Above the dome-shaped roof of the conservatory was a row of four long
dark windows, and still above them two further storeys. On the second
storey in the centre of the house was a high window covered with wire
network, evidently a staircase window of stained glass.
The whole place was in darkness, as were the houses on either side,
while at rear of them rose a blank wall, the back of one of the houses
in Park Street. The only light showing was in the basement--a faint
glimmer behind the green holland blinds, which showed the presence of
Levi in the lower regions.
"He sleeps in the front," remarked Charlie. "I expect, however, he
keeps this on all night."
"Where does old Sam sleep?"
"That I don't know. We'll have to discover."
The windows above the conservatory were their objective, but to ascend
there was full of peril, for, even though they could climb up, one false
step and they would come crashing through the glass roof. This would
mean both serious personal injury as well as instant discovery.
In the whispered consultation that followed, both recognised the danger,
but both were equally determined to risk it. They had plenty of time.
The night was still young, therefore there was no need for haste.
They made careful examination as far as they could in the very faint
light. Max was afraid to flash his electric lamp too often lest the
attention of any neighbour might be attracted and an alarm of "burglars"
given. Neither knew whether a servant might not be looking out upon the
night. The house they desired to enter had earned a reputation as a
house of mystery, therefore it was more than likely that some watchful
eye of a curious neighbour, master or servant, was kept upon the rear of
the premises.
At last, Max, who was the more athletic and nimble of the two, decided
that the only way by which to reach the roof of the conservatory was by
the spouting at the side. The ascent was a difficult one, but he
resolved to attempt it.
Taking a small coil of thin but very strong rope which Charlie produced
from the capacious pocket of the shooting-jacket he wore for that
purpose, he mounted upon his friend's shoulders, and then climbed slowly
up, with an agility which surprised his friend.
Once upon the roof he made fast the rope to one of the iron stays of the
spouting, and let it down to Charlie, who a few moments later swarmed up
it and stood on the edge of the glass roof beside his companion.
Their position there was one of greatest peril. They stood together
upon the narrow edging of lead by which the glass roof was joined to the
wall of the house. They moved slowly and gingerly, for it was quite
uncertain whether it would bear their weight. Besides, there was
nothing to grasp by which to relieve their weight, for above them rose
the wall sheer to the ledges of the row of windows, too high for them to
reach.
A step in the wrong direction, and down they must come with a crash into
the neglected conservatory.
Max could hear his own heart beating. The risk was greater than he had
ever anticipated. Yet so greatly was their curiosity now aroused that
nothing could brook their attempt to learn the secret that dark
mysterious house contained.
They stood together, not daring to move. At a short distance away was a
thin iron support running into the wall--part of the framework of the
roof--and towards that Max crept carefully, until at last he reached it
and stood in a safer position.
The weight of both men caused the curved roof to give slightly, and more
than once they heard sharp noises where the glass, fitting too tightly,
cracked across by the undue pressure.
Neither spoke. Max was eagerly searching for some means by which to
reach one of the windows above. In his ascent there he had torn his
coat, and a great strip of it was hanging. He had left his hat below,
and the light rain was falling upon his uncovered head.
Slowly he crept forward from iron to iron until he reached the opposite
side of the big glass roof, and there found, as he had hoped, another
iron rain-spout which led straight up past the end window, to the roof
of the house.
Back he came to his companion in order to obtain the rope, and then,
with it bulging in his pocket, he stole along and ascended the second
pipe as he had done the first. This proceeding was, however, far more
dangerous, for to fall with the glass beneath him meant almost certain
death.
Charlie watched his form ascending in the darkness, scarce daring to
breathe. Slowly he went up, until, on a level with the window, he
halted. Around the ledge, six inches above, was an iron bar let into
the wall in order to prevent flowerpots from being blown down upon the
conservatory roof. This iron proved Max's salvation, for gripping it he
steadied himself while he secured the rope to the spout as he had
previously done on the first ascent.
Then, with a firm grip upon the strong bar, and his knee upon the stone
ledge, he tried the window.
It was fastened. The green holland blind was drawn, but as far as he
could ascertain the shutters were not closed.
From his pocket he drew a glazier's putty-knife, and, inserting it
between the sashes, worked quietly until his heart gave a bound of
satisfaction at feeling the latch slowly give.
A second later it went back with a sharp snap, and the window was free!
He lifted the sash, pushed the blind aside, and crept within.
Then leaning forth he whispered to Charlie to follow. Up the latter
came by means of the rope as quickly as he was able, and a few moments
later both men stood within the room.
By its sound, and by the fact that it was carpetless, they knew it was
devoid of furniture. Max flashed on the light, and the truth was at
once made plain. The apartment was square and of fair size, but within
was not a single thing; was perfectly empty.
In a second a thought occurred to Charlie.
"If the door's locked on the outside we're done!" he gasped.
They both crossed to the door in an instant, and Max placed his hand
upon it. The handle turned slowly, and the door yielded. By great good
fortune it was not locked.
Creeping noiselessly outside, they found themselves upon a big square
landing above half a dozen broad stairs. Below them was the
white-enamelled iron door, which opened only to its owner and which no
person had been known to pass.
The landing and stairs were thickly-carpeted, just as they were below
the door. But about the place was the close musty smell of a house that
for years had remained closed and neglected.
From the landing were three other doors beside the one at which they
stood, all of them closed.
Charlie took his bearings, and, pointing to the door farthest away from
them, whispered:
"That's the drawing-room, no doubt. And that's the door of the room
adjoining. I expect it's a big room opening from back to front like all
drawing-rooms in these houses."
"Awkward if it proves to be the old man's bedroom," Max replied, with a
laugh.
"We must risk that. My own belief is that he sleeps up on the next
floor. These are all reception-rooms, without a doubt," was Charlie's
answer. It was strange, after all the time he had been in the old man's
employ, that this should be the first occasion he should explore the
house.
Those moments of pitch darkness were exciting ones.
They resolved to enter the door furthest away, the door which they
believed led to the drawing-room, and together they moved noiselessly
across with that purpose.
The key was in the lock. Without noise Max turned it, and slowly pushed
open the door.
Both entered, holding their breath and fearing to make the slightest
sound, for they knew not whether old Sam was asleep there.
For a full ten minutes they paused listening for sounds of breathing in
the pitch darkness. But there were none, only the beating of their own
hearts.
Then, with Charlie's whispered consent, Max pressed the button of the
pocket-lamp, and it shed a streak of light across to the opposite wall
of the big apartment.
What was revealed held them aghast and amazed.
"This is indeed strange?" gasped Charlie. "What can it be?"
Max was turning the light from side to side of the room, examining every
corner.
What they saw had held them both speechless.
Charlie saw an electric switch near his hand, and touched it. In an
instant the great room was flooded with light, revealing a scene,
curious, unusual, extraordinary.
There was no thick carpet or upholstered furniture; no painted ceiling
or pictures upon the walls; no cabinet or bric-a-brac, or grand piano,
or palms, or anything connected with drawing-room furniture.
Instead, the two intruders found themselves inside a peasant's cottage
in some far-off country--a house, it seemed, with quaint furniture
painted and carved. Before them was an old-fashioned oak press, black
with smoke and age, and along the wall a row of shining cooking utensils
of copper. In the centre was a long old table, with big high-backed
wooden chairs; at the side a high brick stove.
The men stepped within and gazed around, bewildered.
At one end was a small square window, where beyond lay a snow-clad
scene, lit by the moon's rays--a cleverly contrived piece of scenery,
showing the white road winding into the distance lined on each side by
the dark forest of firs.
The scene was intended to be Russian, without a doubt, for over the
stove a holy ikon hung against the wall, a small painted head surrounded
by a square of highly burnished gold.
Every object was quaintly shaped and foreign. In one corner stood an
old spinning-wheel with the flax upon it, while in another was an
old-fashioned gun. A couple of wolves' skins were spread upon the
floor, while upon the cleanly-scrubbed table showed a large brown
stain--it might be of coffee, or it might be of blood!
The walls had been whitewashed, and across the ceiling, once gilt and
adorned, no doubt, ran blackened beams in exact imitation, it seemed, of
some house in the far east of Russia beyond the Volga.
Upon a side table lay a big, rather thin book, bearing upon its black,
greasy cover the Imperial Russian arms--the double-headed eagle.
Charlie opened it, and found it ruled like an attendance book, with
careful entries in Russian in various hands. Neither could read the
language, therefore it was to them unintelligible. By the stove was a
low wooden settle, upon which lay a man's fur cap and big sheepskin
winter coat, as though the owner of the place had just risen and left.
"What can this possibly mean?" asked Max, gazing around in sheer
wonderment.
To this query, however, Charlie could venture no suggestion.
They stood amid surroundings that were to both a complete mystery.
Charlie touched the switch when, lo! the lights in the room were
extinguished, and only a line of white brilliance as that of the full
moon entering the window from the snow-covered land beyond, fell across
the silent place full upon the table which bore that ugly dark brown
stain.
Both men stood motionless and wondering, fascinated by the extraordinary
and striking effect.
Was that stain shown so vividly beneath the white moonbeams actually the
stain of blood?