A Discovery
It was indeed high time for the girls to go home. The sun had set nearly
an hour ago, and the dusk was creeping on to that particular stage when
the law of the land requires cyclists to light up. They climbed the
stile and plunged into the thick copse of young oaks and beeches. It was
dim and mysterious and gloomy under the trees, a slight breeze had
arisen, and the rustle of the leaves sounded like gentle footsteps.
"It's rather spooky and creepy," said Gwethyn. "I wish there were a
moon."
"There is; but it's a new one. I saw it--a tiny thin crescent--when we
were in the lane."
"Don't you feel rather like the Babes in the Wood? It's getting darker
and darker. If we met the two villains I should certainly 'quake for
fear'."
"We're not likely to meet anyone. It's Uncle's wood."
"I thought I heard footsteps."
"I think it's nothing but the wind rustling the branches."
"Oh no, Githa! It is somebody! Do stop and listen. I can hear voices,
and they're coming towards us. Suppose they're poachers! Let us hide
quickly behind these bushes, and let them pass without seeing us. I wish
we'd brought Rolf."
Since the midnight adventure at school Gwethyn was disposed to be much
alarmed at all doubtful characters, and would have gone considerably out
of her way to avoid a tramp. She seized Githa's arm, and drew her aside
now, in nervous haste, and together the pair crouched behind a thick
sheltering group of bramble bushes. In the dim light they were just able
to distinguish the features of the wayfarers who advanced; one was
unmistakably Bob Gartley, and the other they recognized as a carter whom
they had sometimes noticed hanging about the "Dragon". The errand of the
two men seemed of a doubtful nature, and might well justify Gwethyn's
suspicions. They stopped opposite the very bush where the girls were
concealed, and taking various pieces of wire and string out of their
pockets, commenced to set traps with much care, and a skill worthy of a
better cause. They were so near that the unwilling listeners behind the
brambles could overhear every word that was spoken.
"Things aren't the same as they used to be," remarked Bob Gartley
sulkily. "It's hard work for a poor man to get even a rabbit nowadays.
Look out, Albert, you're spoiling that noose!"
"It was very different when I was a boy," returned Albert. "Mr. Ledbury
didn't own the shooting in these woods then, and they weren't so
strictly kept. One had an easy chance of a pheasant or two."
"Aye, it all belonged to the Grange, and it always went with the house
in those days."
"Pity it's changed hands."
"Yes; old Mr. Ledbury never used to trouble much, and if one took a walk
in his woods there was no particular questions asked."
"This lawyer chap's too sharp."
"He got more than his share. When the old man died, everyone in the
village said it was a shame those two Hamilton children should have been
overlooked and left nothing. Some folks went so far as to say there must
have been a later will, and gave Mr. Wilfred the credit of suppressing
it. There was a lot of talk at the time. It seems there was a big sum of
money, thousands of pounds it was, that old Mr. Ledbury was known to
have received only a day or so before his death. It had been paid over
to him in notes. He hadn't put it in the bank, and after his death it
never turned up. He was a queer chap was old Ledbury; fond of gambling,
and the tale went that he must have lost it at play."
"Now you speak of it, I've heard some talk in the village myself. They
say old Ledbury was a miser as well as a gambler, and hoarded things
like a magpie. It was a queer thing what he'd done with that money."
"It was uncommon queer," replied Bob, "and between you and me, Albert, I
could tell you a thing or two about that."
"What do you mean?"
"Something I saw once," admitted Bob cautiously. "But so far it's not
been worth my while to let on about it, and I ain't been able to take
advantage of it myself. I sometimes think if I'd a pal now----"
"You and me was always thick, Bob," put in Albert eagerly.
"I dare say. But you go clacking like an old hen, when you've a drop of
drink in you!"
"I wouldn't touch aught--leastways not more than my usual pint at
supper."
"If I thought you could keep a still tongue, the two of us might manage
a pretty big deal. It 'ud be a risky enough job, but I know you don't
stop at a trifle."
"Not me!" chuckled Albert.
"Well, I don't mind tellin' you that I was peepin' in under the blinds
at the Grange on the very night before old Mr. Ledbury died."
"And what did ye see?"
"Never you mind what I saw exactly, but all they panels aren't solid
like the rest. There be one as takes out."
"Wheer?"
"Ain't I tellin' you? In the room at the Grange, plump opposite the
fireplace it were. There's a knob as twists. Look here, if you've a-set
that noose proper, why can't you be comin'? Do you expect me to be
waitin' on you same as if you was Captain Gordon? If we ain't quick the
keepers will be comin'. That Morris always takes a round about dark,
that's what brought me out so early."
"All right, but as you was a-sayin'----" grunted Albert, his voice
sinking to a murmur as he rose and followed his estimable friend farther
into the wood, where more snares might be set with advantage during the
progress of their conversation.
When they judged the two men to be at a safe distance, Githa and Gwethyn
emerged from behind the bush, and scurried away along the path as fast
as the gathering dusk would permit. So anxious were they to get out of
the wood, that neither spoke a word until they had reached the farther
side, and, climbing the fence, found themselves once more in the fields
below The Gables.
"It was the Gartley children's father," exclaimed Gwethyn, taking
Githa's arm, not so much for protection as for a sense of companionship
in the dark. "I've always heard he's a dreadful poacher. I think he's
such a hateful, insolent kind of man. I'm thankful he didn't see us."
"So am I. It will serve them right if the keepers catch them."
"Could you understand what they were talking about?"
"You mean what they said about Grandfather and the Grange? It was most
mysterious."
"Gartley certainly dropped a hint about a panel."
"Yes, but I couldn't make out the rest, or what he wanted Albert to help
him with."
"You don't think that your grandfather could have hidden some money in
the panelling, and that Bob Gartley saw him do it?"
"If he did, the money certainly wouldn't be there now! Considering the
house has been empty for about three years, Gartley must have had every
opportunity of going in and taking it, and I scarcely think he'd be
restrained by conscientious scruples."
"Hardly!"
"No, there was something more--some secret that he didn't want to tell
even to 'Albert'."
"If only they hadn't gone away just at that identical minute!" groaned
Gwethyn. "It was too tantalizing, when we seemed on the very point of
learning something. It must be important, or he wouldn't make such a
mystery of it, and talk about its being to his advantage. Do you think
his wife knows, and that we could get her to tell us?"
"No, she's too much afraid of him."
"But if we tried bribery and corruption? He himself might perhaps be
induced to part with the information."
"He spoke of a 'risky job', which certainly means something dishonest.
In that case I'm sure he wouldn't reveal a word."
"If we were to tell the police, could they make him confess?"
"No, he'd simply deny everything flatly."
"Then what can we do?"
"Nothing as regards him, I'm afraid. We might as well investigate at the
Grange, though. Shall we get up early to-morrow, and ride over on our
bikes before breakfast? I don't suppose we shall find anything, but if
you like we'll go and look."
"I'm your man!" responded Gwethyn eagerly.
Of the two girls Gwethyn was the more excited. Her romantic imagination
at once made her plan all sorts of delightful possibilities. They were
to find an immense fortune at the Grange, of which her friend would be
the heiress! Who knew what treasures might be hoarded somewhere behind
the panelling? Githa, whose natural disposition was not sanguine, and
who had already tasted some of the hard experiences of life, shook her
head at her school-mate's golden dreams, and stuck to her former
contention--if Bob Gartley was aware that money was hidden in the old
house, he certainly would not have let it remain there for long.
Nevertheless, Githa was anxious to explore, just to satisfy herself that
there was really nothing to find. She would not admit the weakness,
however, and pretended that the early morning expedition was a
concession to her friend's impatience.
The girls decided not to tell a word to anybody of what they had
overheard. They did not mention to Mrs. Ledbury that they had been in
the plantation; and Githa, when reproved by her aunt for staying out so
late, merely explained that she had been showing Gwethyn the church.
With an injunction to keep to the garden in future after supper, Mrs.
Ledbury passed the matter over.
Githa was a habitual early riser, but next morning she excelled herself,
and called her friend almost as soon as it was light. At five o'clock
they were getting their bicycles from the stable. Githa, mindful of her
pets' healthy appetites, chalked a notice on the door asking the
gardener to feed them as soon as he arrived.
"I haven't time now, but they may be getting hungry for their breakfasts
before we are back," she said; "and the fowls ought to be let out. Tom
will attend to them, I know."
The ride through the fresh morning air was very pleasant. The girls felt
so fit that they raced along, making nothing of hills, and covered the
distance in record time. The dew was still heavy on the grass as they
went up the drive to the empty old house. Since Cedric's sojourn there
neither had been near the place, and apparently nobody else had
disturbed the solitude. In spite of agents' tempting advertisements no
possible tenant had even come to look at its attractions. The vestibule
window still stood open; an enterprising piece of clematis had made
entrance, and had grown at least a yard inside, and a robin was flying
about in the passage. The girls went at once to the wainscoted room that
had been old Mr. Ledbury's library.
"Now I wonder if Bob Gartley was telling the truth or not?" queried
Githa.
"He said 'exactly opposite the fireplace', and 'a knob that twists',"
said Gwethyn, tapping the panels critically with her knuckles. "What
does he mean by knobs? There aren't any."
"Unless he called these rosettes in the scrollwork knobs!"
Part of the panelling was beautifully carved, with a twisting
conventional design: no part of it protruded sufficiently to merit the
title of knob, but at intervals there were round objects, possibly
intended to represent roses. They did not look encouraging, but,
beginning with the end near the window, Githa carefully tested each one.
The first eleven were part and parcel of the solid woodwork, but the
twelfth moved; it turned round fairly easily when she twisted it,
evidently unlatching some catch, for the panel below fell open like a
door, revealing a small hole or cupboard. Not altogether surprised, the
girls peeped eagerly inside.
"Nothing--as I thought!" exclaimed Githa. "Only a thick coat of dust. I
never imagined there would be anything. Certainly not if Bob Gartley
knew anything of it."
"No, it hardly seemed likely," faltered Gwethyn, "but I'm disappointed
all the same. Move just an inch, and let me put in my hand. Oh yes, I
know it's useless, but I'm an obstinate person and like my own way. I
want to feel the inside. It's uncommonly dirty--and it's absolutely
empty. No! What's this? Why, Githa, look! I actually have found
something after all."
The object which Gwethyn had discovered in the dust of the cupboard
behind the panels was neither beautiful nor important, only a small key
of such an ordinary pattern that it evidently could not claim any
interest on the score of antiquity.
"Not much of a find, I'm afraid," she mourned. "Just something that has
been overlooked when the place was cleared out. I don't suppose the
panel was a very dead secret; it opens so easily that the servants would
probably find it when they polished the woodwork."
"I never knew of it," said Githa.
"I wonder how Bob Gartley knew of it, though, and why he seemed to think
it rather a valuable piece of information?"
"Yes, that's decidedly puzzling, except that sometimes uneducated people
like to make an absurd mystery over simple things, just to increase
their own importance. Perhaps he wanted to rouse Albert's curiosity."
"He succeeded in rousing ours, at any rate."
"And we haven't gratified it. A key without a lock is a rather useless
discovery. I shall take it, though, and keep it carefully, in case it
ever turns out to be of any use."
"Well, we've found the precious panel, but no fortune! It's rather a
swindle!"
"Only exactly what I expected. I wanted to come just for the
satisfaction of seeing there was nothing."
"We've had a ripping ride, at any rate!"
"Yes; and we'd better be going home again now. Come along and get our
bikes."