Suddenly my father stopped short on his way to the door.
“Philip,” he said hoarsely, “do you remember whom we left at Ravenor waiting for Mr. Marx?”
For the moment I had forgotten it. We looked at one another and there crept into my mind the vision of a gaunt, desperate man, his white face and burning eyes filled with an unutterable fiendish longing. The same thought filled us both. If Mr. Marx made use of his private keys and went straight to the library at the castle, what would come of it?
I laid my hand upon my father’s arm.
“There is justice in the world after all,” I said hoarsely. “That man will kill him.”
Then we went out together without another word.
CHAPTER LV.
THE MYSTERY OF MR. MARX.
It was twenty minutes to eight when we arrived at Mellborough, and, as we had not sent word on, there was no carriage to meet us, nor, as it happened, any spare vehicle. After a brief word or two with the stationmaster, we decided to walk down into the town and order a fly.
When we reached the house, the butler stepped forward, his ruddy face blanched and his voice shaking.
“Thank God you are come, sir! The man you left here, he’s gone a raving lunatic, and he’s shut himself up there, and got your revolvers out, and swears that no one shall enter the room till you come.”