A DELAY
Wallace had invariably found that the task of explaining any sort of
mechanism to a woman was a most thankless one. He would not have been
at all surprised if the beautiful Yolande had asked him what all the
dials on the dash were for, and he did not for a moment expect her to
evince any interest in what lay under the bonnet of the car. Pleased
as he was to show her his toy, it was not his sole reason for leaving
Conrad and Fallières talking about the past.
Yolande herself was the other reason. All through the excellent
luncheon he had found his gaze drawn to the oval, dark face of the
girl, and it had set him wondering what was the cause of her obvious
discomposure. The long eyelashes had a habit of coming down and almost
obscuring the soft, romantic eyes, and she would sit motionless for
quite a few seconds, until some remark of her father’s awakened her to
consciousness of her immediate surroundings. Notwithstanding, he felt
that she was not naturally pensive and pallid. There had been moments
when the eyes moved quickly, flashing like rare jewels in the sunlight
that streamed through the casement windows. Certainly this girl was
arrestive and fascinating in many respects.
She now stood a few yards from the car, admiring its rakish lines.
Then, to his positive amazement, she put quite a technical question
about the engine, and begged him to lift the bonnet. Her interest and
enthusiasm were called forth immediately, and she fired off questions,
as rapidly as a machine-gun, about torque, engine-balance,
compression, and what not. Wallace, who already knew his “baby,” from
back axle to radiator, found the keenest enjoyment in explaining every
detail.
“Beautiful!” she said. “I think I should like to have one like it. Our
present car is quite a good one, but too big for me. The chauffeur is
away with it now, taking my two sisters to school. There was an
epidemic, and they were sent home.”
“What make is it?”
“A Hispano-Suiza.”
“You won’t find anything much better than that.”
“But I want something of my own; something to get chummy--that’s the
word--something to get chummy with.”
“Your command of English is wonderful.”
“We have had so many chances of practising it. During the war we had
hundreds of English officers here. One could not help learning
English.”
“I suppose not. But, tell me, aren’t you a little lonely here--so far
from any big city?”
For a moment she did not answer, but turned her eyes upwards to where
the time-worn château walls towered in the blue. Then she smiled as a
young bird fluttered from the ivy that climbed over the western
turret.
“At times--perhaps,” she murmured. “My father has not yet quite
recovered from the loss of my--my mother, and I do not go about so
much as I might. I think I remind him of my mother, and it helps in a
way. Of course, we have house-parties at times. At least, we did have
until-- Tell me, is Mr. Conrad just a friend or a relative?”
“A friend--a kind of guardian, though there isn’t a great difference
in our ages--now. It was curious how we came together. My father was a
colonel in the artillery, and Conrad got a commission in the same
corps. For two years they were always together, and got to be very
real friends. I was at school in England at the time. Then a chance
shell killed my father. Connie--I always call him that--Connie was
with him when he died. Of course, he knew all about me, and he told my
father not to worry on my account, and promised to be a sort of
guardian to me. Well, he has been all that and more. Fortunately my
father was a man of means, so there was never any economic problem,
but Connie was always on hand to get me out of any scrape, and I’ve
been in a few. He’s just the best kind of fellow that ever was--a
man’s man, if you understand. Connie never preached. When at times I
used to play the fool, Connie used to make me feel pretty small, and
all in about six words. I remember once I acted like a goat. I knew it
all the time, and yet I refused to admit it and pretty nearly
alienated myself completely. Lord, Connie came up to the scratch at
the last moment. He got my thoughts absolutely. ‘You’re fuming, my
lad, because you know I know what an ass you are,’ he said. ‘You’re
aching to take it out of me. Well, come on!’ Before I knew what had
happened he had hit me in the face and was framing up in pugilistic
fashion. I fancied myself at that game, and his blow hurt. I went for
him good and well. For half an hour we knocked each other about, but I
couldn’t get anything over him, and all the while I was having it
knocked into me what an ungrateful little pup I was. We’ve never
quarrelled since. I say, forgive me telling you all this. It must be
awfully boring.”
“It is very interesting,” she said. “I think I like him more than ever
now.”
“No one could help it,” he replied simply. “He’s an engineer by
profession--turbines--and I’m part of the concern. I really yearned to
be a professional racing motorist, but Connie wouldn’t hear of it. No
doubt he was wise.”
“I am sure he was.”
“Anyway, we get on awfully well, and have many a ding-dong battle at
tennis or golf. He’s pretty good at all games.”
She measured him up with her eyes as if to intimate that he, too,
ought to shine in that respect, in which she was not wrong. Then they
wandered into the flower-garden, where they met Fallières and Conrad.
Time passed all too quickly, and they were surprised to find it was
four o’clock.
“We shall certainly have to leave if we are to make Rheims this
evening,” said Conrad.
“It is not a good road,” put in Yolande. “For fifty miles it is full
of pot-holes.”
They ultimately entered the car, and then a peculiar thing happened.
The engine refused to start. Wallace stroked his chin and looked at
the various controls.
“Plenty of petrol?” asked Conrad.
“Half a tank. That’s curious. I’ve never known her jib before.”
He jumped out and lifted the bonnet. So far as he could see there was
nothing wrong, but when he tested the plugs he discovered that no
current was passing. For half an hour he tinkered about with leads and
plugs--all in vain.
“Well, I’m beaten!” he ejaculated. “She has run faultlessly for five
thousand miles, and then suddenly goes on strike. I suppose there is
no garage within reasonable distance?”
“None,” replied Fallières. “I doubt if it is possible to get anything
done to-night. There is really no reliable garage between here and
Rheims. I could telephone there, but I doubt if a man would come
before the morning.”
“I’ll fix it somehow,” said Wallace desperately. “Take a walk, Connie,
and leave it to me.”
“I think a cup of tea might be more acceptable,” suggested Yolande. “I
will get some prepared. When you have solved your problem, Mr.
Wallace, you will find us on the terrace.”
Half an hour later Wallace joined the tea-party, looking very
disgusted. The car had beaten him. Nothing would induce it to start,
and he felt his ignominy greatly.
“You are all hot and bothered,” said Yolande. “Drink this tea and
accept the inevitable. What does it matter? You may as well stay the
night here as in Rheims.”
“Certainly,” agreed her father. “I will telephone to Rheims and get a
good electrician here early to-morrow morning. May we call that
settled?”
“It is extremely kind of you,” replied Conrad. “I do hope it will not
inconvenience you.”
“It will afford us considerable pleasure.”
Wallace echoed his friend’s thanks, and later went to help some of the
servants push the car into the garage. He was not greatly disappointed
in the change of plan, but the mysterious trouble with the car got on
his nerves. It was his baby. Coming downstairs before dinner, he
strolled into the garden trying to think of a possible solution. His
meandering brought him within sight of the garage. The door was slid
back, and he caught a glimpse of a light skirt near the car.
Considerably puzzled, he walked closer, his footsteps being muffled by
the velvety lawn. Now the owner of the skirt came clearly to view. It
was Yolande, and she was engaged in tinkering with the switchbox.
Before his eyes she changed two wires on their terminals and put the
cover back. The next moment she turned and saw him.
“Putting the car right?” he asked with a smile.
“Yes. I--” Her face went crimson with embarrassment, as she realised
from his expression that he correctly divined what she had been up to.
“There--is nothing wrong,” she stammered.
“Nothing wrong!”
“I mean--” She faced him boldly. “I mean that I put it wrong in order
to prevent your going.”
“I don’t understand why. It is extremely pleasant here, but, all the
same----”
“I will explain. Come yonder.”
She led him to a seat in a sheltered nook on the northern side of the
château, and for some moments gazed pensively at the falling shadows.
It was clear to him that, despite her outward control, she was
agitated, but about what he could not imagine.
“It looks calm here, does it not?” she asked.
“Delightful.”
“It is all a delusion. I am terribly afraid--and so is my father. Yet
we are not frank with each other. He believes that I am ignorant
of--of certain occurrences, and, out of love for me, he wants to keep
me ignorant. But I know. I discovered years ago. The servants talk
among themselves, too. No one could live here and remain ignorant.”
“What is it that frightens you?”
“A form--a horrid, gaunt form that periodically seems to get active.
It makes strange noises--noises not human.”
Wallace felt like smiling, for he had not an ounce of superstition in
his make-up. It was the sort of story one might expect to hear of an
ancient château enclosed in a dense forest, and yet Yolande was not
the type of woman one would imagine to be hysterical.
“Has anyone ever seen this--apparition?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Severin the butler--and I.”
“You! When?”
“When I first left school--nearly two years ago. I never locked the
door of my room, because I was always afraid of fire. One night I was
awakened from sleep by a sound. The moonlight was streaming through
the window, and illumined by it was a horrid shape. It was standing
erect, not two yards from my bed, and nearly reached the ceiling. It
was like a monk, with a kind of cowl over the head. All I saw except
the cowl and gown were two awful eyes, and hands like talons. Ugh!”
She shuddered at the memory of this incident, and seemed to get a
little closer to him, for darkness was coming down.
“What happened then?” he asked.
“I tried to scream, but could not utter a sound. Paralysed with
fright, I watched the thing turn and disappear through the door.”
“It wasn’t imagination?”
“No--no!”
“And you did not tell your father?”
“No. I thought he would laugh at me. But on another occasion I heard
queer noises in the corridor. I slipped out of bed and unlocked my
door. I saw my father, looking pale, creeping along the corridor with
a pistol in his hand. As soon as he saw me he hid the pistol and tried
to behave as if nothing was amiss. Many servants leave us. Severin
does not say why, but he is staunch and does not want this evil thing
made public gossip.”
“Has the château a reputation for being haunted? I mean, is it a
tradition?”
“Oh, yes. The first Marquis of Grammont was murdered in his bed
centuries ago. There was a volume of records in the library, and some
old manuscripts concerning the history of the château, but the
Germans stole them before they left, as they did many other things.”
“When did you come here?”
“Shortly before the war. The old Grammont family became defunct, and
the estate came into the market. My father inherited great wealth from
my grandfather, who had a big ironworks in Lorraine. He wanted to
preserve this lovely old place. We heard about its being haunted, but
paid no attention to it. Often we heard strange noises, but it is only
of recent date that our lives have been made unbearable. My poor
father is ageing under the strain, but he is courageous and will not
give up his stewardship.”
“It all sounds so fantastic that one scarcely knows what to say,” he
mused. “I have never come into contact with such a thing before, and
you must pardon my scepticism.”
“It is natural that you should think me imaginative, but what I am
telling you is true. Have you noticed anything strange about the
appointments of the château?”
“I can’t say that I have.”
“Well, there are no mirrors in any of the reception-rooms. As fast as
we put them in they are smashed.”
“Smashed!”
“Yes. We noticed it first after the Germans had been here. Every
mirror was smashed and the pieces taken away. We thought the enemy
troops had done it to provide themselves with shaving mirrors, but,
when they were replaced, one by one they were smashed again.”
“How strange!”
“Then there is something worse. Things are befouled with muck and mud,
as if some monster hated bright and beautiful things. Severin usually
manages to remove these signs early in the morning, but I discovered
it. We had a big house-party last autumn. It ended abruptly. I--I
can’t go into details. It is too disgusting.”
“This is the strangest story I have ever heard. You do not think there
is any danger to--to life or limb?”
“I don’t know. If this monster is of the supernatural, it might not
have the power to harm us, but----”
“You have doubts.”
“Well, less than a year ago a servant on the estate was found dead in
the forest. There was no mark of violence on his body, and it was
concluded that he died from heart failure, but close to where the body
was found there was a huge footprint--a monstrous thing nearly
fourteen inches long. The police were puzzled, but they could find no
other. The verdict was inevitable, but I am sure that poor man saw the
Monster face to face and died from shock.”
She narrated this in a voice that was quite calm, and it would have
given the biggest sceptic pause. But the healthy-minded Wallace still
found it difficult to accept these alleged facts.
“You have never seen this form--this monster--since that night years
ago?” he asked.
“Not until to-day.”
“To-day!”
“I caught a glimpse of it this morning in the northern gallery just
before we went riding--the gowned and hooded figure, and the two
baleful eyes. I seemed to read in them a warning. It’s no use, I can’t
explain, but I feel--I know--that some tragedy is pending. When we met
you so unexpectedly and you came here, I could not resist the
temptation to do--what I did. You are two strong men--and I wanted
help. There are other men in the servants’ hall, but they are far
away, and they are faint-hearted, except Severin. And he is growing
old now.”
“I see. I wish we were in a position to aid you. It would give me the
greatest joy in the world to fall up against this queer person. But
that sort of thing never happens when you want it. Don’t you think it
would be wise to confide in your father, and urge him to notify the
police?”
“Yes. I fear it must come to that. But there was no time to-day. I
will speak to him to-night.”
“In the meantime, am I to regard this as confidential? There is my
friend Conrad. He has not the slightest idea of these strange
happenings.”
“Please do not tell him,” she begged. “I would not have told you but
for the fact that you discovered me tampering with your car. Can you
forgive me?”
“Don’t worry about that. If our presence here gives you the slightest
sense of security, we are more than happy to be here.”
“Thank you.”
A few minutes later the gong sounded, and Wallace led Yolande in to
dinner.