Mr Hampton caught George Harrington by the arm, and his voice was low
and husky with emotion as he said:
"No, no; in heaven's name, no. It is too horrible."
"Horrible enough, sir. Down, Bruno! Watch!"
The dog couched directly, growling low the while.
"Think of Gertrude--my wife. No, no; it is impossible."
George pointed at the dog.
"I've more faith in him, sir, than in our ideas."
"Then, if it is true, we must have in the police. Let them make the
discovery."
"No," said George shortly. "If there is a discovery to be made, I'll be
the first to make it; and then we must have in the police at once."
As he spoke, he attacked the brickwork with the chisel, easily removed
one brick, and the others came more easily still.
"These bricks have not been untouched for years, Mr Hampton."
"No, sir, no," said the old man feebly, as he wiped his face. "But it
may mean a robbery by some old servant--of the wine."
"Yes, sir, it may," said George hoarsely, as he worked away hastily, the
dog growing more excited as brick after brick was thrown down into the
growing heap, his hair about his neck bristling and his hind-quarters
all on the move, as if he were gathering himself up for a spring.
The bricks were all laid endwise so as to form nine-inch work, and as
they were taken out it was plain to see that some were whitewashed on
both ends, others only on one end, and here both ends were whitened; one
end was hard and dry, the other, or outer end, had a coating of moist
wash. A trifle, but pregnant with meaning to him who worked.
"You have enough out now," said the old man, holding forward the light.
"There: it is a mistake, thank heaven! Look: bottles."
The light glanced upon the concave bottoms of rows of bottles with laths
between, but George Harrington toiled on.
"My dear sir, this is madness," said the lawyer petulantly.
"Yes, sir: with a method," said George, working away. "Look; the whole
of the brick-laying is fresh. We must have them all out."
"But what for?"
"Wait," cried the young man fiercely; and he worked with furious energy
till the last brick was removed, and the bin laid bare.
"Now, are you satisfied?" said the old man.
"No."
The bottles rose from the floor to the iron supported division which
formed the place into two, and the top row was drawn out and set on end,
first one at a time, then, as there was more room, two by two, till a
couple of layers were standing in the sawdust.
Then George Harrington paused and wiped his own brow.
"Now, Mr Hampton," he said, "if my suspicions are right, there are no
bottles behind there, but--what we seek."
"Then, in heaven's name, sir, satisfy yourself, and let's end--Good
God!"
He started back, clapping the handkerchief he held to his nose and
mouth, as George Harrington thrust his arm through the opening, and drew
back a handful of lime, while the dog uttered a hoarse, low growl, and a
horrible odour slowly made its way into the cellar where they stood.
Then they started towards the door, for the dog leaped up, barking
furiously, as distant cries were heard, sounding muffled and strange,
and they could distinguish their names.
By the time they reached the opening George Harrington had first made,
the dog was through, and George followed, thrusting his hand back to
take the candle.
"Come along, sir, quick!" he said, "and mind the ladies are not told--
yet."
The old lawyer crept through trembling, the cries being plain now those
of appeals for help, the dog's loud barking adding to the excitement, as
he stood by the inner door.
But George Harrington did not lose his head. He threw open the inner
door, and passed through the first.
"Now close and lock that, sir," he said, as he laid his hand on the key
in the outer door. "Down, Bruno!" he cried in a deep, threatening tone,
as the inner door was locked. "Watch, sir. Watch!"
The dog responded with a threatening growl, and tore at the outer door.
"Be ready to slip out, sir. I'll follow, but this brute must not come.
He must be locked in this place."
"Yes; I understand," groaned the old man, who was trembling, and looked
a pitiable spectacle, with his white face, and his evening dress covered
with lime and whitewash.
"Down, Bruno! Watch?" roared George, as he unlocked the outer door and
drew out the key.
The dog growled but obeyed, the door was opened enough to let the lawyer
pass through, and as he did the cries without sounded terrible, and
nearly maddened the dog, who once more sprang at the door. But George
seized him by the collar, dragged him back, there was a brief struggle,
and he managed to hurl him into a corner, and slip through the door,
locking it as he banged it to, and then placing the key in his pocket,
he ran through the baize door to where a terrible struggle was going on
between Saul Harrington and the doctor, while Mrs Hampton and Gertrude
were making the place echo with their appeals for help.
Stirred to the heart by the position in which he saw his old friend, Mr
Hampton had rushed to his assistance, but Saul Harrington in his wild
fit of delirium made naught of their joint efforts, and was in the act
of dashing them off as George Harrington appeared at the study door, and
confronted the wretched maniac, who leaped at him with a howl that did
not seem human.
There was a desperate struggle for a minute, during which George strove
hard to throw Saul Harrington, who fixed his teeth in George's collar as
he grasped him like a vice; and it was only by a sudden wrench that the
young man saved his throat. He leaped here and there, and at last, in a
despairing effort, George threw all his strength into the lifting of his
adversary, but overbalancing himself in the act, they both fell with a
crash, and Saul leaped up and darted through the door.
Sick and giddy, George Harrington rose painfully to his feet, and
staggered to the door, for a wild cry rang through the house.
"Gertrude!" he groaned, and he made for the passage, only to be driven
back by Saul, who passed him and tore through the baize door, which
banged to behind him.
"Can you help?" said George hoarsely. "We must master him somehow."
"Yes, yes," came from the two old men; and together they followed him as
he laid his hand upon the door, panting heavily for breath.
"One moment," he said, and then in a loud voice, "Gertrude--Mrs
Hampton, for heaven's sake lock yourselves in one of the rooms till this
man is secured."
A low wail came back in answer, but it was followed by the banging of a
door.
"Now, gentlemen--and together," whispered George. "The moment I seize
him try your best to throw him down. Never mind me. He must be
thrown."
Nerving himself for the coming struggle, George Harrington flung back
the door, and leaped at the maniac, but paused as he saw him striving
wildly to get through the cellar door--going through the motion of
unlocking it, and impatiently stamping again and again, as the dog bayed
furiously within.
"Curse him! He has found it," he cried hoarsely. "It would have killed
any other dog. What's the matter with this key--now then--beast--
devil--must I kill you again? Down, brute! Hush! Curse him, they'll
hear. Ah! has that silenced you? Bite, would you? How sharp his teeth
are! But that finished him!"
As he spoke in a low, hoarse, muttering tone he went through the motion
of a struggle with some animal, striking at it with an imaginary stick;
and then, blind to the presence of those who crept nearer to him to
catch him unawares, he seemed to be binding up his injured arm.
"Only mad dogs do harm," he said with a curious laugh, as he gazed
wildly round. "Only mad dogs. Yes, but you're dead now, brute. Only
mad dogs do harm, and you were not mad, you savage beast! There! now
what next--what next? Can I--can I think of anything more--the money--
the watch and chain--the ring? There's plenty without them, and some
day, perhaps, some day--when he's forgotten--Yes--George Harrington,
I'm--master now. Ah!"
He uttered a wild yell, twisted completely round as if struck by a
bullet, and fell face downwards upon the floor.
George Harrington was in the act of springing upon him to secure him,
but the doctor caught his arm.
"No need," he whispered; and stepping forward, he went down on one knee,
the light from the guttering candle left upon a side table shining down
faintly upon a distorted face, quivering in the last throes of death.