Collected works of j s f.., p.738
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 738
And as I crossed the old bridge, in the opening murmur of a coming storm, I had an illumination which came as suddenly as the first flash of lightning that followed just afterwards. It had been a matter of astonishment to me all day long that nobody, with the exception of the one man at East Ord, had noticed Maisie as she went along the road between Berwick and Mindrum on the previous evening — now I remembered, blaming myself for not having remembered it before, that there was a short cut, over a certain right-of-way, through the grounds of Hathercleugh House, which would save her a good three miles in her journey. She would naturally be anxious to get to her aunt as quickly as possible; she would think of the nearest way — she would take it. And now I began to understand the whole thing: Maisie had gone into the grounds of Hathercleugh, and — she had never left them!
The realization made me sick with fear. The idea of my girl being trapped by such a villain as I firmly believed the man whom we knew as Sir Gilbert Carstairs to be was enough to shake every nerve in my body; but to think that she had been in his power for twenty-four hours, alone, defenceless, brought on me a faintness that was almost beyond sustaining. I felt physically and mentally ill — weak. And yet, God knows! there never was so much as a thought of defeat in me. What I felt was that I must get there, and make some effort that would bring the suspense to an end for both of us. I was beginning to see how things might be — passing through those grounds she might have chanced on something, or somebody, or Sir Gilbert himself, who, naturally, would not let anybody escape him that could tell anything of his whereabouts. But if he was at Hathercleugh, what of the tale which Hollins had told us the night before? — nay, that very morning, for it was after midnight when he sat there in Mr. Lindsey’s parlour. And, suddenly, another idea flashed across me — Was that tale true, or was the man telling us a pack of lies, all for some end? Against that last notion there was, of course, the torn scrap of letter to be set; but — but supposing that was all part of a plot, meant to deceive us while these villains — taking Hollins to be in at the other man’s game — got clear away in some totally different direction? If it was, then it had been successful, for we had taken the bait, and all attention was being directed on Glasgow, and none elsewhere, and — as far as I knew — certainly none at Hathercleugh itself, whither nobody expected Sir Gilbert to come back.
But these were all speculations — the main thing was to get to Hathercleugh, acting on the hint I had just got from Scott, and to take a look round the old part of the big house, as far as I could. There was no difficulty about getting there — although I had small acquaintance with the house and grounds, never having been in them till the night of my visit to Sir Gilbert Carstairs. I knew the surroundings well enough to know how to get in amongst the shrubberies and coppices — I could have got in there unobserved in the daytime, and it was now black night. I had taken care to extinguish my lamp as soon as I got clear of the Border Bridge, and now, riding along in the darkness, I was secure from the observation of any possible enemy. And before I got to the actual boundaries of Hathercleugh, I was off the bicycle, and had hidden it in the undergrowth at the roadside; and instead of going into the grounds by the right-of-way which I was convinced Maisie must have taken, I climbed a fence and went forward through a spinny of young pine in the direction of the house. Presently I had a fine bit of chance guidance to it — as I parted the last of the feathery branches through which I had quietly made my way, and came out on the edge of the open park, a vivid flash of lightning showed me the great building standing on its plateau right before me, a quarter of a mile off, its turrets and gables vividly illuminated in the glare. And when that glare passed, as quickly as it had come, and the heavy blackness fell again, there was a gleam of light, coming from some window or other, and I made for that, going swiftly and silently over the intervening space, not without a fear that if anybody should chance to be on the watch another lightning flash might reveal my advancing figure.
But there had been no more lightning by the time I reached the plateau on which Hathercleugh was built; then, however, came a flash that was more blinding than the last, followed by an immediate crash of thunder right overhead. In that flash I saw that I was now close to the exact spot I wanted — the ancient part of the house. I saw, too, that between where I stood and the actual walls there was no cover of shrubbery or coppice or spinny — there was nothing but a closely cropped lawn to cross. And in the darkness I crossed it, there and then, hastening forward with outstretched hands which presently came against the masonry. In the same moment came the rain in torrents. In the same moment, too, came something else that damped my spirits more than any rains, however fierce and heavy, could damp my skin — the sense of my own utter helplessness. There I was — having acted on impulse — at the foot of a mass of grey stone which had once been impregnable, and was still formidable! I neither knew how to get in, nor how to look in, if that had been possible; and I now saw that in coming at all I ought to have come accompanied by a squad of police with authority to search the whole place, from end to end and top to bottom. And I reflected, with a grim sense of the irony of it, that to do that would have been a fine long job for a dozen men — what, then, was it that I had undertaken single-handed?
It was at this moment, as I clung against the wall, sheltering myself as well as I could from the pouring rain, that I heard through its steady beating an equally steady throb as of some sort of machine. It was a very subdued, scarcely apparent sound, but it was there — it was unmistakable. And suddenly — though in those days we were only just becoming familiar with them — I knew what it was — the engine of some sort of automobile; but not in action; the sound came from the boilers or condensers, or whatever the things were called which they used in the steam-driven cars. And it was near by — near at my right hand, farther along the line of the wall beneath which I was cowering. There was something to set all my curiosity aflame! — what should an automobile be doing there, at that hour — for it was now nearing well on to midnight — and in such close proximity to a half-ruinous place like that? And now, caring no more for the rain than if it had been a springtide shower, I slowly began to creep along the wall in the direction of the sound.
And here you will understand the situation of things better, if I say that the habitable part of Hathercleugh was a long way from the old part to which I had come. The entire mass of building, old and new, was of vast extent, and the old was separated from the new by a broken and utterly ruinous wing, long since covered over with ivy. As for the old itself, there was a great square tower at one corner of it, with walls extending from its two angles; it was along one of these walls that I was now creeping. And presently — the sound of the gentle throbbing growing slightly louder as I made my way along — I came to the tower, and to the deep-set gateway in it, and I knew at once that in that gateway there was an automobile drawn up, all ready for being driven out and away.
Feeling quietly for the corner of the gateway, I looked round, cautiously, lest a headlight on the car should betray my presence. But there was no headlight, and there was no sound beyond the steady throb of the steam and the ceaseless pouring of the rain behind me. And then, as I looked, came a third flash of lightning, and the entire scene was lighted up for me — the deep-set gateway with its groined and arched roof, the grim walls at each side, the dark massive masonry beyond it, and there, within the shelter, a small, brand-new car, evidently of fine and powerful make, which even my inexperienced eyes knew to be ready for departure from that place at any moment. And I saw something more during that flash — a half-open door in the wall to the left of the car, and the first steps of a winding stair.
As the darkness fell again, blacker than ever, and the thunder crashed out above the old tower, I stole along the wall to that door, intending to listen if aught were stirring within, or on the stairs, or in the rooms above. And I had just got my fingers on the rounded pillar of the doorway, and the thunder was just dying to a grumble, when a hand seized the back of my neck as in a vice, and something hard, and round, and cold pressed itself insistingly into my right temple. It was all done in the half of a second; but I knew, just as clearly as if I could see it, that a man of no ordinary strength had gripped me by the neck with one hand, and was holding a revolver to my head with the other.
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE BARGAIN
IT MAY BE that when one is placed in such a predicament as that in which I then found myself, one’s wits are suddenly sharpened, and a new sense is given to one. Whether that is so or not, I was as certain as if I actually saw him that my assailant was the butler, Hollins. And I should have been infinitely surprised if any other voice than his had spoken — as he did speak when the last grumble of the thunder died out in a sulky, reluctant murmur.
“In at that door, and straight up the stairs, Moneylaws!” he commanded. “And quick, if you don’t want your brains scattering. Lively, now!”
He trailed the muzzle of the revolver round from my temple to the back of my head as he spoke, pressing it into my hair in its course in a fashion that was anything but reassuring. I have often thought since of how I expected the thing to go off at any second, and how I was — for it’s a fact — more curious than frightened about it. But the sense of self-preservation was on me, self-assertive enough, and I obliged him, stumbling in at the door under the pressure of his strong arm and of the revolver, and beginning to boggle at the first steps — old and much worn ones, which were deeply hollowed in the middle. He shoved me forward.
“Up you go,” he said, “straight ahead! Put your arms up and out — in front of you till you feel a door — push it open.”
He kept one hand on the scruff of my neck — too tightly for comfort — and with the other pressed the revolver into the cavity just above it, and in this fashion we went up. And even in that predicament I must have had my wits about me, for I counted two-and-twenty steps. Then came the door — a heavy, iron-studded piece of strong oak, and it was slightly open, and as I pushed it wider in the darkness, a musty, close smell came from whatever was within.
“No steps,” said he, “straight on! Now then, halt — and keep halting! If you move one finger, Moneylaws, out fly your brains! No great loss to the community, my lad — but I’ve some use for them yet.”
He took his hand away from my neck, but the revolver was still pressed into my hair, and the pressure never relaxed. And suddenly I heard a snap behind me, and the place in which we stood was lighted up — feebly, but enough to show me a cell-like sort of room, stone-walled, of course, and destitute of everything in the furnishing way but a bit of a cranky old table and a couple of three-legged stools on either side of it. With the released hand he had snapped the catch of an electric pocket-lamp, and in its blue glare he drew the revolver away from my head, and stepping aside, but always covering me with his weapon, motioned me to the further stool. I obeyed him mechanically, and he pulled the table a little towards him, sat down on the other stool, and, resting his elbow on the table ledge, poked the revolver within a few inches of my nose.
“Now, we’ll talk for a few minutes, Moneylaws,” he said quietly, “Storm or no storm, I’m bound to be away on my business, and I’d have been off now if it hadn’t been for your cursed peeping and prying. But I don’t want to kill you, unless I’m obliged to, so you’ll just serve your own interests best if you answer a question or two and tell no lies. Are there more of you outside or about?”
“Not to my knowledge!” said I.
“You came alone?” he asked.
“Absolutely alone,” I replied.
“And why?” he demanded.
“To see if I could get any news of Miss Dunlop,” I answered.
“Why should you think to find Miss Dunlop here — in this old ruin?” he argued; and I could see he was genuinely curious. “Come now — straight talk, Moneylaws! — and it’ll be all the better for you.”
“She’s missing since last night,” I replied. “It came to me that she likely took a short cut across these grounds, and that in doing so she fell in with Sir Gilbert — or with you — and was kept, lest she should let out what she’d seen. That’s the plain truth, Mr. Hollins.”
He was keeping his eyes on me just as steadily as he kept the revolver, and I saw from the look in them that he believed me.
“Aye!” he said. “I see you can draw conclusions, if it comes to it. But — did you keep that idea of yours strictly to yourself, now?”
“Absolutely!” I repeated.
“You didn’t mention it to a soul?” he asked searchingly.
“Not to a soul!” said I. “There isn’t man, woman, or child knows I’m here.”
I thought he might have dropped the muzzle of the revolver at that, but he still kept it in a line with my nose and made no sign of relaxing his vigilance. But, as he was silent for the moment, I let out a question at him.
“It’ll do you no harm to tell me the truth, Mr. Hollins,” I said. “Do you know anything about Miss Dunlop? Is she safe? You’ve maybe had a young lady yourself one time or another — you’ll understand what I’m feeling about it?”
He nodded solemnly at that and in quite a friendly way.
“Aye!” he answered. “I understand your feelings well enough, Moneylaws — and I’m a man of sentiment, so I’ll tell you at once that the lass is safe enough, and there’s not as much harm come to her as you could put on a sixpence — so there! But — I’m not sure yet that you’re safe yourself,” he went on, still eyeing me consideringly. “I’m a soft-hearted man, Moneylaws — or else you wouldn’t have your brains in their place at this present minute!”
“There’s a mighty lot of chance of my harming you, anyway!” said I, with a laugh that surprised myself. “Not so much as a penknife on me, and you with that thing at my head.”
“Aye! — but you’ve got a tongue in that head,” said he. “And you might be using it! But come, now — I’m loth to harm you, and you’d best tell me a bit more. What’s the police doing?”
“What police do you mean?” I inquired.
“Here, there, everywhere, anywhere!” he exclaimed. “No quibbles, now! — you’ll have had plenty of information.”
“They’re acting on yours,” I retorted. “Searching about Glasgow for Sir Gilbert and Lady Carstairs — you put us on to that, Mr. Hollins.”
“I had to,” he answered. “Aye, I put Lindsey on to it, to be sure — and he took it all in like it was gospel, and so did all of you! It gained time, do you see, Moneylaws — it had to be done.”
“Then — they aren’t in Glasgow?” I asked.
He shook his big head solemnly at that, and something like a smile came about the corners of his lips.
“They’re not in Glasgow, nor near it,” he answered readily, “but where all the police in England — and in Scotland, too, for that matter— ‘ll find it hard to get speech with them. Out of hand, Moneylaws! — out of hand, d’ye see — for the police!”
He gave a sort of chuckle when he said this, and it emboldened me to come to grips with him — as far as words went.
“Then what harm can I do you, Mr. Hollins?” I asked. “You’re not in any danger that I know of.”
He looked at me as if wondering whether I wasn’t trying a joke on him, and after staring a while he shook his head.
“I’m leaving this part — finally,” he answered. “That’s Sir Gilbert’s brand-new car that’s all ready for me down the stairs; and as I say, whether it’s storm or no storm, I must be away. And there’s just two things I can do, Moneylaws — I can lay you out on the floor here, with your brains running over your face, or I can — trust to your honour!”
We looked at each other for a full minute in silence — our eyes meeting in the queer, bluish light of the electric pocket-lamp which he had set on the table before us. Between us, too, was that revolver — always pointing at me out of its one black eye.
“If it’s all the same to you, Mr. Hollins,” said I at length, “I’d prefer you to trust to my honour. Whatever quality my brains may have, I’d rather they were used than misused in the way you’re suggesting! If it’s just this — that you want me to hold my tongue—”
“I’ll make a bargain with you,” he broke in on me. “You’d be fine and glad to see your sweetheart, Moneylaws, and assure yourself that she’s come to no harm, and is safe and well?”
“Aye! I would that!” I exclaimed. “Give me the chance, Mr. Hollins!”
“Then give me your word that whatever happens, whatever comes, you’ll not mention to the police that you’ve seen me tonight, and that whenever you’re questioned you’ll know nothing about me!” he said eagerly. “Twelve hours’ start — aye, six! — means safety to me, Moneylaws. Will you keep silence?”
“Where’s Miss Dunlop?” asked I.
“You can be with her in three minutes,” he answered, “if you’ll give me your word — and you’re a truthful lad, I think — that you’ll both bide where you are till morning, and that after that you’ll keep your tongue quiet. Will you do that?”
“She’s close by?” I demanded.
“Over our heads,” he said calmly. “And you’ve only to say the word—”
“It’s said, Mr. Hollins!” I exclaimed. “Go your ways! I’ll never breathe a syllable of it to a soul! Neither in six, nor twelve, nor a thousand hours! — your secret’s safe enough with me — so long as you keep your word about her — and just now!”
He drew his free hand off the table, still watching me, and still keeping up the revolver, and from a drawer in the table between us pulled out a key and pushed it over.
“There’s a door behind you in yon corner,” he said. “And you’ll find a lantern at its foot — you’ve matches on you, no doubt. And beyond the door there’s another stair that leads up to the turret, and you’ll find her there — and safe — and so — go your ways, now, Moneylaws, and I’ll go mine!”
