THE SILENT HOUSE AND THE FOLKS THAT DWELT THERE
A sleepless night was Laurence's portion when, tired out, he flung himself upon his bed.
The mystery was deepening in an alarming fashion, and its intricacies were such as did not conduce to quiet sleep. That he had at last actually encountered his father's enemy he was quite convinced, but he was no nearer being able to account for the strange creature's enmity or even to recognise its identity than before he had met with this last adventure.
A few facts about the unknown creature were very apparent. Firstly, it was strangely agile and cunning; secondly, its voice was as remarkable as its agility, which was hardly human; thirdly, it was in possession of a bicycle, and yet was unable to obtain food and clothing without having recourse to theft; fourthly, it was of peculiarly small stature for a man; and lastly, it was able to use firearms, but with the loss of the pistol it had probably been deprived of its only offensive weapon, since it had not ventured to attack its assailant in the barn.
Laurence used the word "it" because he was in no way decided in his own mind as to whether the thing was a man, a woman, or, the idea occurred to him, neither of these two. Not that he believed it to be something that was not human, but because the marvellous manner in which it had scaled the barn walls was so suggestive of the monkey race. The idea that the creature in the barn was a species of monkey he at once decided, of course, to be absurd. A monkey might have stolen the missing coat and dinner, have thrown the hay down in order to cover its retreat, and have uttered that piercing shriek on being hurt, but it was hardly likely to be able either to ride a bicycle or use a pistol.
That it was a woman was more possible, and the young investigator's foundation for the idea was the remark of Miss Scott that her friend had declared the person lurking in the Marquis's garden to be a black woman "with coloured skirts." This remark, it will be remembered, was very probably the cause of the Squire's sudden illness at luncheon, shortly after the arrival of Mrs. Knox and her niece.
A woman might have performed all the feats that the unknown person had. She might have set light to the Marquis's house, believing the Squire to be yet in the building; she might have followed the carriage on a bicycle on discovering that the man she was dogging had left (though how she came to have a bicycle was a mystery in itself); she might have "held up" the carriage and attempted to murder the old gentleman; and it was just as possible (or impossible) for her to clamber up the barn wall as for a man to do so. To be sure, she must be a very remarkable woman. Since she was "black," she might be a negress or certainly some foreigner. Uncivilised and fierce she certainly was. But how came it that a negress (if such were the case) had so bitter an enmity against the harmless old Squire that it was the cause of all Mr. Carrington's careful precautions, and of the spirited attack on the high road? The mystery seemed hopelessly incapable of solution.
Morning came at last, and found Laurence no further advanced with his investigations. At one time he had decided to summon a detective, but recollecting how the Squire would take such an intrusion he considered it advisable to work alone.
What the relations of the woman (suppose it to be a woman) in the barn and the disguised man who had purchased the dog whip were, he had not yet ventured to guess, but one thing was quite plain: they were in some way connected.
A fruitless effort had been made to attempt the solution of the problem through the "woman" servant in the Dene. Equally impossible would it be to obtain any information from the Squire. The idea of conversing in any way with the woman (?) in the barn (even if she were yet hiding there) was more than ridiculous. Consequently, the original scheme was the only one left which seemed in any way possible.
Laurence felt that the sole remaining course open to him was to interview "Major Jones-Farnell"!
During breakfast (at which meal the Squire did not appear) he cast all meditation and worry aside for the time being, and set himself to the task of entertaining the two ladies. Mrs. Knox, however, wanted little entertainment. A good breakfast was quite sufficient for her!
With Lena it was different. Two of her greatest charms were her vivacity and the brilliancy of her conversation, and both these characteristics were brought into play during the breakfast-table talk that ensued—talk that naturally enough, in Mrs. Knox's presence, contained no allusion to the subject uppermost in Laurence's mind, if not in that of both. Consequently, the morning meal was prolonged to a somewhat unusual length. The young man could not help thinking that (in his own words) but for the mystery which he had set himself to solve, he would be "making a fool of himself and falling in love."
He was certainly given plenty of opportunities to do so, for Mrs. Knox made a point of retiring, as was her custom, at the conclusion of breakfast, after charging Lena to write a line to the Marchioness of Moorlands asking if she could be of any assistance to that lady or her husband in their present uncomfortable position.
"I'll get the letter written first of all," said Miss Scott to Laurence, after her aunt's departure, "and then you must show me some more of your lovely country. As a letter takes me about three-quarters of an hour to compose, I should recommend you to devote that short period of recreation to having a quiet smoke by yourself! Then, after your play, you can prepare yourself for some good hard work, for I want to be shown the woods, the church, and everything else there is worth seeing in the neighbourhood." And with a smile she bustled away upstairs.
Here was Laurence's opportunity. If he waited until Lena's return she would probably insist upon accompanying him on his visit to Durley Dene. This he did not mean to allow. If, as he deemed very possible, the visit might not be without a dangerous element, Miss Scott must certainly not share that danger. So, without any hesitation, Carrington took his cap, and, leaving the house, made his way by a short cut to the entrance of the Dene. The gate was not locked, so he passed through, walked with a bold step up the dark avenue of swaying firs, and, entering the ruined old porch, pulled the rusty handle of the bell with energy.
A distant clang disturbed the weird silence of the seemingly deserted mansion, but the bell was not answered, though Laurence waited for many minutes, deliberating in his mind the course of action he should take when admitted.
Once again he gripped the bell-pull, and dragged it out of its socket as far as it would go. Once again, too, did the harsh sound re-echo from within. This time the clang had hardly died away before a noise of shuffling footsteps was distinctly audible to Laurence's alert ear. The footsteps approached, the sound betraying the fact that the stone floor of the lobby was uncarpeted. Then there followed the metallic click of a bolt being drawn back, and the door swung open until slightly ajar. Laurence saw that the porter, whoever he was, had carefully fastened it with a chain that allowed an aperture of a few feet only. Simultaneously he saw part of a face that was glaring out at him. Though the interior of the house seemed uncommonly dark, he was able to recognise the features of the person in the doorway as those of the disguised man whom he had encountered on the highroad the previous night!
"Well, what do you want?" was the gruff greeting that proceeded from within.
"I wish to see Major Jones-Farnell," replied Laurence coldly.
"Oh, then he can't see you," came the reply, and the door was about to close again.
"Wait," cried Carrington, placing his foot against it; "I'm your neighbour, the Squire's son, and I am desirous of making the Major's acquaintance."
"I tell you, you can't see him. He's engaged. Take your foot away."
"All in good time, my friend. Do I understand that you refuse to take my message to Major Jones-Farnell?"
"That's about it. And, d'yer hear, take your foot out of the doorway, or I'll put it out for you."
"Be very careful, my good man," exclaimed Laurence. "I know who you are. You're the man who struck me last night when disguised as a woman. I know you. There's something mysterious going on in this house, and I shall not stop until I've solved it. Admit me at once to your master, or whoever the owner of this house is, or I go at once to the police and obtain an order to search the place on suspicion. My father is a magistrate——"
"So you think there's a mystery about this house, do you? Well, you're finely mistaken this time, my beauty. Even if there was a mystery it would take more than the likes of you to get to the bottom of it."
So saying, by sheer force the man thrust Laurence's foot back, banged the door, and shut down the bolt, leaving young Carrington in the same atmosphere of mystery as before.
And after the shuffling footsteps had died away down the corridor, unbroken silence once more fell upon Durley Dene.