As he walked into his bedroom, which was pleasantly warm--for there was
a good fire, and the curtains across the three windows were closely
drawn--Dr. Panton told himself that he was indeed beginning the New Year
very well.
Half-an-hour ago the whole party, with the exception of Miss Burnaby,
who had gone to bed at her usual time, had stood outside the front door
under the starry sky while the many clocks of Wyndfell Hall rang out the
twelve strokes which said farewell to the Old Year, and brought the New
Year in. Then they had all crowded back again into the hall, and, hand
in hand, sung "Auld Lang Syne."
As everyone had shaken hands and wished each other a Happy New Year,
many and sincere had been the good wishes felt and expressed. Even James
Tapster had looked genial and happy for once. He was beginning to feel
as if he would, after all, throw the handkerchief to Bubbles (his own
secret, graceful paraphrase for making an offer of marriage). But as yet
Dr. Panton knew nothing of this little under-current in the broad stream
which seemed to be flowing so pleasantly before him. Had he done so, he
would have been startled and distressed, for he had already, with a
shrewd medical man's judgment, "sized up" his fellow guest, and found
him very much wanting.
Thus not knowing or divining anything of the various human
under-currents, save, perhaps, that he guessed Donnington to be in love
with Bubbles, Dr. Panton went off to bed in a very cheerful and
contented state of mind. So contented was he that as, with leisurely
fingers, he lit the candles on his dressing-table, he incidentally told
himself that Wyndfell Hall was the only house in which he had ever
stayed which, lacking any other luminant but lamps and candles, yet had
amply enough of both!
Lighting a pipe--for he didn't feel in the least sleepy--he drew forward
a deep, comfortable armchair close to the fire, and took up a book. But
soon he put it down again, and, staring at the dancing flames, his mind
dwelt with retrospective pleasure on the last few hours.
Seated between Helen Brabazon and Bubbles Dunster, he had thoroughly
enjoyed the delicious New Year's Eve dinner composed by Varick's _chef_.
Miss Brabazon had admitted to having a headache this evening, and she
certainly looked very far from well--less well than he had thought her
to be when they had first seen one another again, after so long an
absence, this afternoon.
And yet, as is sometimes the case, a look of languor suited her; and he
thought she had grown decidedly better-looking in the last year. At
Redsands Miss Brabazon had been a little too buxom, a little too
self-possessed, also, for his taste. And yet--and yet how wonderfully
good she had been to poor Mrs. Varick! With what tender patience had she
put up with the invalid's querulous bad temper, never even mentioning it
to him, the doctor, who so often received painful confidences of the
kind from those who were far nearer and dearer to a dying patient than
Helen had been to querulous Milly Varick.
As for Miss Bubbles, he felt it would be easy to lose one's heart to
that strange, queer young creature. They had made real friends over
Span. And, apropos of Span, Dr. Panton frowned to himself. He feared
that the dog was going to be the one blot on this delightful visit. Span
had been very, very badly behaved--setting up that unearthly howl
whenever his master brought him in contact with the rest of the party.
Yet he was quite good in the servants' hall. "It is clear that, like so
many cleverer people than himself, Span likes low company," Bubbles had
whispered mischievously to Span's master. "I daresay they're all very
much nicer than we are, if we only knew it!" she had gone on, but Dr.
Panton had shaken his head. He had no great liking for the modern
domestic servant. He was one of the many people who consider that the
good old type of serving-man and waiting-woman has disappeared for ever.
To-night, remembering Bubbles' words, he gave a careless, rueful thought
to the question of how Varick, who was always generous about money, must
be cheated--"rooked" was the expression the doctor used in his own
mind--by these job servants who were here, so his host told him, just
for the one month. Still, they were all fulfilling their part of their
contract very well, especially the _chef_! Everything seemed to go on
oiled wheels at Wyndfell Hall. But this might be owing to clever Miss
Farrow, for Varick had told him that Miss Farrow was acting as hostess
to the party.
Panton didn't much like that composed, clever-looking lady. She made him
feel a little shy, a little _young_--a sensation he didn't very often
experience nowadays! She treated him with a courtesy which, if
elaborate, was also distant. It was odd to think that Miss Farrow was
the unconventional, friendly Bubbles Dunster's aunt.
Sir Lyon Dilsford, on the other hand, he liked very much. He smiled a
queer little smile as he thought of this new acquaintance. He had looked
up in the middle of dinner, and caught a rather curious look on Sir
Lyon's face. It was a thoughtful, considering, almost tender look. Was
Sir Lyon attracted to Helen Brabazon? Well, Miss Brabazon, with her vast
wealth, and Sir Lyon, with his fine old name, and agreeable, polished
personality, would seem well matched, according to a worldly point of
view. But Panton told himself that he would _far_ prefer Lionel Varick
were _he_ a young woman. But he feared there was no hope of such a chance
coming Miss Brabazon's way. Varick's heart--his big, sensitive
heart--was buried in the grave of his wife....
How strange to think that "poor Milly"--for so had even her doctor come
to call her in his own mind--had been born and brought up in this
delightful old house! She had once spoken to him of her unhappy
girlhood, coupling it with an expression of gratitude to her husband for
having so changed her life.
"Poor Milly" was very present to Dr. Panton to-night. He, who had hardly
given her a thought during the last twelve months, found himself
dwelling on her to an almost uncanny extent. He even recalled some
unusual features of her illness which had puzzled and worried him
greatly. He dismissed the recollection of certain of her symptoms with
an effort. There is no truer saying--at any rate from a doctor's point
of view--than "Let the dead bury their dead." He had done his very best
for Mrs. Varick, lavished on her everything that skill and kindness
could do, and she had been extraordinarily blessed, not only in her
devoted husband, but in that sudden, unexpected friendship with another
woman--and with such a good, conscientious, sweet-tempered young woman
as was Helen Brabazon....
Half-past one struck on the landing outside his room, and Dr. Panton got
up from the comfortable easy chair; time to be going to bed, yet he
still felt quite wide awake.
He walked over to the window nearest to the fire-place, and drew back
the heavy, silk-brocaded curtain. It was a wonderful night, with a
promise, he thought, of fine weather--though one of the men who had
stood outside with him had predicted snow. What a curious, eerie place
this old Suffolk house was! Probably the landscape had scarcely changed
at all in the last five hundred years. Below he could see gleaming
water....
He let fall the curtain, and, blowing out the candles, got slowly,
luxuriously, into the vast, comfortable four-post bed.
As he composed himself to sleep, broken, disconnected images floated
through his brain. Bill Donnington--what a nice boy! And yet not
exactly, he felt, in sympathy with any of the people there. He wondered
why Bill Donnington had come to spend Christmas at Wyndfell Hall. Then
he remembered--and smiled in the fitful firelight. What a pity there
wasn't some nice, simple, gentle girl for young Donnington! That was the
sort of girl he, Panton, would have chosen for him. Miss Bubbles, so
much was clear, rather despised the poor lad. She had implied as much in
her clever, teasing, funny way, more than once.
And the thought of Bubbles unexpectedly brought up another image--that
of James Tapster. Of the little party gathered together at Wyndfell
Hall, Tapster was the one whom the doctor felt he really didn't like. He
couldn't imagine why Varick had asked that disagreeable fellow here!
While the men were still in the dining-room, and Varick had gone out for
a moment to look for some very special, new kind of cigarette which had
come down from London a day or two before, Tapster had spoken very
disagreeably of the richness of the French _chef's_ cooking. He had
seemed to think it an outrage that something of a special, very plain,
nature had not been provided for him every day, and he had hinted that
perhaps the doctor could suggest some antidote to all this richness!
There was another reason, so Panton's sleepy mind told him, why he
didn't like his sulky, plain fellow-guest. It became suddenly,
unexpectedly, clear to him that Tapster was much taken with Miss
Bubbles. The man had hardly taken his eyes off her during the whole of
dinner, and it had been a disagreeable, appraising look--as if he
couldn't quite make up his mind what she was worth! He told himself,
while remembering that look, that Tapster was the kind of man who is
always hesitating, always absorbed in some woman, and yet always afraid
to try his luck--in the hope that if he waits, he may do better next
time! Miss Bubbles was a hundred times too good for such a fellow,
however rich the fellow might be....
Gradually Panton felt himself slipping off into that pleasant condition
which immediately precedes a dreamless, healthful sleep.
And then, all at once, his senses became keenly alert, for a curious
sound became audible in the darkening room. It was without doubt a
sound created by some industrious mouse, or perhaps--though that idea
was a less pleasant one--by a greedy rat. Swish, swish--swish--just like
the rustling of a lady's silk dress!
Panton stretched out his right arm, and knocked the wall behind him
sharply twice or thrice, and the sound stopped suddenly. But after a few
minutes, just as he was dropping off, it began again. But it no longer
startled him, as it had done the first time, and soon he was fast
asleep.
It might have been a moment, it might have been an hour, later, when
there came a sudden, urgent knocking at his door. He sat up in bed.
"Come in," he called out, now wide awake.
The door opened slowly--and there came through it a curious-looking
figure. It was James Tapster, arrayed in a wonderful dressing-gown made
of Persian shawls, and edged with fur. He held a candlestick in his
hand, and the candle threw up a flickering light on his pallid,
alarmed-looking face.
"Dr. Panton," he whispered, "I wish you'd come out here a moment."
And the doctor, cursing his bad luck, and feeling what he very seldom
felt, thoroughly angry, said ungraciously: "What is the matter? Can't
you tell me without my getting out of bed?"
Last night's excellent dinner, which couldn't have hurt any healthy man,
had evidently upset the unhealthy millionaire.
"Can't you hear?" whispered Tapster. His teeth were, chattering; he
certainly looked very ill.
"Hear! Hear what?"
Tapster held up his hand. And then, yes, the man sitting up in the big
four-post bed did hear some very curious noises. It was as if furniture
was being thrown violently about, and as if crockery was being
smashed--but a very, very long way off.
This was certainly most extraordinary! He had done Tapster an injustice.
He jumped out of bed. "Wait a minute!" he exclaimed. "I'll get my
dressing-gown, and we'll go and see what it's all about. What
extraordinary sounds! Where on earth do they come from?"
"They come from the servants' quarters," said Tapster.
There came a sudden silence, and then an awful crash.
"How long have these noises gone on?" asked Panton.
He had put on his dressing-gown, and was now looking for his slippers.
"Oh, for a long time."
Tapster's hand was trembling, partly from excitement, partly from fear.
"How d'you account for it?" he asked.
"One of the servants has gone mad drunk," replied Panton briefly.
"That's what it is--without a doubt! We'd better go down and see what
can be done."
And then, as there came the distant sounds of breaking glass, he
exclaimed: "I wonder everyone hasn't woken up!"
"There is a heavy padded door between that part of the house and this.
My room is on the other side, over what they call the school-room. I
left the padded door open just now when I came through--in fact I
fastened it back."
"That wasn't a very clever thing to do!"
The doctor did not speak pleasantly, but Tapster took no offence.
"I--I wanted someone to hear," he said humbly; "I felt so shut off
through there."
"Still, there's no use in waking everybody else up," said Panton, in a
businesslike tone.
He didn't look forward to the job which he thought lay before him; but,
of course, it wasn't the first time he had been called in to help calm a
man who had become violent under the influence of drink. "Go on," he
said curtly. "Show me the way! I suppose there's a back staircase by
which we can go down?"
He followed his guide along the broad corridor to a heavy green baize
door. Stooping, he undid the hook which fastened the door back. It swung
to, and, as it did so, there came a sudden, complete cessation of the
noise.
"Hullo!" he said to himself, "that's odd."
The two men waited for what seemed to Panton a long time, but in reality
it was less than five minutes.
"Would you like to come into my room for a few moments? I wish you
would," said Mr. Tapster plaintively.
Unwillingly the doctor walked through into what was certainly a very
pleasant, indeed a luxurious room. It was furnished in a more modern way
than the other rooms at Wyndfell Hall. "There's a bath-room off this
room. That's why Varick, who's a good-natured chap, gave it me. He knows
I have a great fear of catching a chill," whispered Mr. Tapster.
"We'd better go down," said the doctor at last.
"D'you think so? But the noise has stopped, and, after all, it is no
business of ours."
Dr. Panton did not tell the other what was really in his mind. This was
that the man who had now become so curiously quiet might unwittingly
have done a mischief to himself. All he said was: "I have a feeling that
I ought to go down, at any rate."
The words had hardly left his lips before the noises began again, and,
of course, from where the two men were now, they sounded far louder than
they had done from the doctor's bed-room. Heavy furniture was
undoubtedly being thrown about, and again there came those curious
crashes, as if plates and dishes were being dashed against the wall and
broken there in a thousand pieces.
"I say, this won't do!" Quickly he went towards the door, and as he
reached the corridor he saw the swing door between the two parts of the
house open, and Miss Farrow came through, looking her well-bred,
composed self, and wearing, incidentally, a short, neat, becoming
dressing-gown.
"I can't think what's happening!" she exclaimed. She looked from the one
man to the other. "What _can_ be happening downstairs?"
As Panton made no answer, Mr. Tapster replied for them both: "The doctor
thinks one of the servants got drunk last night."
"Yes, that must be it, of course. I'll go down and see who it is," she
said composedly.
But Dr. Panton broke in authoritatively: "No, indeed, Miss Farrow! If
it's what I think it is, the fellow will probably be violent. You'd
better let me go down alone and deal with him."
There had come again that extraordinary, sudden stillness.
"I think I'd rather come down with you," she said coolly.
All three started going down the narrow, steep wooden staircase which
connected that portion of the upper floor with the many rambling offices
of the old house.
Tapster and Blanche Farrow each held a candle, but Dr. Panton led the
way; and soon they were treading the whitewashed passages, even their
slippered feet making, in the now absolute stillness, what sounded like
loud thuds on the stone floor.
"Listen!" said Blanche suddenly.
They all stood still, and there came a strange fluttering sound. It was
as if a bird had got in through a window, and was trying to find a way
out.
"D'you know the way to the kitchen? I think that the man must be in the
kitchen, or probably the pantry," whispered the doctor to his hostess.
"I think it's this way."
Miss Farrow led them down a short passage to the right, and cautiously
opened a door which led into the kitchen.
And then they all three uttered exclamations of amazement and of horror.
Holding her candle high in her hand, their hostess was now lighting up a
scene of extraordinary and of widespread disorder.
It was as if a tornado had whirled through the vast, low-ceilinged
kitchen. Heavy tables lay on their sides and upside down, their legs in
the air. Most of the crockery--fortunately, so Blanche said to herself,
kitchen crockery--off the big dresser lay smashed in large and small
pieces here, there, and everywhere. A large copper preserving-pan lay
grotesquely sprawling on the well-scrubbed centre table, which was the
one thing which had not been moved--probably because of its great
weight. And yet--and yet it had been moved--for it was all askew! The
man who did that, if, indeed, one man could alone have done all this
mischief, must have been very, very strong--a Hercules!
The doctor took the candle from Miss Farrow's hand and walked in among
the débris. "He must have gone through that door," he muttered.
Leaving her to be joined by the timorous James Tapster, he went boldly
on across the big kitchen, and through a door which gave into what
appeared to be a scullery. But here everything was in perfect order.
"Where can the man have gone?" he asked himself in astonishment.
Before him there rose a vision of the respectable old butler, and of the
two tall, well-matched, but not physically strong-looking footmen. This
must be the work of some man he had not yet seen? Of course there must
be many men employed about such a place as was Wyndfell Hall.
He retraced his steps. "I think you and Mr. Tapster had better go
upstairs again, and leave me to this," he said decidedly. "I'll have a
thorough hunt through the place, and it'll probably take some time.
Perhaps the man's taken refuge in the pantry. By the way, where do the
servants sleep?"
"Oddly enough, they're none of them sleeping in the house," said Blanche
quietly. "They're down at what are called 'the cottages.' You may have
seen a row of pretty little buildings not very far from the gate giving
on to the high road? Those cottages belong to Mr. Varick. They're quite
comfortable, and we thought it best to put all the servants together
there. When I say all the servants"--she corrected herself quickly--"the
ladies' maids and Mr. Tapster's valet all sleep in the house. But Mr.
Varick and I agreed that it would be better to put the whole of the
temporary staff down together in the cottages."
"In that case I think it's very probable that the man, when he realized
the mischief he'd done, bolted out of doors. However, I may as well have
a look round."
"I'll come with you," said Blanche decidedly. She turned to Mr. Tapster:
"I think you'd better go upstairs, and try and finish your night more
comfortably."
She spoke quite graciously. Blanche was the one of the party who really
tolerated Mr. Tapster--Blanche and Mr. Tapster's host.
"All right, I think I will. Though I feel rather a brute at leaving you
to do the dirty work," he muttered.
He set off down the passage; and then, a few moments later, he had to
call out and ask Miss Farrow to show him the way--he had lost himself!
It took a long time to search through the big commons of the ancient
dwelling. There were innumerable little rooms now converted into store
cupboards, larders, and so on. But everything was in perfect order--the
kitchen alone being in that, as yet, inexplicable condition of wreckage.
But at last their barren quest was ended, and they came up the narrow
staircase on much more cordial and kindly terms with one another than
either would have thought possible some hours before. Then the doctor,
with an "Allow me," pushed in front of Miss Farrow in order to open wide
the heavy padded door. "I wonder that you heard anything through this!"
he exclaimed.
She answered, "I was awakened by Mr. Tapster talking to you. Then, of
course, I heard those appalling noises--for he had left the padded door
open. I got up and, opening my own door, listened, after you had both
gone through. When there came that final awful crash I felt I _must_ go
and see what had happened!"