I MEET AN OLD FRIEND
When I reached the house I found, to my astonishment,
that the window I had left open as I scrambled
out the night before was closed. I dropped my bag and
crept to the front door, thinking that if Bates had discovered
my absence it was useless to attempt any further
deception. I was amazed to find the great doors
of the main entrance flung wide, and in real alarm I
ran through the hall and back to the library.
The nearest door stood open, and, as I peered in, a
curious scene disclosed itself. A few of the large cathedral
candles still burned brightly in several places,
their flame rising strangely in the gray morning light.
Books had been taken from the shelves and scattered
everywhere, and sharp implements had cut ugly gashes
in the shelving. The drawers containing sketches and
photographs had been pulled out and their contents
thrown about and trampled under foot.
The house was as silent as a tomb, but as I stood on
the threshold trying to realize what had happened, something
stirred by the fireplace and I crept forward, listening,
until I stood by the long table beneath the great
chandelier. Again I heard a sound as of some animal
waking and stretching, followed by a moan that was
undoubtedly human. Then the hands of a man clutched
the farther edge of the table, and slowly and evidently
with infinite difficulty a figure rose and the dark face
of Bates, with eyes blurred and staring strangely, confronted
me.
He drew his body to its height, and leaned heavily
upon the table. I snatched a candle and bent toward
him to make sure my eyes were not tricking me.
“Mr. Glenarm! Mr. Glenarm!” he exclaimed in
broken whispers. “It is Bates, sir.”
“What have you done; what has happened?” I demanded.
He put his hand to his head uncertainly and gaped
as though trying to gather his wits.
He was evidently dazed by whatever had occurred,
and I sprang around and helped him to a couch. He
would not lie down but sat up, staring and passing his
hand over his head. It was rapidly growing lighter,
and I saw a purple and black streak across his temple
where a bludgeon of some sort had struck him.
“What does this mean, Bates? Who has been in the
house?”
“I can’t tell you, Mr. Glenarm.”
“Can’t tell me! You will tell me or go to jail!
There’s been mischief done here and I don’t intend to
have any nonsense about it from you. Well—?”
He was clearly suffering, but in my anger at the sight
of the wreck of the room I grasped his shoulder and
shook him roughly.
“It was early this morning,” he faltered, “about two
o’clock, I heard noises in the lower part of the house.
I came down thinking likely it was you, and remembering
that you had been sick yesterday—”
“Yes, go on.”
The thought of my truancy was no balm to my conscience
just then.
“As I came into the hall, I saw lights in the library.
As you weren’t down last night the room hadn’t been
lighted at all. I heard steps, and some one tapping with
a hammer—”
“Yes; a hammer. Go on!”
It was, then, the same old story! The war had been
carried openly into the house, but Bates,—just why
should any one connected with the conspiracy injure
Bates, who stood so near to Pickering, its leader? The
fellow was undoubtedly hurt,—there was no mistaking
the lump on his head. He spoke with a painful difficulty
that was not assumed, I felt increasingly sure, as
he went on.
“I saw a man pulling out the books and tapping the
inside of the shelves. He was working very fast. And
the next thing I knew he let in another man through
one of the terrace doors,—the one there that still stands
a little open.”
He flinched as be turned slightly to indicate it, and
his face twitched with pain.
“Never mind that; tell the rest of your story.”
“Then I ran in, grabbed one of the big candelabra
from the table, and went for the nearest man. They
were about to begin on the chimney-breast there,—it
was Mr. Glenarm’s pride in all the house,—and that
accounts for my being there in front of the fireplace.
They rather got the best of me, sir.
“Clearly; I see they did. You had a hand-to-hand
fight with them, and being two to one—”
“No; there were two of us,—don’t you understand,
two of us! There was another man who came running
in from somewhere, and he took sides with me. I
thought at first it was you. The robbers thought so,
too, for one of them yelled, ‘Great God; it’s Glenarm!’
just like that. But it wasn’t you, but quite another person.”
“That’s a good story so far; and then what happened?”
“I don’t remember much more, except that some one
soused me with water that helped my head considerably,
and the next thing I knew I was staring across the table
there at you.”
“Who were these men, Bates? Speak up quickly!”
My tone was peremptory. Here was, I felt, a crucial
moment in our relations.
“Well,” he began deliberately, “I dislike to make
charges against a fellow man, but I strongly suspect one
of the men of being—”
“Yes! Tell the whole truth or it will be the worse
for you.”
“I very much fear one of them was Ferguson, the
gardener over the way. I’m disappointed in him,
sir.”
“Very good; and now for the other one.”
“I didn’t get my eyes on him. I had closed with
Ferguson and we were having quite a lively time of it
when the other one came in; then the man who came to
my help mixed us all up,—he was a very lively person,—
and what became of Ferguson and the rest of it I don’t
know.”
There was food for thought in what he said. He had
taken punishment in defense of my property—the crack
on his head was undeniable—and I could not abuse
him or question his veracity with any grace; not, at
least, without time for investigation and study. However,
I ventured to ask him one question.
“If you were guessing, shouldn’t you think it quite
likely that Morgan was the other man?”
He met my gaze squarely.
“I think it wholly possible, Mr. Glenarm.”
“And the man who helped you—who in the devil was
he?”
“Bless me, I don’t know. He disappeared. I’d like
mightily to see him again.”
“Humph! Now you’d better do something for your
head. I’ll summon the village doctor if you say so.”
“No; thank you, sir. I’ll take care of it myself.”
“And now we’ll keep quiet about this. Don’t mention
it or discuss it with any one.”
“Certainly not, sir.”
He rose, and staggered a little, but crossed to the
broad mantel-shelf in the great chimney-breast, rested
his arm upon it for a moment, passed his hand over the
dark wood with a sort of caress, then bent his eyes upon
the floor littered with books and drawings and papers
torn from the cabinets and all splashed with tallow and
wax from the candles. The daylight had increased until
the havoc wrought by the night’s visitors was fully apparent.
The marauders had made a sorry mess of the
room, and I thought Bates’ lip quivered as he saw the
wreck.
“It would have been a blow to Mr. Glenarm; the room
was his pride,—his pride, sir.”
He went out toward the kitchen, and I ran up stairs
to my own room. I cursed the folly that had led me to
leave my window open, for undoubtedly Morgan and
his new ally, St. Agatha’s gardener, had taken advantage
of it to enter the house. Quite likely, too, they had
observed my absence, and this would undoubtedly be
communicated to Pickering. I threw open my door
and started back with an exclamation of amazement.
Standing at my chiffonnier, between two windows,
was a man, clad in a bath-gown—my own, I saw with
fury—his back to me, the razor at his face, placidly
shaving himself.
Without turning he addressed me, quite coolly and
casually, as though his being there was the most natural
thing in the world.
“Good morning, Mr. Glenarm! Rather damaging
evidence, that costume. I suppose it’s the custom of the
country for gentlemen in evening clothes to go out by
the window and return by the door. You might think
the other way round preferable.”
“Larry!” I shouted.
“Jack!”
“Kick that door shut and lock it,” he commanded, in
a sharp, severe tone that I remembered well—and just
now welcomed—in him.
“How, why and when—?”
“Never mind about me. I’m here—thrown the enemy
off for a few days; and you give me lessons in current
history first, while I climb into my armor. Pray pardon
the informality—”
He seized a broom and began work upon a pair of
trousers to which mud and briers clung tenaciously.
His coat and hat lay on a chair, they, too, much the
worse for rough wear.
There was never any use in refusing to obey Larry’s
orders, and as he got into his clothes I gave him in as
few words as possible the chief incidents that had
marked my stay at Glenarm House. He continued dressing
with care, helping himself to a shirt and collar from
my chiffonnier and choosing with unfailing eye the
best tie in my collection. Now and then he asked a
question tersely, or, again, he laughed or swore direly in
Gaelic. When I had concluded the story of Pickering’s
visit, and of the conversation I overheard between the
executor and Bates in the church porch, Larry wheeled
round with the scarf half-tied in his fingers and surveyed
me commiseratingly.
“And you didn’t rush them both on the spot and have
it out?”
“No. I was too much taken aback, for one thing—”
“I dare say you were!”
“And for another I didn’t think the time ripe. I’m
going to beat that fellow, Larry, but I want him to
show his hand fully before we come to a smash-up. I
know as much about the house and its secrets as he does,
—that’s one consolation. Sometimes I don’t believe
there’s a shilling here, and again I’m sure there’s a big
stake in it. The fact that Pickering is risking so much
to find what’s supposed to be hidden here is pretty fair
evidence that something’s buried on the place.”
“Possibly, but they’re giving you a lively boycott.
Now where in the devil have you been?”
“Well,—” I began and hesitated. I had not mentioned
Marian Devereux and this did not seem the time
for confidences of that sort.
He took a cigarette from his pocket and lighted it.
“Bah, these women! Under the terms of your revered
grandfather’s will you have thrown away all your rights.
It looks to me, as a member of the Irish bar in bad
standing, as though you had delivered yourself up to
the enemy, so far as the legal situation is concerned.
How does it strike you?”
“Of course I’ve forfeited my rights. But I don’t
mean that any one shall know it yet a while.”
“My lad, don’t deceive yourself. Everybody round
here will know it before night. You ran off, left your
window open invitingly, and two gentlemen who meditated
breaking in found that they needn’t take the trouble.
One came in through your own room, noting, of
course, your absence, let in his friend below, and tore
up the place regrettably.”
“Yes, but how did you get here?—if you don’t mind
telling.”
“It’s a short story. That little chap from Scotland
Yard, who annoyed me so much in New York and drove
me to Mexico—for which may he dwell for ever in fiery
torment—has never given up. I shook him off, though,
at Indianapolis three days ago. I bought a ticket for
Pittsburg with him at my elbow. I suppose he thought
the chase was growing tame, and that the farther east
he could arrest me the nearer I should be to a British
consul and tide-water. I went ahead of him into the
station and out to the Pittsburg sleeper. I dropped my
bag into my section—if that’s what they call it in your
atrocious American language—looked out and saw him
coming along the platform. Just then the car began to
move,—they were shunting it about to attach a sleeper
that had been brought in from Louisville and my carriage,
or whatever you call it, went skimming out of
the sheds into a yard where everything seemed to be
most noisy and complex. I dropped off in the dark
just before they began to haul the carriage back. A
long train of empty goods wagons was just pulling
out and I threw my bag into a wagon and climbed after
it. We kept going for an hour or so until I was thoroughly
lost, then I took advantage of a stop at a place
that seemed to be the end of terrestrial things, got out
and started across country. I expressed my bag to you
the other day from a town that rejoiced in the cheering
name of Kokomo, just to get rid of it. I walked into
Annandale about midnight, found this medieval marvel
through the kindness of the station-master and was reconnoitering
with my usual caution when I saw a gentleman
romantically entering through an open window.”
Larry paused to light a fresh cigarette.
“You always did have a way of arriving opportunely.
Go on!”
“It pleased my fancy to follow him; and by the time
I had studied your diggings here a trifle, things began
to happen below. It sounded like a St. Patrick’s
Day celebration in an Irish village, and I went down at
a gallop to see if there was any chance of breaking in.
Have you seen the room? Well,”—he gave several
turns to his right wrist, as though to test it,—“we all
had a jolly time there by the fireplace. Another chap
had got in somewhere, so there were two of them. Your
man—I suppose it’s your man—was defending himself
gallantly with a large thing of brass that looked like
the pipes of a grand organ—and I sailed in with a chair.
My presence seemed to surprise the attacking party,
who evidently thought I was you,—flattering, I must
say, to me!”
“You undoubtedly saved Bates’ life and prevented the
rifling of the house. And after you had poured water
on Bates,—he’s the servant,—you came up here—”
“That’s the way of it.”
“You’re a brick, Larry Donovan. There’s only one of
you; and now—”
“And now, John Glenarm, we’ve got to get down to
business,—or you must. As for me, after a few hours
of your enlivening society—”
“You don’t go a step until we go together,—no, by
the beard of the prophet! I’ve a fight on here and I’m
going to win if I die in the struggle, and you’ve got to
stay with me to the end.”
“But under the will you dare not take a boarder.”
“Of course I dare! That will’s as though it had
never been as far as I’m concerned. My grandfather
never expected me to sit here alone and be murdered.
John Marshall Glenarm wasn’t a fool exactly!”
“No, but a trifle queer, I should say. I don’t have
to tell you, old man, that this situation appeals to me.
It’s my kind of a job. If it weren’t that the hounds are
at my heels I’d like to stay with you, but you have
enough trouble on hands without opening the house to
an attack by my enemies.”
“Stop talking about it. I don’t propose to be deserted
by the only friend I have in the world when I’m up
to my eyes in trouble. Let’s go down and get some
coffee.”
We found Bates trying to remove the evidences of the
night’s struggle. He had fastened a cold pack about his
head and limped slightly; otherwise he was the same—
silent and inexplicable.
Daylight had not improved the appearance of the
room. Several hundred books lay scattered over the
floor, and the shelves which had held them were hacked
and broken.
“Bates, if you can give us some coffee—? Let the
room go for the present.”
‘‘Yes, sir.”
“And Bates—”
He paused and Larry’s keen eyes were bent sharply
upon him.
“Mr. Donovan is a friend who will be with me for
some time. We’ll fix up his room later in the day”
He limped out, Larry’s eyes following him.
“What do you think of that fellow?” I asked.
Larry’s face wore a puzzled look.
“What do you call him,—Bates? He’s a plucky fellow.”
Larry picked up from the hearth the big candelabrum
with which Bates had defended himself. It
was badly bent and twisted, and Larry grinned.
“The fellow who went out through the front door
probably isn’t feeling very well to-day. Your man was
swinging this thing like a windmill.”
“I can’t understand it,” I muttered. “I can’t, for
the life of me, see why he should have given battle to
the enemy. They all belong to Pickering, and Bates is
the biggest rascal of the bunch.”
“Humph! we’ll consider that later. And would you
mind telling me what kind of a tallow foundry this is?
I never saw so many candlesticks in my life. I seem
to taste tallow. I had no letters from you, and I supposed
you were loafing quietly in a grim farm-house,
dying of ennui, and here you are in an establishment
that ought to be the imperial residence of an Eskimo
chief. Possibly you have crude petroleum for soup and
whipped salad-oil for dessert. I declare, a man living
here ought to attain a high candle-power of luminosity.
It’s perfectly immense.” He stared and laughed. “And
hidden treasure, and night attacks, and young virgins
in the middle distance,—yes, I’d really like to stay a
while.”
As we ate breakfast I filled in gaps I had left in my
hurried narrative, with relief that I can not describe filling
my heart as I leaned again upon the sympathy of
an old and trusted friend.
As Bates came and went I marked Larry’s scrutiny of
the man. I dismissed him as soon as possible that we
might talk freely.
“Take it up and down and all around, what do you
think of all this?” I asked.
Larry was silent for a moment; he was not given to
careless speech in personal matters.
“There’s more to it than frightening you off or getting
your grandfather’s money. It’s my guess that
there’s something in this house that somebody—Pickering
supposedly—is very anxious to find.”
“Yes; I begin to think so. He could come in here
legally if it were merely a matter of searching for lost
assets.”
“Yes; and whatever it is it must be well hidden. As
I remember, your grandfather died in June. You got
a letter calling you home in October.”
“It was sent out blindly, with not one chance in a
hundred that it would ever reach me.”
“To be sure. You were a wanderer on the face of the
earth, and there was nobody in America to look after
your interests. You may be sure that the place was
thoroughly ransacked while you were sailing home. I’ll
wager you the best dinner you ever ate that there’s more
at stake than your grandfather’s money. The situation
is inspiring. I grow interested. I’m almost persuaded
to linger.”