Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Google Books
https://books.google.com/books?id=kxgZAAAAYAAJ
(The Boston-Library Society)
THE CLOCK STRUCK ONE.
THE CLOCK STRUCK ONE.
BY
FERGUS HUME,
AUTHOR OF
"THE MYSTERY OF A HANSOM CAB," "TRACKED BY A TATTOO,"
"THE CARBUNCLE CLUE," ETC., ETC.
LONDON:
FREDERICK WARNE AND CO.
AND NEW YORK.
1898.
[_All rights reserved_.]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. DIANA ON A BICYCLE
II. THE STRANGE BEHAVIOUR OF DR. SCOTT
III. TO EVERY MAN HIS OWN FEAR
IV. MORE MYSTERIES
V. MR. EDERMONT'S HIGH SPIRITS
VI. WHAT HAPPENED IN THE NIGHT
VII. A NINE DAYS' SCANDAL
VIII. THE WILL OF JULIAN EDERMONT
IX. AN AMAZING REWARD
X. DR. SCOTT IS STILL OBSTINATE
XI. PREPARING THE GROUND
XII. A TERRIBLE ACCUSATION
XIII. DENIAL
XIV. WHAT DR. SCOTT SAW
XV. THE PEARL BROOCH
XVI. DORA IS STARTLED
XVII. A STORY OF THE PAST
XVIII. PALLANT MAKES A STATEMENT
XIX. MORE MYSTERIES
XX. THE SINS OF THE FATHER
XXI. SO NEAR, AND YET SO FAR
XXII. WHAT DORA DISCOVERED
XXIII. THE MADNESS OF LAMBERT JOAD
XXIV. THE STOLEN MANUSCRIPT
XXV. CONFESSION
XXVI. A FINAL SURPRISE
THE CLOCK STRUCK ONE
CHAPTER I.
DIANA ON A BICYCLE.
Over the bridge which spans the railway two miles from Canterbury a
girl was riding a bicycle. She was perfect mistress of her
machine--and nerves; for on the slope of the hill she let the wheels
run freely, and did not trouble to use the brake. The white dust
clouded the air as she spun down to the level; and the heat of the
day--a July noon--was so great that she was fain to dismount for the
sake of coolness. A wayside fence offered a tempting seat; and, with a
questioning glance to right and left, the girl balanced herself
lightly on the topmost rail. Here she perched in a meditative fashion,
and fanned her flushed face with her straw hat. A pretty girl in so
unconventional a position, unchaperoned and fearless, would have
shocked the susceptibilities of our grandmothers. But this is the age
of the New Woman, and the girl was a type of her epoch.
Assuredly a finer representative could not have been found. She was
tall and straight, deep-bosomed and stately. Her sunburnt complexion,
her serviceable tailor-made dress and her stout shoes of brown
leather, denoted a preference for life out of doors. Across her broad
forehead, round her well-shaped head, fluttered tiny curls in a loose
mass of burnished gold. For the rest, a nose aquiline and two steady
eyes of gray, a mouth rather wide, red-lipped and firm; there you have
a portrait in your mind's eye of a charming gentlewoman--new style.
Diana must have been just such another; but for brightness, sympathy,
and womanly kindness the maid surpassed the goddess. If mythology is
to be credited, Diana was cold, serene and--_vide_ Actæon's
disaster--a trifle cruel. On the whole, this mortal was more lovable
than that immortal, and less dangerous; otherwise the comparison holds
good. Miss Dora Carew was a modern Diana--on a bicycle.
Shortly, Diana of Kent reassumed her hat, and, folding her arms,
stared absently across the fields. She saw not sheep or meadow, hedge
or ditch, windmill or rustling tree, for her mind was absorbed in her
own thoughts; and these--as indexed by her changing expressions--did
not seem to be over-pleasant. Dora frowned, smiled, wrinkled her
forehead into two perpendicular lines between the eyebrows, and
finally made a gesture of impatience; this last drawn forth by a
glance at her watch.
"I do wish he would be punctual," she muttered, jumping off the fence;
"if not, I must----"
Further speech was interrupted by the crisp vibration of a bell, and
immediately afterwards a second bicycle, whirling down the slope,
brought a young man to her feet. He was smart, lithe and handsome;
also he was full of apologies for being late, and made the most
reasonable excuses, hat in hand.
"But you know, Dora, a doctor's time is not his own," he concluded;
"and I was detained by a new patient--an aristocratic patient, my
dear"--this he said with subdued pride--"Lady Burville, a guest at
Hernwood Hall."
"Lady Burville!" replied Miss Carew, starting. "Laura Burville?"
Dr. Scott looked profoundly surprised.
"I do not know that her name is Laura," he said; "and how you came
to----"
"I heard it yesterday, Allen, for the first time."
"Indeed! From whom?"
"From the lips of my guardian."
"Mr. Edermont spoke of Lady Burville?" The young doctor frowned
thoughtfully. "Strange! This morning Lady Burville spoke of Mr.
Edermont."
"What did she say, Allen? No, wait"--with an afterthought--"why did
she call you in? Is she ill?"
"Indisposed--slightly indisposed--nothing to speak of. Yesterday she
was at church, and the heat was too much for her. She fainted, and
so----"
He completed the sentence with a shrug.
"Oh!" said Dora, putting much expression into the ejaculation; "and
yesterday my guardian also became indisposed in church."
"Really? Chillum Church?"
"Chillum Church."
They looked questioningly at one another, the same thought in the
brain of each. Here was a stranger in the neighbourhood, a guest at
Hernwood Hall, and she inquired for a recluse scarcely known beyond
the walls of his house. Again, here was a man who had not been absent
from the district for over twenty years, who dwelt in strict
retirement, and he mentioned the name--the unknown Christian name--of
the strange lady. This coincidence--if it could be called so--was odd
in the extreme, and even these two unsuspicious young people were
struck by its singularity. Dora was the first to speak, and her remark
was apparently irrelevant.
"Come with me to the Red House," said she, moving towards her bicycle.
"Mr. Edermont is ill."
"Consequent upon his indisposition of yesterday, I suppose," replied
Scott, following. "Since you wish it, I obey; but do not forget my
position in the house."
Miss Carew waited until he glided alongside, and they were both
swinging easily down the road. Then she glanced at him with a smile--a
trifle roguish, and wholly charming.
"What _is_ your position in the house, Allen?"
"Is it necessary to explain, my dear? I am the son of Mr. Edermont's
oldest friend. I am one of the few people he admits to see him. With
his sanction, I am your most devoted lover. But"--and here the doctor
became emphatic--"Mr. Edermont will not have me as a medical
attendant--he will not have anyone. So my calling to see him
professionally is rather--forgive me, my dearest--is rather
impertinent."
"Then you must be impertinent enough to save his life," retorted
Dora sharply. "He has never been really ill before, so far as I know,
and there has been no occasion for a doctor at the Red House. But
now"--her face assumed a serious expression--"he is not himself. He is
agitated, distraught, terrified."
"H'm! Terrified? That is strange. Are you sure that his indisposition
dates from service in Chillum Church?"
"It dates from the reading of the Litany," said Dora precisely. "You
know, Allen, that for years my guardian has never failed to attend
morning service at Chillum. You know also--for I have told you
often--that at the prayers for deliverance from battle, murder, and
sudden death he is accustomed to look questioningly round the
congregation. He did so yesterday, as usual, and immediately
afterwards he sank back half fainting in his seat. I wished him to
leave the church at once, but he refused to go until the text was
given out. Then he went home."
"And since then?"
"He has shut himself up in his room, and has neither eaten nor slept.
He refuses to see me or speak to me. Several times I have been to his
door to inquire if I could do anything, but he will not let me enter.
He refuses admittance even to Mr. Joad. And all the hours he paces up
and down, talking to himself."
"What does he talk about?" asked Scott curiously.
"I cannot say, as he speaks too low for me to hear. But I caught the
name of Laura Burville twice. Alarmed lest he should fall seriously
ill, I wrote to you yesterday, making this appointment, and waited at
the bridge to explain. What do you think of it, Allen?"
Scott shrugged his shoulders.
"I can hardly say until I see Mr. Edermont. At the present moment I
can be sure only of one thing--that the sight of Lady Burville upset
your guardian in the church, and _vice versâ_."
"But why should they be upset at the sight of one another? They are
strangers."
"H'm! We cannot be certain of that," replied Allen cautiously. "That
he should mention her name, that she should ask about him--these facts
go to prove that, whatever they may be now to one another, they were
not strangers in the past."
"Then the past must be quite twenty years ago," said Dora
thoughtfully, "for Mr. Edermont has not left the Red House all that
time. But what did Lady Burville say when you told her about my
guardian?"
"She said--nothing. A wonderfully self-possessed little woman,
although she looks like a doll and talks like a fool, Dora; therefore
the fact of her fainting yesterday in church is all the more strange.
I said that Mr. Edermont was averse to strangers, that he dwelt in the
Red House, and that he was a good friend to me."
"You did not mention my name?"
"Dora! As though I should converse about you to a stranger! No, my
dear. I merely told so much about Mr. Edermont, prescribed for the
lady's nerves, and informed her host and Mr. Pallant that she would be
all right to-morrow."
"And who is Mr. Pallant?"
"Did I not mention his name? Oh, he is another guest of Sir Harry's.
He left the message that I was to call and see Lady Burville."
"Indeed. Why did not Sir Harry call in his own doctor?"
"Faith! that is more than I can say," replied Scott. "All the better
for me that he did not. But how this Mr. Pallant found me out I do not
know. It is my impression that, hearing he was riding into Canterbury,
Lady Burville asked him privately to send her a doctor, and as he
chanced on my door-plate first, he called on me. A lucky accident for
a struggling practitioner, eh, Dora?"
"No doubt--if it was an accident," said she dryly. "What is this Mr.
Pallant like, Allen?"
"A red-haired, blue-eyed, supercilious beast. I disliked him at sight.
Rather a shame on my part, seeing that he has done me a good turn."
By this time they had arrived at the outskirts of Chillum, and
alighted before a massive gate of wood set in a high brick wall,
decorated at the top with broken glass.
The green spires of poplar-trees rose over the summit of this wall,
and further back could be seen the red-tiled gable of a house.
Opposite the gates on the other side of the dusty white road there was
a small cottage buried in a plantation of fir-trees. An untidy garden
extended from its front-door to the quickset hedge which divided the
grounds from the highway, and the house had a desolate and solitary
look, as though rarely inhabited.
"Does old Joad still sleep in his cottage?" asked Allen, with a
careless glance at the tiny house.
"Of course! You know Mr. Edermont won't let anyone stay in the house
at night but myself and Meg Gance."
"That is the cook?"
"Cook, housemaid, general servant, and all the rest of it," replied
Dora gaily; "she and I between us manage the domestic affairs of the
mansion. Mr. Edermont is too taken up with his library and Mr. Joad to
pay attention to such details."
"He is always in the clouds," assented Allen, smiling. "By the way,
who is Mr. Joad?"
Dora laughed and shrugged her shoulders.
"I'm sure I can't tell you that," she replied carelessly; "he is an
old college friend of my guardian's, who gives him house-room."
"But not a bed?"
"No. Joad has to turn out at nine o'clock every night and return to
his cottage. I believe he passes most of his evenings in the company
of Mr. Pride."
"Pride, Pride?" said Allen thoughtfully--"oh, that is the chubby
little man who is so like your guardian."
"He is like him in the distance," answered Dora, "but a nearer view
dispels the illusion. Pride is, as you say, chubby, while Mr. Edermont
is rather lean. But they are both short, both have heads of silvery
hair, and both rejoice in patriarchal beards. Yes, they are not unlike
one another."
While this conversation was taking place the young people were
standing patiently before the jealously-closed gate. Dora had rung the
bell twice, but as yet there was no sign that they would be admitted.
The sun was so hot, the road so dusty, that Allen became impatient.
"Haven't you the key of the gate yourself, Dora?"
"No. Mr. Edermont won't allow anyone to have the key but himself. I
don't know why."
"Let us go round to the little postern at the side of the wall,"
suggested Allen.
Dora shook her head with a laugh.
"Locked, my dear, locked. Mr. Edermont keeps the postern as firmly
closed as these gates."
"A most extraordinary man!" retorted Scott, raising his eyebrows. "I
wonder what he can be afraid of in this eminently respectable
neighbourhood."
"I think I can tell you, Allen."
"Can you, my dear? Then Mr. Edermont has said why----"
"He has said nothing," interrupted Dora, "but I have eyes and ears, my
dear Allen. Mr. Edermont is afraid of losing his----"
"His money," interrupted Allen in his turn. "Oh yes, of course."
"There is no 'of course' in the matter," said Miss Carew sharply; "he
is afraid of losing his life."
"His life? Dora!"
"I am sure of it, Allen. Remember his favourite prayer in the
Litany--the prayer which takes his wandering eyes round the church:
'From battle and murder, and from sudden death, good Lord, deliver
us.'"