FRANK LITTIMER
The lamps gleamed upon the dusty statuary and pictures and faded flowers
in the hall, they glinted upon a long polished oak casket there reposing
upon trestles. Ever and anon a servant would peep in and vanish again as
if ashamed of something. The house was deadly quiet now, for Mrs. Henson
had fallen asleep worn out with exhaustion, and Enid had instantly
stopped the dreadful clamour of the bell. The silence that followed was
almost as painful as the noise had been.
On the coffin were wreaths of flowers. Enid sat in the drawing-room with
the door open, where she could see everything, but was herself unseen.
She was getting terribly anxious and nervous again; the hour was near
eleven, and the hearse might arrive at any time. She would know no kind
of peace until she could get that hideous mockery out of the house.
She sat listening thus, straining her ears to catch the slightest sound.
Suddenly there came a loud clamour at the front door, an imperative
knocking that caused Enid's heart to come into her mouth. Who could it
be? What stranger had passed the dogs in that way?
She heard crabbed, sour, but courageous old Williams go to the door. She
heard the clang of bolts and the rattle of chains, and then a weird cry
from Williams. A voice responded that brought Enid, trembling and livid,
into the hall. A young man with a dark, exceedingly handsome face and
somewhat effeminate mouth stood there, with eyes for nothing but the
shining flower-decked casket on the trestles. He seemed beside himself
with rage and grief; he might have been a falsely imprisoned convict face
to face with the real culprit.
"Why didn't you let me know?" he cried. "Why didn't you let me know?"
His voice rang in the roof. Enid flew to his side and placed her hand
upon his lips.
"Your mother is asleep, Frank," she said. "She has had no sleep for three
nights. A long rest may be the means of preserving her sanity. Why did
you come here?"
The young man laughed silently. It was ghastly mirth to see, and it
brought the tears into Enid's eyes. She had forgotten the danger of the
young man's presence.
"I heard that Chris was ill," he said. "They told me that she was
dying. And I could not keep away. And now I have come too late. Oh,
Chris, Chris!"
He fell on his knees by the side of the coffin, his frame shaken by
tearless sobs. Enid bit her lips to keep back the words that rose to
them. She would have given much to have spoken the truth. But at any
hazard she must remain silent. She waited till the paroxysm of grief had
passed away, then she touched the intruder gently on the shoulder.
"There is great danger for you in this house," she said.
"What do I care for danger when Chris lies yonder?"
"But, dear Frank, there are others to consider besides yourself. There is
your mother, for instance. Oh, you ought not to have come here to-night.
If your father knew!"
"My father? He would be the last person in the world to know. And what
cares he about anything, so long as he has his prints and his paintings?
He has no feelings, no heart, no soul, I may say."
"Frank, you must go at once. Do you know that Reginald Henson is here? He
has ears like a hare; it will be nothing less than a miracle unless he
hears your voice. And then--"
The young man was touched at last. The look of grief died out of his eyes
and a certain terror filled them.
"I think that I should have come in any case," he whispered. "I don't
want to bring any further trouble upon you, Enid, but I wanted to see the
last of her. I came here, and some of the dogs remembered me. If not, I
might have had no occasion to trouble you. And I won't stay, seeing that
Henson is here. Let me have something to remember her by; let me look
into her room for a moment. If you only knew how I loved her! And you
look as if you had no grief at all."
Enid started guiltily. She had quite forgotten her _rôle_ for the time.
Indeed, there was something unmistakably like relief on her face as she
heard the porter's bell ring from the lodge to the house. Williams
shuffled away, muttering that he would be more useful in the house than
out of it just now, but a glance from Enid subdued him. Presently there
came the sound of wheels on the gravel outside.
"They have come for the--the coffin," Enid murmured. "Frank, it would be
best for you to go. Go upstairs, if you like; you know the way. Only,
don't stay here."
The young man went off dreamily. A heavy grief dulled and blinded his
senses; he walked along like one who wanders in his sleep. Christiana's
room door was open and a lamp was there. There were dainty knick-knacks
on the dressing-table, a vase or two of faded flowers--everything that
denotes the presence of refined and gracious womanhood.
Frank Littimer stood there looking round him for some little time. On a
table by the bedside stood a photograph of a girl in a silver frame.
Littimer pounced upon it hungrily. It was a good picture--the best of
Christiana's that he had ever seen. He slipped out into the corridor and
gently closed the door behind him. Then he passed along with his whole
gaze fixed on the portrait. The girl seemed to be smiling out of the
frame at him. He had loved Christiana since she was a child; he felt that
he had never loved her so much as at this moment. Well, he had something
to remember her by--he had not come here in vain.
It seemed impossible yet to realise that Christiana was dead, that he
would never look into her sunny, tender face again. No, he would wake up
presently and find it had all been a dream. And how different to the last
time he was here. He had been smuggled into the house, and he had
occupied the room with the oak door. He--
The room with the oak door opened and a big man with a white bandage
round his throat stood there with tottering limbs and an ugly smile on
his loose mouth. Littimer started back.
"Reginald," he exclaimed, "I didn't expect to see you here, or--"
"Or you would never have dared to come?" Henson said, hoarsely. "I heard
your voice and I was bound to give you a welcome, even at considerable
personal inconvenience. Help me back to bed again. And now, you insolent
young dog, how dare you show your face here?"
"I came to see Chris," Littimer said, doggedly. "And I came too late.
Even if I had known that I was going to meet you, I should have been here
all the same. Oh, I know what you are going to say; I know what you
think. And some day I shall break out and defy you to do your worst."
Henson smiled as one might do at the outbreak of an angry child. His eyes
flashed and his tongue spoke words that Littimer fairly cowed before. And
yet he did not show it. He was like a boy who has found a stone for the
man who stands over him with the whip. With quick intuition Henson saw
this, and in a measure his manner changed.
"You will say next that you are not afraid of me," he suggested.
"Well," Littimer replied, slowly; "I am not so much afraid of you
as I was."
"Ah! so you imagine that you have discovered something?"
Littimer apparently struggled between a prudent desire for silence and
a disposition to speak. The sneer on the face of his enemy fairly
maddened him.
"Yes," he said, with a note of elation in his voice, "I have made a
discovery, but I am not going to tell you how or where my discovery is.
But I've found Van Sneck."
A shade of whiter pallor came over Henson's face. Then his eyes took on a
murderous, purple-black gleam. All the same, his voice was quite steady
as he replied.
"I'm afraid that is not likely to benefit you much," he said. "Would you
mind handing me that oblong black book from the dressing-table? I want
you to do something for me. What's that?"
There was just the faintest suggestion of a sound outside. It was Enid
listening with all her ears. She had not been long in discovering what
had happened. Once the ghastly farcical incubus was off her shoulders she
had followed Littimer upstairs. As she passed Henson's room the drone of
voices struck on her ears. She stood there and listened. She would have
given much for this not to have happened, but everything happened for the
worst in that accursed house.
But Henson's last words were enough for her. She gathered her skirts
together and flew down the stairs. In the hall Williams stood, with a
grin on his face, pensively scraping his chin with a dry forefinger.
"Now what's the matter, miss?" he cried.
"Don't ask questions," Enid cried. "Go and get me the champagne nippers.
The champagne nippers at once. If you can't find them, then bring me a
pair of pliers. Then come to me on the leads outside the bathroom. It's a
matter of life and death."