"I suppose, sir, your business is very urgent?"
"It is," I replied shortly.
He looked as if he would like to question me further, but refrained.
A few moments later I had taken my seat beside the driver, and we were
speeding at a good round pace through the streets of Liverpool. We
passed quickly through the suburbs, and out into the open country. The
evening was a lovely one, and the country looked its best. It was
difficult to believe, as I drove through the peaceful landscape, that in
all probability a dark deed was in contemplation, and that the young man
to whom I had taken a most sincere liking was in danger of his life.
As I drove silently by my companion's side I reviewed the whole
situation. The more I thought of it the less I liked it. On board the
_Euphrates_ Wickham had been abnormally interested in Cressley. Cressley
had himself confided to him his superstitious dread with regard to the
turret room. Cressley had come home with a fortune; and if he floated
his syndicate he would be a millionaire. Wickham scarcely looked like a
rich man. Then why should he know Murdock, and why should a lay figure
be put in Murdock's bed? Why, also, through a most unnatural accident,
should I have lost my train?
The more I thought, the graver and graver became my fears. Gradually
darkness settled over the land, and then a rising moon flooded the
country in its weird light. I had been on many a wild expedition before,
but in some ways never a wilder than this. Its very uncertainty, wrapped
as it was in unformed suspicions, gave it an air of inexpressible
mystery.
On and on we went, reaching Ovenden between nine and ten at night. Here
horses were ready for us, and we again started on our way. When we got
to Carlton, however, there came a hitch in my well-formed arrangements.
We drew up at the little inn, to find the place in total darkness, and
all the inhabitants evidently in bed and asleep. With some difficulty
we roused the landlord, and asked why the horses which had been
telegraphed for had not been got ready.
"We did not get them when the second telegram arrived," was the reply.
"The second telegram!" I cried, my heart beating fast. "What do you
mean?"
"There were two, sir, both coming from the same stables. The first was
written desiring us to have the horses ready at any cost. The second
contradicted the first, and said that the gentleman had changed his
mind, and was not going. On receipt of that, sir, I shut up the house as
usual, and we all went to bed. I am very sorry if there has been any
mistake."
"There has, and a terrible one," I could not help muttering under my
breath. My fears were getting graver than ever. Who had sent the second
telegram? Was it possible that I had been followed by Wickham, who took
these means of circumventing me?
"We must get horses, and at once," I said. "Never mind about the second
telegram; it was a mistake."
Peach, the jobmaster, muttered an oath.
"I can't understand what is up," he said. He looked mystified and not
too well pleased. Then he added,--
"These horses can't go another step, sir."
"They must if we can get no others," I said. I went up to him, and began
to whisper in his ear.
"This is a matter of life and death, my good friend. Only the direst
necessity takes me on this journey. The second telegram without doubt
was sent by a man whom I am trying to circumvent. I know what I am
saying. We must get horses, or these must go on. We have not an instant
to lose. There is a conspiracy afoot to do serious injury to the owner
of Cressley Hall."
"What! the young gentleman who has just come from Australia? You don't
mean to say he is in danger?" said Peach.
"He is in the gravest danger. I don't mind who knows. I have reason for
my fears."
While I was speaking the landlord drew near. He overheard some of my
last words. The landlord and Peach now exchanged glances. After a moment
the landlord spoke,--
"A neighbour of ours, sir, has got two good horses," he said. "He is the
doctor in this village. I believe he'll lend them if the case is as
urgent as you say."
"Go and ask him," I cried. "You shall have ten pounds if we are on the
road in five minutes from the present moment."
At this hint the landlord flew. He came back in an incredibly short
space of time, accompanied by the doctor's coachman leading the horses.
They were quickly harnessed to the wagonette, and once more we started
on our way.
"Now drive as you never drove before in the whole course of your life,"
I said to Peach. "Money is no object. We have still fifteen miles to go,
and over a rough country. You can claim any reward in reason if you get
to Cressley Hall within an hour."
"It cannot be done, sir," he replied; but then he glanced at me, and
some of the determination in my face was reflected in his. He whipped up
the horses. They were thoroughbred animals, and worked well under
pressure.
We reached the gates of Cressley Hall between two and three in the
morning. Here I thought it best to draw up, and told my coachman that I
should not need his services any longer.
"If you are afraid of mischief, sir, would it not be best for me to lie
about here?" he asked. "I'd rather be in the neighbourhood in case you
want me. I am interested in this here job, sir."
"You may well be, my man. God grant it is not a black business. Well,
walk the horses up and down, if you like. If you see nothing of me
within the next couple of hours, judge that matters are all right, and
return with the horses to Carlton."
This being arranged, I turned from Peach and entered the lodge gates.
Just inside was a low cottage surrounded by trees. I paused for a moment
to consider what I had better do. My difficulty now was how to obtain
admittance to the Hall, for of course it would be shut up and all its
inhabitants asleep at this hour. Suddenly an idea struck me. I
determined to knock up the lodge-keeper, and to enlist her assistance. I
went across to the door, and presently succeeded in rousing the inmates.
A woman of about fifty appeared. I explained to her my position, and
begged of her to give me her help. She hesitated at first in unutterable
astonishment; but then, seeing something in my face which convinced her,
I suppose, of the truth of my story, for it was necessary to alarm her
in order to induce her to do anything, she said she would do what I
wished.
"I know the room where Mitchell, the old housekeeper, sleeps," she said,
"and we can easily wake him by throwing stones up at his window. If
you'll just wait a minute I'll put a shawl over my head and go with
you."
She ran into an inner room and quickly re-appeared. Together we made our
way along the drive which, far as I could see, ran through a park
studded with old timber. We went round the house to the back entrance,
and the woman, after a delay of two or three moments, during which I was
on thorns, managed to wake up Mitchell the housekeeper. He came to his
window, threw it open, and poked out his head.
"What can be wrong?" he said.
"It is Mr. Bell, James," was the reply, "the gentleman who has been
expected at the Hall all the evening; he has come now, and wants you to
admit him."
The old man said that he would come downstairs. He did so, and opening a
door, stood in front of it, barring my entrance.
"Are you really the gentleman Mr. Cressley has been expecting?" he said.
"I am," I replied; "I missed my train, and was obliged to drive out.
There is urgent need why I should see your master immediately; where is
he?"
"I hope in bed, sir, and asleep; it is nearly three o'clock in the
morning."
"Never mind the hour," I said; "I must see Mr. Cressley immediately. Can
you take me to his room?"
"If I am sure that you are Mr. John Bell," said the old man, glancing at
me with not unnatural suspicion.
"Rest assured on that point. Here, this is my card, and here is a
telegram which I received to-day from your master."
"But master sent no telegram to-day."
"You must be mistaken, this is from him."
"I don't understand it, sir, but you look honest, and I suppose I must
trust you."
"You will do well to do so," I said.
He moved back and I entered the house. He took me down a passage, and
then into a lofty chamber, which probably was the old banqueting-hall.
As well as I could see by the light of the candle, it was floored, and
panelled with black oak. Round the walls stood figures of knights in
armour, with flags and banners hanging from the panels above. I
followed the old man up a broad staircase and along endless corridors to
a more distant part of the building. We turned now abruptly to our
right, and soon began to ascend some turret stairs.
"In which room is your master?" I asked.
"This is his room, sir," said the man. He stood still and pointed to a
door.
"Stay where you are; I may want you," I said.
I seized his candle, and holding it above my head, opened the door. The
room was a large one, and when I entered was in total darkness. I
fancied I heard a rustling in the distance, but could see no one. Then,
as my eyes got accustomed to the faint light caused by the candle, I
observed at the further end of the chamber a large four-poster bedstead.
I immediately noticed something very curious about it. I turned round to
the old housekeeper.
"Did you really say that Mr. Cressley was sleeping in this room?" I
asked.
"Yes, sir; he must be in bed some hours ago. I left him in the library
hunting up old papers, and he told me he was tired and was going to rest
early."
"He is not in the bed," I said.
"Not in the bed, sir! Good God!" a note of horror came into the man's
voice. "What in the name of fortune is the matter with the bed?"
As the man spoke I rushed forward. Was it really a bed at all? If it
was, I had never seen a stranger one. Upon it, covering it from head to
foot, was a thick mattress, from the sides of which tassels were
hanging. There was no human being lying on the mattress, nor was it made
up with sheets and blankets like an ordinary bed. I glanced above me.
The posts at the four corners of the bedstead stood like masts. I saw at
once what had happened. The canopy had descended upon the bed. Was
Cressley beneath? With a shout I desired the old man to come forward,
and between us we seized the mattress, and exerting all our force, tried
to drag it from the bed. In a moment I saw it was fixed by cords that
held it tightly in its place. Whipping out my knife, I severed these,
and then hurled the heavy weight from the bed. Beneath lay Cressley,
still as death. I put my hand on his heart and uttered a thankful
exclamation. It was still beating. I was in time; I had saved him. After
all, nothing else mattered during that supreme moment of thankfulness. A
few seconds longer beneath that smothering mass and he would have been
dead. By what a strange sequence of events had I come to his side just
in the nick of time!
"We must take him from this room before he recovers consciousness," I
said to the old man, who was surprised and horror-stricken.
"But, sir, in the name of Heaven, what has happened?"
"Let us examine the bed, and I will tell you," I said. I held up the
candle as I spoke. A glance at the posts was all-sufficient to show me
how the deed had been done. The canopy above, on which the heavy
mattress had been placed, was held in position by strong cords which ran
through pulleys at the top of the posts. These were thick and heavy
enough to withstand the strain. When the cords were released, the
canopy, with its heavy weight, must quickly descend upon the unfortunate
sleeper, who would be smothered beneath it in a few seconds. Who had
planned and executed this murderous device?
There was not a soul to be seen.
"We will take Mr. Cressley into another room and then come back," I said
to the housekeeper. "Is there one where we can place him?"
"Yes, sir," was the instant reply; "there's a room on the next floor
which was got ready for you."
"Capital," I answered; "we will convey him there at once."
We did so, and after using some restoratives, he came to himself. When
he saw me he gazed at me with an expression of horror on his face.
"Am I alive, or is it a dream?" he said.
"You are alive, but you have had a narrow escape of your life," I
answered. I then told him how I had found him.
He sat up as I began to speak, and as I continued my narrative his eyes
dilated with an expression of terror which I have seldom seen equalled.
"You do not know what I have lived through," he said at last. "I only
wonder I retain my reason. Oh, that awful room! no wonder men died and
went mad there!"
"Well, speak, Cressley; I am all attention," I said; "you will be the
better when you have unburdened yourself."
"I can tell you what happened in a few words," he answered. "You know I
mentioned the horrid sort of presentiment I had about coming here at
all. That first night I could not make up my mind to sleep in the house,
so I went to the little inn at Brent. I received your telegram
yesterday, and went to meet you by the last train. When you did not
come, I had a tussle with myself; but I could think of no decent excuse
for deserting the old place, and so came back. My intention was to sit
up the greater part of the night arranging papers in the library. The
days are long now, and I thought I might go to bed when morning broke. I
was irresistibly sleepy, however, and went up to my room soon after one
o'clock. I was determined to think of nothing unpleasant, and got
quickly into bed, taking the precaution first to lock the door. I placed
the key under my pillow, and, being very tired, soon fell into a heavy
sleep. I awoke suddenly, after what seemed but a few minutes, to find
the room dark, for the moon must just have set. I was very sleepy, and I
wondered vaguely why I had awakened; and then suddenly, without warning,
and without cause, a monstrous, unreasonable fear seized me. An
indefinable intuition told me that I was not alone--that some horrible
presence was near. I do not think the certainty of immediate death could
have inspired me with a greater dread than that which suddenly came upon
me. I dared not stir hand nor foot. My powers of reason and resistance
were paralysed. At last, by an immense effort, I nerved myself to see
the worst. Slowly, very slowly, I turned my head and opened my eyes.
Against the tapestry at the further corner of the room, in the dark
shadow, stood a figure. It stood out quite boldly, emanating from itself
a curious light. I had no time to think of phosphorus. It never occurred
to me that any trick was being played upon me. I felt certain that I was
looking at my ancestor, Barrington Cressley, who had come back to
torture me in order to make me give up possession. The figure was that
of a man six feet high, and broad in proportion. The face was bent
forward and turned toward me, but in the uncertain light I could neither
see the features nor the expression. The figure stood as still as a
statue, and was evidently watching me. At the end of a moment, which
seemed to me an eternity, it began to move, and, with a slow and silent
step, approached me. I lay perfectly still, every muscle braced, and
watched the figure between half-closed eyelids. It was now within a
foot or two of me, and I could distinctly see the face. What was my
horror to observe that it wore the features of my agent Murdock.
"'Murdock!' I cried, the word coming in a strangled sound from my
throat. The next instant he had sprung upon me. I heard a noise of
something rattling above, and saw a huge shadow descending upon me. I
did not know what it was, and I felt certain that I was being murdered.
The next moment all was lost in unconsciousness. Bell, how queer you
look! Was it--was it Murdock? But it could not have been; he was very
ill in bed at Liverpool. What in the name of goodness was the awful
horror through which I had lived?"
"I can assure you on one point," I answered; "it was no ghost. And as to
Murdock, it is more than likely that you did see him."
I then told the poor fellow what I had discovered with regard to the
agent, and also my firm conviction that Wickham was at the bottom of
it.
Cressley's astonishment was beyond bounds, and I saw at first that he
scarcely believed me; but when I said that it was my intention to search
the house, he accompanied me.
We both, followed by Mitchell, returned to the ill-fated room; but,
though we examined the tapestry and panelling, we could not find the
secret means by which the villain had obtained access to the chamber.
"The carriage which brought me here is still waiting just outside the
lodge gates," I said. "What do you say to leaving this place at once,
and returning, at least, as far as Carlton? We might spend the remainder
of the night there, and take the very first train to Liverpool."
"Anything to get away," said Cressley. "I do not feel that I can ever
come back to Cressley Hall again."
"You feel that now, but by-and-by your sensations will be different," I
answered. As I spoke I called Mitchell to me. I desired him to go at
once to the lodge gates and ask the driver of the wagonette to come
down to the Hall.
This was done, and half an hour afterwards Cressley and I were on our
way back to Carlton. Early the next morning we went to Liverpool. There
we visited the police, and I asked to have a warrant taken out for the
apprehension of Murdock.
The superintendent, on hearing my tale, suggested that we should go at
once to Murdock's house in Melville Gardens. We did so, but it was
empty, Murdock, his wife, and Wickham having thought it best to decamp.
The superintendent insisted, however, on having the house searched, and
in a dark closet at the top we came upon a most extraordinary
contrivance. This was no less than an exact representation of the
agent's head and neck in wax. In it was a wonderfully skilful imitation
of a human larynx, which, by a cunning mechanism of clockwork, could be
made exactly to simulate the breathing and low moaning of a human being.
This the man had, of course, utilized with the connivance of his wife
and Wickham in order to prove an alibi, and the deception was so
complete that only my own irresistible curiosity could have enabled me
to discover the secret. That night the police were fortunate enough to
capture both Murdock and Wickham in a Liverpool slum. Seeing that all
was up, the villains made complete confession, and the whole of the
black plot was revealed. It appeared that two adventurers, the worst
form of scoundrels, knew of Cressley's great discovery in Western
Australia, and had made up their minds to forestall him in his claim.
One of these men had come some months ago to England, and while in
Liverpool had made the acquaintance of Murdock. The other man, Wickham,
accompanied Cressley on the voyage in order to keep him in view, and
worm as many secrets as possible from him. When Cressley spoke of his
superstition with regard to the turret room, it immediately occurred to
Wickham to utilize the room for his destruction. Murdock proved a ready
tool in the hands of the rogues. They offered him an enormous bribe.
And then the three between them evolved the intricate and subtle details
of the crime. It was arranged that Murdock was to commit the ghastly
deed, and for this purpose he was sent down quietly to Brent disguised
as a journeyman the day before Cressley went to the Hall. The men had
thought that Cressley would prove an easy prey, but they distrusted me
from the first. Their relief was great when they discovered that I could
not accompany Cressley to the Hall. And had he spent the first night
there, the murder would have been committed; but his nervous terrors
inducing him to spend the night at Brent foiled this attempt. Seeing
that I was returning to Liverpool, the men now thought that they would
use me for their own devices, and made up their minds to decoy me into
Murdock's bedroom in order that I might see the wax figure, their
object, of course, being that I should be forced to prove an alibi in
case Murdock was suspected of the crime. The telegram which reached me
at Prince's Hotel on my return from London was sent by one of the
ruffians, who was lying in ambush at Brent. When I left Murdock's house,
the wife informed Wickham that she thought from my manner I suspected
something. He had already taken steps to induce the cab-driver to take
me in a wrong direction, in order that I should miss my train, and it
was not until he visited the stables outside the Prince's Hotel that he
found that I intended to go by road. He then played his last card, when
he telegraphed to the inn at Carlton to stop the horses. By Murdock's
means Wickham and his confederate had the run of the rooms at the Hall
ever since the arrival of Wickham from Australia, and they had rigged up
the top of the old bedstead in the way I have described. There was,
needless to say, a secret passage at the back of the tapestry, which was
so cunningly hidden in the panelling as to baffle all ordinary means of
discovery.
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Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London.