THE WHITE LADY AGAIN
It was perhaps an imprudent thing for the two friends to remain there,
exposed as they were to the danger of discovery at any moment; but, so
completely were they fascinated by what was going on about them, that
they had flung caution to the winds. One thing was in their favor,
however; there was not much likelihood of their being attacked from
below, seeing that all the servants had gone to bed; unless, perhaps,
some late comer entered the house. Still, the risk had to be run, and so
they stood there together, waiting for the next move. It was Venner who
spoke first.
"I cannot get over the extraordinary likeness of that girl to my wife,"
he said. "Is she anything like the woman you saw next door? I mean the
poor half-demented creature who happened to come into the room when you
were talking with the owner?"
"Why, of course, it is the same girl," Gurdon replied.
"Then I am sure she is Vera's sister. I'll ask her about it the first
time I have an opportunity. Be silent and get a little lower down the
stairs. There is somebody coming from the top of the house. We can see
here without being seen."
Assuredly there were sounds emanating from the top of the house. A voice
was raised in angry expostulation, followed by other voices morose and
threatening. As far as the listeners could judge, two men were dragging a
third down the stairs against his will. But for that, the house was
deadly silent; the watchers could hear the jingle of a passing cab bell,
a belated foot passenger whistled as he went along. It seemed almost
impossible to believe that so close to light and law and order and the
well-being of the town a strange tragedy like this should be in progress;
hidden from the eye of London, by mere skill of brick and mortar, this
strange thing was going on. Venner wondered to himself how many such
scenes were taking place in London at the same moment.
But he had not much time for his meditation, for the shuffling of feet
came closer. There were no more sounds of expostulation now; only the
heavy breathing of three people, as if the captive had ceased to struggle
and was making but a passive resistance. Then there emerged on the
landing the figure of the handsome cripple with a guardian on either
side. His face was no longer distorted with pain; rather was it white
with an overpowering anger--his eyes shone like points of flame. On his
right side Venner and Gurdon recognised the figure of the man in the
list slippers--the man who had been handling the sovereigns in Fenwick's
rooms. His comrade was a stranger, though of the same type, and it seemed
to Venner that anyone would have been justified in repudiating either of
them as an acquaintance. It was perfectly evident that the cripple came
against his will, though he was struggling no longer. Probably the
condition of his emaciated frame had rendered the task of his captors an
easy one. They dragged him, limp and exhausted, into the drawing-room
where Fenwick was seated and they stood in the doorway awaiting further
instructions.
"You needn't stay there," Fenwick growled. "If I want you I can call. You
had better go back to your cards again."
The two men disappeared up the stairs, and just for a moment there was
silence in the drawing-room. It was safe for Venner and his companion
now to creep back to the drawing-room door and take a careful note of
what was going on. With the aid of a friendly mirror on the opposite
side of the room, it was possible to see and note everything. The
cripple had fallen into a chair, where he sat huddled in a heap, his
hand to his head, as if some great physical pain racked him. His heavy
breathing was the only sound made, except the steady puffing of
Fenwick's cigar. A fit of anger gripped Venner for the moment; he would
have liked to step in and soundly punish Fenwick for his brutality.
Doubtless the poor crippled frame was racked with the pain caused by the
violence of his late captors.
But under that queer exterior was a fine spirit. Gradually the cripple
ceased to quiver and palpitate; gradually he pulled himself up in his
chair and faced his captor. His face was still deadly white, but it was
hard and set now; there was no sign of fear about him. He leaned forward
and stared Fenwick between the eyes.
"Well, you scoundrel," he said in a clear, cold voice, "I should like to
know the meaning of this. I have heard of and read of some strange
outrages in my time, but to kidnap a man and keep him prisoner in his own
house is to exceed all the bounds of audacity."
"You appear to be annoyed," Fenwick said. "Perhaps you have not already
learned who I am?"
"I know perfectly well who you are," the cripple responded. "Your name is
Mark Fenwick, and you are one of the greatest scoundrels unhung. At
present, you are posing as an American millionaire. Fools may believe
you, but I know better. The point is, do you happen to know who I am?"
"Yes, I know who you are," Fenwick said with a sardonic smile. "You elect
to call yourself Mr. Bates, or some such name, and you pretend to be a
recluse who gives himself over to literary pursuits. As a matter of
fact, you are Charles Le Fenu, and your father was, at one time, the
practical owner of the Four Finger Mine."
"We are getting on," Venner whispered. "It may surprise you to hear this,
but I have suspected it for some little time. The so-called absent owner
of these houses is the man sitting opposite Fenwick there. Now do you
begin to see something like daylight before you? I wouldn't have missed
this for worlds."
"We have certainly been lucky," Gurdon replied.
There was no time for further conversation, for the cripple was speaking
again. His voice was still hard and cold, nor did his manner betray the
slightest sign of fear.
"So you have found that out," he said. "You know that I am the son of the
unfortunate Frenchman who was murdered by a rascally Dutchman at your
instigation. You thought that once having discovered the secret of the
mine you could work it to your own advantage. How well you worked it your
left hand testifies."
The jeer went home to Fenwick, his yellow face flushed, and he half rose
from his chair with a threatening gesture.
"Oh, you can strike me," the cripple said. "I am practically helpless as
far as my lower limbs are concerned, and it would be just the sort of
cowardly act that would gratify a dirty little soul like yours. It
hurts me to sit here, helpless and useless, knowing that you are the
cause of all my misfortunes; knowing that, but for you, I should be as
straight and strong as the best of them. And yet you are not safe--you
are going to pay the penalty of your crime. Have you had the first of
your warnings yet?"
Fenwick started in his seat; in the looking-glass the watchers could see
how ghastly his face had grown.
"I don't know what you mean," he muttered.
"Liar!" the cripple cried. "Paltry liar! Why, you are shaking from head
to foot now--your face is like that of a man who stands in the shadow of
the gallows."
"I repeat, I don't know what you mean," Fenwick said.
"Oh, yes, you do. When your accomplice Van Fort foully murdered my
father, you thought that the two of you would have the mine to
yourselves; you thought you would work it alone as my father did, and
send your ill-gotten gains back to England. That is how the murdered man
accomplished it, that is how he made his fortune--and you were going to
do the same thing, both of you. When you had made all your arrangements
you went down to the coast on certain business, leaving the rascally
Dutchman behind. He was quite alone in the mine, there was no one within
miles of that secret spot. And yet he vanished. Van Fort was never heard
of again. The message of his fingers was conveyed to his wife, for she
was implicated in the murder of my father, and how she suffered you
already know. But you are a brave man--I give you all the credit for
that. You went back to the mine again, determined not to be deterred by
what had happened. What happened to you, I need not go into. Shall I tell
the story, or will you be content with a recollection of your sufferings?
It is all the same to me."
"You are a bold man," Fenwick cried. He was trembling with the rage that
filled him. "You are a bold man to defy me like this. Nobody knows that I
am here, nobody knows that you are back in your own house again. I could
kill you as you sit there, and not a soul would suffer for the crime."
The cripple laughed aloud; he seemed to be amused at something.
"Really!" he sneered. "Such cheap talk is wasted upon me. Besides, what
would you gain by so unnecessary a crime, and how much better off would
you be? You know as well as I do, disguise it as you will, that the long
arm has reached for you across five thousand miles of sea, and that,
when the time comes, you will be stricken down here in London as surely
and inevitably as if you had remained in Mexico under the shadow of the
mountains. The dreadful secret is known to a few, in its entirety it is
even unknown to me. I asked you just now if you had received the first
of your messages, and you denied that you knew what I meant. You
actually had the effrontery to deny it to me, sitting opposite to you as
I am, and looking straight at the dreadful disfigurement of your left
hand. For over three centuries the natives of Mexico worked the Four
Finger Mine till only two of the tribe who knew its secret remained.
Then it was that my father came along. He was a brave man, and an
adventurer to his finger tips. Moreover, he was a doctor. His healing
art made those rough men his friends, and when their time came, my
father was left in possession of the mine. How that mine was guarded and
how the spirit of the place took its vengeance upon intruders, you know
too well. Ah, I have touched you now."
Fenwick had risen, and was pacing uneasily up and down the room. All the
dare-devil spirit seemed to have left the man for a moment; he turned a
troubled face on the cripple huddled in his chair. He seemed half
inclined to temporise, and then, with a short laugh, he resumed his own
seat again.
"You seem to be very sure of your ground," he sneered.
"I am," the cripple went on. "What does it matter what becomes of a
melancholy wreck like myself? Doctors tell me that in time I may become
my old self again, but in my heart I doubt it, and as sure as I sit here
the mere frame-work of a human being, my injuries are due to you. I
might have had you shot before now, or I might even have done it myself,
but I spared you. It would have been a kindness to cut your life short,
but I had another use for you than that. And now, gradually, but surely,
the net is closing in around you, though you cannot yet see its meshes,
and you are powerless to prevent the inevitable end."
"You seem to have mapped it all out," Fenwick replied. "You seem to have
settled it all to your own satisfaction, but you forget that I may have
something to say in the matter. When I discovered, as I did quite by
accident, that you were in London, I laid my plans for getting you into
my hands. It suits me very well, apart from the criminal side of it, to
hide myself in your house, but that is not all. I am in a position now to
dictate terms, and you have nothing else to do but to listen. I am
prepared to spare your life on one condition. Now kindly follow me
carefully."
"I am listening," the cripple said, coldly. "If you were not the blind
fool you seem to be you would know that there could be no conditions
between us; but go on. Let me hear what you have to say."
"I am coming to that. I want you to tell me where I can find Felix Zary."
Suddenly, without the slightest premonition, the cripple burst into a
hearty laugh. He rocked backward and forward in a perfect ecstasy of
enjoyment; for the moment, at any rate, he might have been on the very
best of terms with his companion.
"Oh, that is what you are driving at?" he said. "So you think that if you
could get Felix Zary out of the way you would be absolutely safe? Really,
it is marvellous how an otherwise clever man could be so blind to the
true facts of the case. My good sir, I will give you Zary's address with
pleasure."
Fenwick was obviously puzzled. Perhaps it was beginning to dawn upon
him that he had a man of more than ordinary intellect to grapple with.
He looked searchingly at the cripple, who was leaning back with eyes
half closed.
"Hang me, if I can understand you," he muttered. "I am in imminent danger
of my life, though I should be safe enough if Felix Zary and yourself
were out of the way."
"And you are quite capable of putting us out of the way," the cripple
said, gently. "Is not that so, my friend?"
"Aye, I could, and I would," Fenwick said in a fierce whisper. "If you
were both dead I could breathe freely; I could go to bed at night feeling
sure that I should wake in the morning. Nothing could trouble me then. As
to that accursed mine, I have done with it. Never again do I plant my
foot in Mexico."
"Fool that you are!" the cripple said in tones of infinite pity. "So you
think that if Zary and myself were out of the way you might die
eventually in your bed honored and respected of men? I tell you, never!
The vengeance is upon you, it is following you here, it is close at hand
now. You have already had your warning. Perhaps, for all I know to the
contrary, you may have had your second warning; that you have had one,
your face told me eloquently enough a few moments ago. I am quite sure
that a little quiet reflection will show you the absurdity of keeping me
a prisoner in my own house. Of course, I know I am entirely in your
hands, and that you may keep me here for weeks if you choose. It will be
very awkward for me, because I have important business on hand."
"I know your important business," Fenwick sneered. "Everything that goes
in your favor will naturally spell disaster to me. As I told you before,
it was only an accident that told me where you were; indeed, so changed
are you that I should not have recognised you if I had met you in the
street. No, on the whole, you will stay where you are."
At this point Venner clutched Gurdon's arm and dragged him hurriedly
across the landing down to the half staircase. So quickly was this done
that Gurdon had no time to ask the reason for it all.
"Someone coming down the stairs," Venner whispered. "Didn't you hear a
voice? I believe it is the girl in white again."
Surely enough, looking upward, they could see the slim white figure
creeping down the stairs. The girl was crooning some little song to
herself as she came along. She turned into the drawing-room and called
aloud to the cripple in the chair. With an oath on his lips, Fenwick
motioned her away.