by stout cords that secured my shoulders, wrists,
and ankles; I could move my head a trifle to one side or the other and
that was all.
John Thaneford sat opposite me, smoking a cigarette and looking as
though he had remained entirely unaffected by the amount of liquor he
had consumed. Seeing that I was awake he rose, came over to where I sat,
and examined carefully the various ligatures that constrained my
movements. Not a word was uttered on either side, and indeed there was
no need for any speech between us. Doubtless I should be informed in due
time of whatever fate might be in store for me; and, for the present, I
could only wait with what show of patience it were possible to muster.
A discreet knock sounded on the closed door leading to the corridor.
Thaneford snapped back the locking-bolt and stepped across the
threshold; I realized that Effingham was standing there, but the leather
screen prevented my seeing him, and of course it hid, in turn, my
mortifying predicament. Now I might have called out, shouted for help,
raised the very roof in indignant protest at the humiliation to which I
had been subjected. And yet I did none of these obvious things, and I
think John Thaneford was shrewd enough to know that my tongue would be
held out of very shame; otherwise, he would have taken the precaution to
slip a gag into my mouth.
I heard Thaneford tell Effingham, speaking of course in my name, to
bring a large pot of black coffee and a plate of crackers. "The unsalted
kind," he added, as though actuated by an afterthought whose
significance became instantly clear to my own mind. "Or better yet," he
continued, "some of those big, round biscuits that they call 'pilot
bread.' No, Mr. Hildebrand doesn't care for any tea this morning--what's
that! a telegram? Then why the devil didn't you say so! Give it here,
and mind you hurry up that coffee--hot and black, and strong as sheol."
The door swung to, and I could hear Effingham's carpet slippers padding
softly away. Too late now, I regretted that I had not given the alarm.
Even if Thaneford had used violent means to silence Effingham my voice
would have rung all through the lower part of the house, prompting some
sort of inquiry and a probable rescue. But that chance was gone.
Thaneford returned to my immediate vicinity, the buff telegram envelope
in his hand. I could see that it was addressed to me, but he broke the
seal without even the pretense of hesitation, and glanced over the
message. His lips curled into a genial sneer (if one can imagine such a
combination); then he deliberately held up the sheet for me to read.
_If indeed you still care for me, don't enter library again under any
consideration or for any purpose. Coming._
The message was signed with my dear girl's initials, and it was plain
that it had been written under stress of emotion. In spite of my
equivocal position (for really I could not bring myself to believe that
John Thaneford intended actual personal violence), and the extreme
discomfort of being trussed up like a hog going to the slaughter pen, I
was conscious that, after all these months of alienation, some
mysterious barrier had fallen and the long misunderstanding was in a
fair way of being cleared up. And so, although my temples were thumping
like a steam engine and the pain in my arms and legs was deadening to a
terrifying numbness, my spirits rebounded to an extravagant height; my
heart sang again.
"If you still care for me!" And then that wonderful word: "Coming." I
was wildly, deliriously happy, for now everything must come right. What
a fool I had been through all these doleful months! how wholeheartedly
would I make my confession; how tender and generous would be my
absolution--but a sudden realization of things as they really were
checked, like a cold douche, my satisfying glow of well-being. If danger
actually existed for me within the library walls I was ill prepared to
meet it, sitting fast bound in my chair with "Black Jack" Thaneford
opposite me, an evil smile upon his lips and the glint of a spark in the
dead blackness of his half-closed eyes.
And then, of a sudden, I became horribly afraid. Not of John Thaneford,
for all that he hated me and had me in his power, but of the Terror,
unknown, unseen, and unheard, that lurked within the circle of these
walls; whose coming none could foresee and none prevent; for whose
appearance the ultimate stage had been set and the final watch posted.
Remember, I had nothing tangible upon which to base even a fragment of
theory, and all of our original clues had proved worthless. Here were
neither dim, midnight spaces, nor hollow walls, nor underlying abysses.
Just a big, almost empty room, devoid of alcoves and odd corners, and
withal flooded with the sunshine of a perfect June day. The only feature
out of the common was the secret outlet behind the chimney-breast, and
some time ago I had replaced the original lock by one of the latest,
burglar proof pattern. There were only two keys, one on my own bunch and
the other in Betty's possession; certainly the peril was not likely to
appear in that quarter; that would have been too obvious, even
amateurish.
The morning dragged on. When Marcus knocked at the door, seeking
admission to carry in the breakfast tray, he was roughly ordered to set
it down on the threshold and take himself off. Thaneford, waiting until
the house-boy was well out of hearing, unlocked the door and carried in
the tray for himself; evidently, he did not intend to give me a second
opportunity to send out any S. O. S. calls. With the massive door once
more _in situ_ I might halloo and shout until I burst my bellows,
without anyone being the wiser.
Thaneford, in quick succession, drank two big cups of the coffee. He
did not go through the form of offering me a taste of the beverage, and
much as I longed for its comforting ministrations, I was hardly ready to
ask the boon of my jailor. Effingham must have been unable to find any
of the unsalted pilot bread, for he had provided, in its stead, several
rounds of buttered toast and a dish of scrambled eggs. But Thaneford
would have none of these forbidden viands. Strange! that he should balk
upon the purely academic question of a few grains of salt. But we all
enjoy our pet inconsistencies. So he finished the pot of coffee and fell
to smoking again, while I continued to speculate, a little grimly, upon
the chances of ever getting clear of this infernal coil. Apparently,
there was nothing for either of us to do but to go on waiting, waiting.
The hours dragged along and now it was hard upon high noon, as I could
see by Thaneford's gold repeater that lay on the desk between us; with
an indescribable thrill I realized that he, too, was watching the minute
hand as it slowly traveled upward to the sign of the Roman numerals,
XII. Unquestionably, some fateful moment was approaching, and yet there
was nothing in the physical surroundings to give rise to uneasiness
even, let alone apprehension; nothing unless it were the occasional
rumble of distant thunder, a sullen drone underneath the pleasant song
of the birds and the cheerful humming of bees among the rose bushes.
Through the painted window, depicting the flight of the Hebrew spies,
the sunshine poured in full volume, the white light transformed to
gorgeous color by the medium through which it passed. One broad bar lay
close at hand upon the oaken floor, a riotous splash of red from Rahab's
scarlet cord intermingled with purple blotches from the circular bosses
that simulated the huge grapes of the Promised Land: I watched the
variegated band of color as it crept slowly toward my chair; at present,
it lay to the right, but as the sun approached the zenith it swung
around, little by little, so as to finally bring my person into the
sphere of its influence; now a piercing purple beam struck me directly
in the face and I blinked; an instant later and the dazzle had passed
beyond; again I saw clearly.
Thaneford had risen, his teeth clenched upon his lower lip, a half cry
choking in his throat. Together our eyes fastened on the dial of his
watch, where the hands now pointed to eight minutes after twelve
o'clock. With one convulsive movement he snatched up the time-piece,
and dashed it in golden ruin to the floor; then he sprang toward me, and
I knew in another moment those strong hands, with their black-tufted
knuckles, would be gripping at my throat.
But that moment never came. On he leaped, lunging straight through the
colored stream of sunlight. And then a purple flash seemed to strike
fair on his black-shocked head; he reeled and fell. Down at my feet he
rolled, his limbs twitching in the death throe; simultaneously came a
tremendous crash of thunder, echoing and re-echoing from the straining
and cracking walls, while the blazing band of gold and purple and
scarlet went out like the flame of a wind-blown candle. I looked up to
see Betty's pale face framed in the archway of the secret passage behind
the chimney-breast; back of her stood Chalmers Warriner.
Betty had an automatic pistol in her hand, and she kept it trained on
the motionless, sprawling figure at my feet. She must have realized that
the precaution was unnecessary, but it was all part of the preconceived
plan, and she could not have borne to have stood idly by.
Warriner now entered the room, but he did not come directly toward me;
on the contrary, he kept close to the wall until he had arrived at a
point diagonally behind my chair; then he made his dash, and I could
feel my bonds falling apart under the keen edge of the hunting knife
that he carried. "Can you walk?" he asked. "Wait and I'll help you."
He dragged me to my feet, and I stumbled back to the wall, holding onto
his arm; now the room was in almost complete darkness save for the
recurrent flashes of steel-blue radiance from the incessant electrical
discharges; the rolling thunder drowned out any further exchange of
speech.
Together we crept toward the secret entrance, still hugging the line and
angles of the wall. Betty's arms drew me into the sheltering warmth of
her breast; now the floor rocked beneath our feet as the lightning bolt
sheared through the doomed roof, and the great painted window of the
Israelitish spies, bending inward under the pressure of the on-rushing
wind, crashed into multitudinous, iridescent ruin, obliterating in its
fall the white, twisted face of the man who had been John Thaneford.
* * * * *
At last we were in the open, shaken and trembling, drenched to the skin
by the descending floods, but safe; we pulled up short and looked back.
The library wing was in flames which seemed to blaze the more fiercely
under the lash of the down-slanting rain. But it might still be possible
to save the main house, and I ran to the fire alarm, the familiar rustic
apparatus of a great, iron ring suspended from a stout framework; and
made it give furious tongue, swinging the heavy hammer until my arms
seemed ready to pull away from their sockets. But help was at hand, Zack
and Zeb at the head of a body of field hands; and with them the
old-fashioned hand-pumping fire engine which had been preparing itself
for just such an emergency through a full century of watchful waiting.
Our domestic fire brigade had been well drilled, and the immediate
danger was soon past; finally we succeeded in getting the blaze in the
library wing under control. The interior had been entirely gutted, and
the roof had fallen in. But the walls remained standing, and,
apparently, they had suffered but little damage.
The storm was over and once again the sun was shining. Innumerable
brilliants flashed on the smooth emerald of the lawns, the leaves of the
lindens were rustling softly, and a Baltimore oriole, gorgeous in his
orange and black livery, returned scornful challenge to a blue jay's
chattering abuse. I might have deemed it but the awakening from a horrid
nightmare, were it not for the incredible fact that Betty's hand lay
close in mine and Chalmers Warriner was asking me for a cigarette.
Whereupon I distinguished myself by crumpling down at Betty's feet;
somebody drew the cap of darkness over my eyes.