ABELL CARRIES OUT HIS ERRAND
When Ralph Ravenspur reached the basement, his whole aspect had changed.
For the next day or two he brooded about the house, mainly with his own
thoughts for company. He was ubiquitous. His silent, cat-like tread
carried him noiselessly everywhere. He seemed to be looking for
something with those sightless eyes of his; those long fingers were
crooked as if about the throat of the great mystery.
He came into the library where Rupert Ravenspur and Marion were talking
earnestly. He dropped in upon them as if he had fallen from the clouds.
Marion started and laughed.
"I declare you frighten me," she said. "You are like a shadow--the
shadow of one's conscience."
"There can be no shadow on yours," Ralph replied. "You are too pure and
good for that. Never, never will you have cause to fear me."
"All the same, I wish you were less like a cat," Ravenspur exclaimed
petulantly, as Marion walked smilingly away. "Anybody would imagine that
you were part of the family mystery. Ralph, do you know anything?"
"I am blind," Ralph replied doggedly. "Of what use is a blind man?"
"I don't know; they say that when one sense is lost the others are
sharpened. And you came home so mysteriously, you arrived at a critical
moment for me, you were at my door at the time when help was sorely
needed. Again, when you burst my door open you did the only thing that
could have saved me."
"Common sense, sir. You were stifling and I gave you air."
Ravenspur shook his head. He was by no means satisfied.
"It was the common sense that is based upon practical experience. And
you prowl about in dark corners; you wander about the house in the dead
of the night. You hint at a strange past, but as to that past you are
dumb. For Heaven's sake, if you know anything tell me. The suspense is
maddening."
"I know nothing and I am blind," Ralph repeated. "As to my past, that is
between me and my Maker. I dare not speak of it. Let me go my own way
and do not interfere with me. And whatever you do or say, tell
nobody--nobody, mind--that you suspect me of knowledge of the family
trouble."
Ralph turned away abruptly and refused to say more. He passed from the
castle across the park slowly, but with the confidence of a man who is
assured of every step. The recollection of his boyhood's days stood him
in good stead. He could not see, but he knew where he was and even the
grim cliffs held no terrors for him.
He came at length to a certain spot where he paused. It was here years
ago that he had scaled the cliffs at the peril of his neck and found the
raven's nest. He caught the perfume of the heather and the crushed
fragrance of the wild thyme, but their scents were as nothing to his
nostrils.
For he had caught another scent that had brought him up all standing
with his head in the air. The odor was almost exhausted; there was
merely a faint suspicion of it, but at the same time it spoke to Ralph
as plainly as words.
He was standing near the hollow where Geoffrey had been two days ago. In
his mind's eye Ralph could see into this hollow. Years before he had
been used to lie there winter evenings when the brent and ducks were
coming in from the sea. He scrambled down, sure-footed as a goat.
Then he proceeded to grope upon the grass with those long restless
fingers. He picked up a charred stick or two, smelt it, and shook his
head. Presently his hand closed upon the burnt fragments of a gourd. As
Ralph raised this to his nostrils his eyes gleamed.
"I was certain of it," he muttered. "Two of the Bonzes have been here,
and they have been making the pi. If I could only see!"
As yet he had not heard of Geoffrey's singular discovery. There had been
no favorable opportunity of disclosing the secret.
Ralph retraced his steps moodily. For the present he was helpless. He
had come across the clue to the enigma, but only he knew of the
tremendous difficulties and dangers to be encountered before the heart
of the mystery could be revealed. He felt cast down and discouraged.
There was bitterness in his heart for those who had deprived him of his
precious sight.
"Oh, if I could only see!" he cried. "A week or month to look from one
eye into another, to strip off the mask and lay the black soul bare. And
yet if the one only guessed what I know, my life would not be worth an
hour's purchase! And if those people at the castle only knew that the
powers of hell--living, raging hell--were arrayed against them! But they
would not believe."
An impotent sigh escaped the speaker. Just for the moment his resolution
had failed him. It was some time before he became conscious of the fact
that some one was dogging his footsteps.
"Do you want to see me?" he demanded.
There was no reply for a moment. Abell came up cautiously. He looked
around him, but so far as he could see he and Ravenspur were alone. As
he caught sight of the latter's face he had no ground for further doubt.
"I did want to see you and see you alone, sir," Abell replied. "I
believe I have the pleasure of speaking to Mr. Ralph Ravenspur?"
"The same, sir," Ralph said coldly. "You are a stranger to me."
"A stranger who brings a message from a friend. I was to see you alone
and for two days I have been waiting for this opportunity. My employer
asks me to deliver this box into your hands."
At the same time Abell passed the little brass case into Ralph's hand.
As his fingers closed upon it a great light swept over his face; a
hoarse shout came from lips that turned from red to blue, and then to
white and red again. So Tchigorsky had behaved when he discovered that
this man still lived.
"Who gave you this, and what is your message?" Ravenspur panted.
"The message," said Abell, "was merely this. I was to give you the box
and say: 'Tchigorsky--Danger,' and walk away, unless you detained me."
"Then my friend Tchigorsky is alive?"
"Yes, sir; it is my privilege to be his private secretary."
"A wonderful man," Ralph cried; "perhaps the most wonderful man in
Europe. And to think that he is alive! If an angel had come down from
heaven and asked me to crave a boon, I should have asked to have
Tchigorsky in the flesh before me. You have given me new heart of grace;
you are like water in a dry land. This is the happiest day I have known
since----"
The speaker paused and mumbled something incoherent. But the stolid
expression had gone from his scarred face, and a strange, triumphant
happiness reigned in its stead. He seemed years younger, his step had
grown more elastic; there was a fresh, broad ring in his voice.
"Tchigorsky will desire to see me," he said. "Indeed, it is absolutely
essential that we should meet and that without delay. A time of danger
lies before us--danger that the mere mortal does not dream of. Take this
to Tchigorsky and be careful of it."
He drew from a chain inside his vest a small case, almost identical to
the one that Abell had just handed to him, save that it was silver,
while the other was brass. On it were the same queer signs and symbols.
"That will convince my friend that the puzzle is intact," he continued.
"We hold the key to the enigma--nay, the key to the past and future. But
all this is so much Greek to you. I will come and see my friend on
Friday; but not in the guise of Ralph Ravenspur."
"What am I to understand by that, sir?" Abell asked.
"It matters nothing what you understand," Ralph cried. "Tchigorsky will
know. Tell him 7:15 at Euston on Friday, not in the guise of Ravenspur
or Tchigorsky. He will read between the lines. Go and be seen with me no
more."
Ralph strode off with his head in the air. His blood was singing in his
ears; his pulse was leaping with a new life.
"At last," he murmured; "after all these years for myself and my kin! At
last!"