The Luck of the Vails: A Novel

by E. F. Benson

Then the spell and soothing of the stillness laid hold of him; the hour of action was near, the intolerable fret of anxiety nearly over. Inside the house that dark, keen-eyed man was not one whom the prudent would care to see in opposition (and on which side he was Geoffrey no longer entertained a doubt's shadow), nor, for that matter, was his lieutenant, the impassive, spurious Harry. By his unwilling means last summer had Mr. Francis made the first of his vile attempts; by his means, perhaps, this should be the last. Geoffrey could rest assured that they would do all that lay in the power of two very cool heads: his business was to see that his own part should not be less well done.

Some years ago—or was the stroke still resonant?—half past ten had struck on the stable clock; and since eleven had not yet sounded, it was earlier than he had suspected, when there came a noise which sent his heart hammering for a moment in his throat. He could not at once localize or identify it, and, though still obscure and muffled, he had only just decided that it could not be very far off, before he guessed what it was. Its direction and its nature came to him together: some vehicle was being cautiously driven over the grass toward the house from the stables, and on the moment he caught sight of it. It was moving at a very slow pace, more than half drowned in the mist, and all he could see of it was the head and back of a horse, the head and shoulders of the man who led it, and the box seat and rail of some vehicle of the wagonette type. It reached the gravel walk with a crisp, crunching sound, and drew up there. Then he heard the unmistakable rattle of the brake being put hard on, and the man, tying the reins in a knot, looped them round the whip-holder. He then left it, not forty yards from where Geoffrey sat, and was swallowed up in the fog going toward the house. The curtain was up for the second act. What had the first been?

The thing had passed so quickly and silently that he could almost have believed that his imagination had played him some trick, were it not for the sight of that truncated horse and carriage which testified to its reality. There, without doubt, was the carriage from the stables, of which Jim had told them; but he could not have sworn to the identity of the man who led it, in the uncertain light. And he picked up his rifle and laid it across his knees, prepared again to wait.

Soon afterward eleven struck, and, while the strokes were still vibrating, came the second interruption to his silent waiting. Out of the mist between the wagonette and the house dimly appeared two heads moving slowly toward the carriage, and rising gradually as they climbed the slope above the level mist, till they were distinct and clear as far as the shoulders. They walked about a yard apart, and words low and inaudible to the watcher passed between them. Arrived at the carriage, they seemed to set something down, and then with an effort hoist it into the body of the vehicle. And as they again raised themselves, Geoffrey saw that the one head sparkled whitely in the moonshine, and he well knew to whom those venerable locks belonged. Then there came audible words.

"Come back, then, Sanders," said Mr. Francis, "and wait at the top of the back stairs, while I go very gently to his room to see if it is all right. In any case I shall use the chloroform. Then, when I call you, come and help me to carry him down to the plate closet. There I shall leave you, and go back to bed. Afterward, drive hard to the village, leave the plate at the cottage I told you of, and bring the doctor back. Are you ready? Where is the—ah! thank you. No, I prefer to carry it myself. The Luck! the Luck! At last—at last!"

He raised a hand above his head; it grasped a case. The man's face was turned upward toward the moon, and Geoffrey, looking thereon, could scarcely stifle an exclamation of horror.

"It is not a man's face," he said to himself. "It is some mad incarnation of Satan!"

In another minute all was silent again, the inhuman figures had vanished; again only the section of horse and cart appeared above the mist. For a moment Geoffrey hesitated, unwilling by any possible risk to lose the ultimate success, but the chance of being heard or seen by those retreated figures was infinitesimal, and he crept crouchingly down the slope to where the wagonette stood. Then, opening the door, he lifted out, exerting his whole strength, the load the two had put there, and, bent double under the ponderous weight, made his way back to the summerhouse. The burden clinked and rang as he moved: there could be no doubt what his prize was.

He had not long been back at his post when muffled, rapid footsteps again rivetted him, and he saw a moving dark shape coming with great swiftness up from the house. As before, with the rising of the ground, it grew freer of the mist, till when it reached the carriage he could easily recognise the head and shoulders of Sanders. Somehow, and if possible without the cost of human life, he must have stopped. He had already swung a small case easily recognisable by the watcher on to the box, and he himself was in the act of mounting, when an idea struck Geoffrey. Taking quick but careful aim, he fired at the horse, just below the ear. At so short a range a miss would have been an incredible thing, and with the report of the rifle the head sank out of sight into the mist.