The Brown Mask

by Percy James Brebner

Most of the windows in the Abbey were dark when Rosmore crossed the bridge to the terrace and walked lightly towards the ruins, careful to let the shadows hide him as much as possible. Entering the ruins, he drew the case from his pocket and took out the key. By Martin's tower he stood for a moment to listen, but no sound came to startle him, and he fitted the key into the lock. The door opened easily, and Rosmore entered, closing it again and locking it on the inside. Gently as he did it, the sound echoed weirdly up the winding stairs. The door at the top, and that of Martin's room, hung broken on their hinges. Nothing had been done to them since the night they were forced open in the attempt to capture Gilbert Crosby; nor did it appear that Martin had occupied his room since then. The piece of candle was still upon the shelf, fastened to it with its own grease, and Lord Rosmore lit it. Then he drew the papers from the case, and turned to one portion of the writing. He had already studied it carefully, but he read it once again, and, bending down to the hearth, felt eagerly along the coping which surrounded it. His fingers touched a slight projection, which he pressed inwards and downwards. It moved a little, but some few moments elapsed before he succeeded in making the exact motion necessary, when the front portion of the hearth was depressed and slid back silently.—Taking the piece of candle in his hand, Rosmore stepped into the opening and went cautiously down the narrow twisting stairs, without attempting to shut the secret entrance. The instructions contained in the leather case were exact, even to a rough calculation of the value of the treasure hidden below the Abbey ruins. Rosmore came at last to a wide chamber, bare wall on one side, but on the other three sides were a series of arches, some of them framing recesses merely which were not uniform in depth, some of them forming entrances into other rooms. The corner arch at the further end was the one mentioned in the papers, and Rosmore went slowly across the stone floor, the feeble light of the candle casting weird shadows about him. For the first time the eeriness of the place forced itself upon him. These stone walls must have sheltered many a secret besides the one he had come to solve. Unholy deeds might well have happened here, and into his memory came crowding many a legend he had heard of Aylingford Abbey. Phantoms of the past might yet haunt these dark places, and to the man breaking into this silence alone ghosts were easy to believe in. Phantoms of the present might be there, too, for to-day vice was the ruling spirit of the Abbey, and there were those who declared that evil might take shape and in an appointed hour deal out punishment to its votaries.

Rosmore found an effort necessary to retain his courage as he went towards the opposite corner. The light, held above his head, fell quivering into the recess there, and touched a great oak coffer, massively made, and heavily bound with iron. It was exactly as the papers said, and therein lay the treasure, gold and jewels—the wealth of the Indies, as the writing called it. He stood for a moment looking at the recess, and then, as he took a hasty step forward, he started, and a sharp hiss of indrawn breath came from his lips. A sudden sound had struck upon his ear, a grating noise, then silence, then light footsteps. In a moment Rosmore had blown out the candle, his one idea being to hide himself; fear caught him, the darkness was so great. Who was it? What was it coming towards him with those stealthy steps? Nearer they came, and from one of the arches a faint glimmer of light, as though the old walls were growing luminous, and a man carrying a lantern entered the chamber and stood there, raising the lantern above his head. It was Sir John Lanison. A little sigh of relief escaped from Rosmore. He had only flesh and blood to deal with, a man full of foolish superstition. He, too, must have come seeking treasure, but which way had he come, and how had he found the courage to embark on such an adventure? Must two participate in this treasure after all! No, however great it might be, Rosmore wanted it all. He would not share it with any man. A word growled in the darkness would terrify the superstitious Sir John; he would flee as though ten thousand devils were at his heels, or perchance the sudden terror might kill him. The alternative did not trouble Lord Rosmore, and he smiled as Sir John came slowly towards him, holding the lantern close to the floor that he might not step into some hole. As the light came close to his motionless figure, Rosmore uttered a low cry, weird enough to startle the bravest man. It may have startled Sir John, but he did not shriek out in fear nor turn to flee. He raised the lantern sharply, and it hardly trembled in his hand.

"Rosmore!" he exclaimed.

Rosmore was so taken back by this strange courage that he did not answer at once, and the two men stood with the raised lantern lighting both their faces.

* * * * *

When Martin Fairley had left him down in the Nun's Room, Sir John had been terrified. He had shouted for help to no purpose, and he was not released until early on the following morning. How he came to be there he did not explain. He went to his own room, and gave instructions that he was not to be disturbed. Once alone, his mind became active, and he shook himself free from his fear. Wealth was within his grasp. That Martin had run away and left him did not shake his belief. Martin was a madman, not responsible for his actions from one moment to another, but in his trance he had seen this treasure, therefore it was there, Sir John argued. More, the entrance to it lay behind the Nun's hard couch; only a stone slab blocked the entrance. Greed took the place of fear, and it may be that Sir John was a little off his mental balance, and forgot to think of fear. He was certainly cunning enough to make plans and to carry them out secretly. He left his room unseen, and the Abbey by a small door seldom used; and, having secured a pick and a length of rope while the stable men were at their dinner, he went to the Nun's Room. He would chance anyone coming into the ruins and hearing him at work, and nobody did come. He fastened the rope round a piece of fallen masonry which was firmly embedded in the ground and lowered himself. He worked all the afternoon, and the stone slab was loose before he climbed out of the Nun's Room again. Then he went back and mixed with his guests for an hour or two, so that they might not grow anxious about him and come to look for him. Escaping from them with an excuse that he could not play to-night, and must retire early, he went again to the ruins and resumed his work by the light of a lantern. He had succeeded in gaining an entrance, the hidden treasure was a fact; his one idea was to get possession of it, and, absorbed in this thought, other sensations were dormant for the time being. He was so savage that anyone else should know the secret that he forgot to be afraid. When the lantern showed him who his rival was, there was no need to be afraid, for Lord Rosmore would assume that they could be partners in this as they had been in much else, and Sir John smiled, for he intended to free himself from such a partnership. He had a pistol with him, and since Rosmore had evidently come to the Abbey secretly, no one would be likely to look for him there.

"There are evidently two ways to the treasure, Sir John?" said Rosmore after a pause.

"And we have found them," was the answer. "It is lucky that no one else forestalled us. The treasure first. We may count it, and tell each other how we found it afterwards."

Lord Rosmore turned to the recess, and Sir John went eagerly forward with the lantern. The exact position of the treasure he had not known, but catching sight of the iron-bound box, he determined that no one should share its contents with him. He set down the lantern.

"The key in the lock!" he exclaimed. "It was foolish to leave it in the lock."