The very night of the Corporal’s detention and release was the date of the first of these important matters. The hour was midnight, or rather more, when I got into bed. The day with me had been so arduous that no sooner did my head meet the pillow than I was asleep. I was aware of nothing till consciousness was restored to me all at once, and I found myself sitting up in the sheets and listening to strange sounds. It was very dark, and the wind outside still seemed to be crying with a night voice; but some unprecedented thing had surely taken place, else I should not have thus awoke to find all my senses strained and tense with apprehension. ’Twas a cold enough sensation to discover oneself sitting thus, with the darkness and silence of death enveloping the chamber. I was in the act of re-settling myself snugly for repose, when the cause of my awakening became apparent. Several muffled but heavy footfalls I heard just the hither side the curtains of my bed, and while I was fearfully speculating upon the nature of these sounds, for it was an eerie hour, I caught a noise as of the soft-closing of my chamber door. At first the horrid, quiet gloom, and the mystery of it all made a coward of me, and I drew the blankets convulsively about my head, and sought to subdue the ticking of my heart. But hearing them repeated in the corridor outside, curiosity managed to suppress my fears, and I stole from my bed to satisfy it. Opening the door with the tenderest care, I peeped cautiously across the threshold. The landing window being uncurtained, the long corridor leading to the stairs was sensibly lighter than my room. The cause of the alarm was immediately made plain. A dim figure was creeping painfully towards the stairs, and dark as it was, my excited eyes were keen enough to identify its faint outlines and its singular condition. ’Twas a man’s shape shuffling heavily along; one portion precariously supported by a stick, the other by a hand pressed against the wall. As soon as I discerned the details appertaining to him, I had read the riddle of his apparition. It was none other than my good friend Captain Grantley!
I slipped back into bed with all the sleep banished from my eyes. A remarkable trembling held me now in every joint. ’Twas a spasm of downright, arrant fear. Yea, my good friend, Captain Grantley, was verily the devil! Every day served to reveal in new and unexpected ways the depth and audacity of his wit. This further manifestation of it almost paralysed me. ’Twas no common cunning that had taught him to conceal for what must have been several days the right condition of his knee.
As I lay awake striving to find a means to check this latest move of my subtle enemy’s, several bitter facts were writ upon my mind. First, that I was not his match in craft, no matter how considerable my own; farther, that if by any chance he had found his way this night to the room of Prue, our game was lost. There was only one ray of comfort that his nocturnal expedition brought. It was that whatever might be his suspicions in regard to the prisoner’s presence in the house, he held no evidence wherewith to confirm them, else he had not gone night-walking to obtain it. But had this night-excursion given him the knowledge? ’Twas a baffling problem. However, I hoped and believed that he had been unable to visit the room of Prue, since for safety’s sake I insisted that she should promise to lock her door. Yet in dealing with a person of the Captain’s calibre, who shall make enough of an allowance for the scope of his talents and activities? Faith, I had learned to dread this subtle foe more utterly than anything since the bogies of my childhood! I do not think I should have feared him so could I only have killed the reluctant admiration that, in despite of myself, his skill commanded.
You may be sure that at the dawn’s appearance I rose earlier than my wont was; and while I made my toilette I sent a message to the masquerader to induce him to come abroad as early as he could, for I felt unable to enjoy any peace of mind until I had let him know his latest danger. And I was the more eager to confide in him, inasmuch as at a crisis he could display a fine intelligence.
I greeted him with this momentous question:
“Did you lock your chamber door last night, sir?”
“I did,” he answered.
“Then,” says I, “you may congratulate yourself on your escape.”
Therewith I retailed the remarkable experiences I had so lately undergone. While I did this I noted that his face grew very stern and ugly.
“Bab,” says he at the conclusion, “these playhouse tricks of ours will do well to have an ending. This Captain man is too devilish ingenious to be tolerated any more. He’s too early on the perch for us, Bab, and that’s a fact. He must either have his wings clipped, else I must fly away.”