THE LOST MINE
Gurdon nodded thoughtfully. He was trying to piece the puzzle together in
his mind, but so far without success. He was not in the least surprised
to find that Venner had guessed correctly.
"You've got it exactly," he said. "That is just what the gruesome thing
is. What does it all mean?"
By this time dinner had long been a thing of the past, and all the guests
had departed. Here and there the lights were turned down, leaving half
the room in semi-darkness. It was just the time and place for an exchange
of confidences.
"How did you know exactly what was in that box?" Gurdon asked. "I have
read things of this kind before, but they have generally taken the form
of a warning previous to some act of vengeance."
"As a matter of fact, this is something of the same kind," Venner said;
"though I am bound to say that my guess was somewhat in the nature of a
shot. Still, putting two and two together, I felt that I could not have
been far wrong. Since I have been here this evening, I have begun to form
a pretty shrewd opinion as to where Fenwick gets his money."
"What shall we do with that box?" Gurdon asked.
"Leave it where it is, by all means. You may depend upon it that Fenwick
will return for his lost property."
The prophecy came true quicker than Gurdon had expected, for out of the
gloom there presently emerged the yellow face of Mark Fenwick. He came in
with a furtive air, like some mean thief who is about to do a shabby
action. He was palpably looking for something. He made a gesture of
disappointment when he saw that the table where he had dined was now
stripped of everything except the flowers. He did not seem to see the
other two men there at all. Venner took the box from his companion's
hand, and advanced to Fenwick's side.
"I think you have lost something, sir," he said coolly. "Permit me to
restore your property to you."
The millionaire gave a kind of howl as he looked at Venner. The noise he
made was like that of a child suffering from toothache. He fairly
grovelled at Venner's feet, but as far as the latter's expression was
concerned, the two might have met for the first time. Just for a moment
Fenwick stood there, mopping his yellow face, himself a picture of abject
misery and despair.
"Well?" Venner said sharply. "Is this little box yours, or not?"
"Oh, yes, oh yes," Fenwick whined. "You know that perfectly well--I
mean, you must recognise--oh, I don't know what I mean. The fact is,
I am really ill to-night. I hardly know what I am doing. Thank you,
very much."
Fenwick snatched the box from Venner's fingers, and made hastily
for the door.
"I believe we are allowed to smoke in here after ten," Gurdon said. "If
that is the case, why not have a cigar together, and discuss the matter?
What I am anxious to know at present is the inner meaning of the finger
in the box."
There was no objection to a cigar in the dining-room at this late hour,
and presently the two friends were discussing their Havanas together.
Venner began to speak at length.
"Perhaps it would be as well," he said, "to stick to the box business
first. You will remember, some three years ago, my writing you to the
effect that I was going to undertake a journey through Mexico. I don't
suppose I should have gone there at all, only I was attracted by the
notion of possible adventures in that country, among the hills where, at
one time, gold was found. There was no question whatever that gold in
large quantities used to be mined in the wild district where I had chosen
to take up my headquarters. Practical engineers say that the gold is
exhausted, but that did not deter me in the least.
"The first man who put the idea into my head was a half-caste Mexican,
who had an extraordinary grip on the history of his country, especially
as far as legends and traditions were concerned. He was a well-educated
man, and an exceedingly fascinating story-teller. It was he who first
gave me the history of what he called the Four Finger Mine. It appears
that this mine had been discovered some century or more ago by a
Frenchman, who had settled down in the country and married the daughter
of a native chief. The original founder of the mine was a curious sort of
man, and was evidently possessed of strong miserly tendencies. Most men
in his position would have gathered together a band of workers, and
simply exploited the mine for all it was worth. However, this man, Le
Fenu, did nothing of the kind. He kept his discovery an absolute secret,
and what mining was to be done, he did himself. I understand that he was
a man of fine physique, and that his disposition was absolutely fearless.
It was his habit at certain seasons of the year to go up to his mine, and
there work it for a month or two at a time, spending the rest of the year
with his family. It is quite certain, too, that he kept his secret, even
from his grown-up sons; for when he died, they had not the slightest idea
of the locality of the mine, which fact I know from Le Fenu's
descendants.
"And now comes the interesting part of my story, Le Fenu went up into
the mountains early in May one year, to put in his solitary two months'
mining, as usual. For, perhaps, the first time in his life, he suffered
from a serious illness--some kind of fever, I suppose, though he had just
strength of will enough to get on the back of a horse and ride as far as
the nearest _hacienda_.
"Now, on this particular farm there dwelt a Dutchman, who, I believe, was
called Van Fort. Whether or not Le Fenu partially disclosed his secret in
his delirium, will never actually be known. At any rate, two or three
weeks later the body of Le Fenu was discovered not very far away from the
scene of his mining operations, and from the evidence obtainable, there
was no doubt in the world that he was foully murdered. Justice in that
country walks with very tardy footsteps, and though there was little
question who the real murderer was, Van Fort was never brought to
justice. Perhaps that was accounted for by the fact that he seemed to be
suddenly possessed of more money than usual, and was thus in a position
to bribe the authorities.
"And now comes a further development. Soon after the death of Le Fenu, it
was noted that Van Fort spent most of his time away from his farm in the
mountains, no doubt prospecting for Le Fenu's mine. Whether he ever found
it or not will never be known. Please to bear in mind the fact that for a
couple of centuries at least Le Fenu's mysterious property was known as
the Four Finger Mine. With this digression, I will go on to speak further
of Van Fort's movements. To make a long story short, from his last
journey to the mountains he never returned. His widow searched for him
everywhere; I have seen her--a big sullen woman, with a cruel mouth and a
heavy eye. From what I have heard, I have not the slightest doubt that it
was she who inspired the murder of the Frenchman.
"She had practically given up all hope of ever seeing her husband again,
when, one dark and stormy night, just as she was preparing for bed, she
heard her husband outside, screaming for assistance. From his tone, he
was evidently in some dire and deadly peril. The woman was by no means
devoid of courage; she rushed out into the night and searched far and
near, but no trace of Van Fort could be found, nor did the imploring cry
for assistance come again. But the next morning, on the doorstep lay a
bleeding forefinger, which the woman recognised as coming from her
husband's hand. To make identity absolutely certain, on the forefinger
was a ring of native gold, which the Dutchman always wore. Please to
remember once more that this mine was known as the Four Finger Mine."
Venner paused just for a moment to give dramatic effect to his point.
Gurdon said nothing; he was too deeply interested in the narrative to
make any comment.
"That was what I may call the first act in the drama," Venner went on.
"Six months had elapsed, and Van Fort's widow was beginning to forget all
about the startling incident, when, one night, just at the same time, and
in just the same circumstances, came that wild, pitiful yell for
assistance outside the Dutchman's farm. Half mad with dread and terror
the woman sat there listening. She did not dare to go outside now; she
knew how futile such an act would be. Also, she knew quite well what was
going to happen in the morning. She sat up half the night in a state
bordering on madness. I need not insult your intelligence, my dear
fellow, by asking you to guess what she found on the doorstep in the
daylight."
"Of course, I can guess," Gurdon said. "Beyond all question, it was the
third finger of the Dutchman's hand."
"Quite so," Venner resumed. "I need not over elaborate my story or bore
you by telling how, six months later, the second finger of the hand
appeared in the same sensational circumstances, and how, at the end of a
year, the four fingers were complete. Let me once more impress upon you
the fact that this mine was called the Four Finger Mine for more than a
century before these strange things happened."
"It is certainly an extraordinary thing," Gurdon muttered. "I don't think
I ever listened to a weirder tale. And did the Dutch woman confess to
her crime? This strikes me as being a fitting end to the story. I suppose
it came from her lips."
"She didn't confess, for the simple reason that she had no mind to
confess with," Venner explained. "Of course, certain neighbors knew
something of what was going on, but they never knew the whole truth,
because, after the appearance of the last finger, Mrs. Van Fort went
stark raving mad. She lived for a few days, and at the end of that time
her body was found in a waterfall close to her house. That is the story
of the Four Finger Mine so far as it goes, though I should not be
surprised if we manage to get to the last chapter yet. Now, you are an
observant man--did you notice anything peculiar in Fenwick's appearance
to-night?"
Gurdon shook his head slowly. It was quite evident that he had not
noticed anything out of the common in the appearance of the millionaire.
Venner proceeded to explain.
"Let me tell you this," he said. "When I married my wife, we were within
an easy ride of the locality where the Four Finger Mine is situated. Mind
you, our marriage was a secret one, and I presume that Fenwick is still
in ignorance of it, though, of course, he was fully aware of the fact
that I had more than a passing admiration for Vera. I merely mention this
by way of accentuating the little point that I am going to make. It is
more than probable that, when I stumbled upon Fenwick and the girl who
passes for his daughter, he also was in search of the Four Finger Mine.
When he came in to-night he, of course, recognised me, though I treated
him as an absolute stranger whom I had met for the first time. You will
see presently why I treated him in this fashion. I am glad I spoke to
him, because I noticed a slight thing that throws a flood of light upon
the mystery. Now, did it escape your observation, or did you notice that
Fenwick took the box I gave him in his right hand?"
"Oh, dear, no," Gurdon said. "A little thing like that would be almost
too trivial for the typical detective of the cheap story."
"All the same, it is very important," Venner said. "He took the box in
his right hand; he made as if to extend his left, then suddenly changed
his mind, and put it in his pocket. But he was too late to disguise from
me that he had--"
"I know," Gurdon shouted. "He had lost all the fingers on his left
hand. What an amazing thing! We must get to the bottom of this business
at all costs."
"That is precisely what we are going to do," Venner said grimly. "I am
glad you are so quick in taking up the point. When I noted the loss of
those fingers, I was absolutely staggered for a moment. If he had been
less agitated than he was, Fenwick would have guessed what I had seen. I
need not tell you that when I last saw Fenwick his left hand was as sound
as yours or mine. The inference of this is, that Fenwick has fallen under
the ban of the same strange vengeance that overtook Van Fort and his
wife. There is not the slightest doubt that he discovered the mine, and
that he has not yet paid the penalty for his temerity."
"I presume the penalty is coming," Gurdon said. "What a creepy sort of
idea it is, that terrible vengeance reaching across a continent in such a
sinister fashion. But don't forget that we know something as to the way
in which this thing is to be brought about. Don't forget the cripple who
sat at yonder table to-night."
"I am not likely to forget him," Venner observed. "All the more because
he evidently knows more about this matter than we do ourselves. When he
came here to-night, he little dreamed that there was one man in the
room, at least, who had a fairly good knowledge of the Four Finger
Mystery. We shall have to look him out, and, if necessary, force him to
speak. But it is a delicate matter, and as far as I can see, one not
unattended with danger."
Gurdon smoked in thoughtful silence for some little time, turning the
strange thing over in his mind. The more he dwelt upon it, the more wild
and dramatic did it seem.
"There is one thing in our favor," he said, presently. "The mysterious
cripple is evidently a deadly enemy of Fenwick's. We shall doubtless find
him ready to accept our offer, provided that we put it in the right way."
"I am not so sure of that," Venner replied. "At any rate, we can make no
move in that direction without thinking the whole thing out carefully and
thoroughly. Our crippled friend is evidently a fanatic in his way, and he
is not alone in his scheme. Do not forget that we have also the little
man who played the part of the waiter to deal with. I am sorry that I did
not notice him. A man who could carry off a thing like that with such
splendid audacity is certainly a force to be reckoned with."
Gurdon rose from his seat with a yawn, and intimated that it was time to
go to bed. It was long past twelve now and the hotel was gradually
retiring to rest. The Grand Empire was not the sort of house to cater to
the frivolous type of guest, and usually within an hour of the closing of
the theatres the whole of the vast building was wrapped in silence.
"I think I will go now," Gurdon said. "Come and lunch with me to-morrow,
and then you can tell me something about your own romance. What sort of a
night is it, waiter?"
"Very bad, sir," the waiter replied. "It's pouring in torrents. Shall I
call you a cab, sir?"