THE HORRORS OF DURLEY DENE
"You must excuse me, Doctor," shouted Laurence, when he learned the
terrible tidings contained on the slip of paper; "my father has been
murdered! I must go this moment." And he rose, so saying, and darted
towards the door.
"Stop him, for Heaven's sake!" shrieked Meadows to the dark-faced
servant who stood in the doorway. And so it was that young Carrington
found his passage blocked, and himself flung violently back with such
force as one would hardly expect from a medium-sized man like the
mysterious doctor's servant.
"Escort Mr. Carrington to the door," ordered Meadows, adding to
Laurence, "Forgive me for such treatment. Go at once with
Horn--er--Smith; I heartily sympathise with you--that is," was his
strange remark, "if you are not deceiving me with an idle story."
But the young man hardly heard the other's muttered words and farewell.
In an agony of dismay and horror at the awful intelligence, he dragged
the man-servant from the room.
"Guide me to the door," he cried hoarsely, "and quick."
In the weird darkness outside the well-lighted room in which the
interview had taken place he was more than helpless in his anxious
haste. He charged headlong against the walls and balustrades, the man
swearing angrily at him as he clung to his arm.
"Steady, you fool," the guide shouted, "or I shall leave you to
yourself, and then----"
But Laurence knew only too well that without the man's guidance he could
not hope to find his way out of the house of gloom, for he had made the
alarming discovery that he had used his last vesta to light his pipe
after dinner. So he calmed himself as best he could, and permitted the
man to lead him downstairs.
In the hall Carrington found himself stopped short.
"Come on, let me out, quick!" he exclaimed, horrified to find that the
janitor had gripped his shoulders with the strength of a vice.
"All in good time, my pretty," replied the other, and in the darkness,
which corresponded to the biblical description of that which "could be
felt," the young man thought he had never heard words pronounced in such
a diabolical tone. "What would you say if I refused to let you go, my
son? Ha, ha, you're in my power. Struggle as you may, I have got you as
safe as if you were in Dartmoor, and, what's more, I shan't let you go
until you make it worth my while."
He laughed coarsely and brutally. In the black gloom, and judging by his
voice, he might have been some fiend from the nether world. Was there
ever such a strange house and such strange inhabitants, thought
Laurence, as he struggled to free his hand for one moment, so that he
might seize the pistol with which to silence the man's demands and to
assist his own departure to the home where he was so greatly needed.
There was no denying that Laurence Carrington was a fairly strong man,
yet in the hands of this strange guide he seemed as helpless as a rat.
With anything but good grace he offered the servant half a sovereign if
he would instantly open the front door for him and offer no further
molestation.
"Make it a thick 'un," whispered the man, with something like a leer;
"make it a sov., mister, and you shall go free."
"You scoundrel!" cried Laurence, "I shall report your conduct to your
master."
"Ha, ha! D'yer think I care?" replied the rascal; "he's no more to me
than that." He snapped his fingers loudly.
"All right, let me out of the door, and I'll give you a sovereign."
"That I won't, unless you give me your word of honour as a gentleman
that you don't produce any firearms," replied the man, with a dig at
Laurence's ribs which caused the latter to lounge out with his knee at
where he imagined the other to be.
"All right, I promise."
"There you are, then. Fork out the gold boy."
Laurence fumbled in his pocket on his arms being released, and produced
a coin from his pocket--the first he laid hands on--and passed it to
Smith. As he did so, a sound broke upon the grave-like stillness of this
house of mystery--a sound that seemed to rise from the basement or
cellars, a long-drawn, terrible cry--the unnatural, nay, fiendish shriek
of a person in the agonies of death.
And simultaneously the door opened, and Laurence found himself thrust
hurriedly out into the night.
Before he could turn, or could realise the meaning of that awful sound,
the door clanged upon him.
Then once more there was silence, unbroken save by the sudden hoot of an
owl in a distant tree.