Complete weird tales of.., p.909
Complete Weird Tales of Robert W Chambers, page 909
Also let me admit to you — and I have already done so, I see — that, since I have been here, I have had daily lessons in English with a cultivated English woman; and in consequence I have been learning to enlarge a very meagre vocabulary, and have begun to appreciate possibilities in my own language of which I never dreamed.
About my personal appearance — as long as you ask me — I think perhaps that, were I less thin, I might be rather pretty. Dress makes such a vast difference in a plain girl. Also, intelligent care of one’s person improves mediocrity. Of course everybody says such gracious things to a girl over here that it would not do to accept any pretty compliment very literally. But I really believe that you might think me rather nice to look at.
As for the future, the truth is that I feel much encouraged. I made some drawings in wash and in pen and ink — just ideas of mine. And Monsieur Bonvard, who is editor of The Grey Cat — a very clever weekly — has accepted them and has paid me twenty-five francs each for them! I was so astonished that I could not believe it. One has been reproduced in last week’s paper. I have cut it out and pasted it in my scrapbook.
I think, take it all in all, that seeing my first illustrations printed has given me greater joy than I shall ever again experience on earth.
My daily intercourse with the Princess Mistchenka continues to comfort me, inspire me, and fill me with determination so to educate myself that when the time comes I shall be ready and able to support myself with pen and pencil.
And now I must bring my letter to its end. The prospect of seeing you very soon is agreeable beyond words. You have been very kind to me. I do not forget it.
Yours very sincerely,
Ruhannah Carew.
* * * * *
The enclosure was a note from the Princess Mistchenka:
* * * * *
Dear Jim:
If in the past it has been my good fortune to add anything to yours, may I now invoke in you the memory of our very frank and delightful friendship?
When you first returned to America from Paris I found it possible to do for you a few favours in the way of making you known to certain editors. It was, I assure you, merely because I liked you and believed in your work, not because I ever expected to ask from you any favour in return.
Now, Fate has thrown an odd combination from her dice-box; and Destiny has veiled herself so impenetrably that nobody can read that awful visage to guess what thoughts possess her.
You, in America, have heard of the murder of the Austrian Archduke, of course. But — have you, in America, any idea what the consequences of that murder may lead to?
Enough of that. Now for the favour I ask.
Will you go at once to Brookhollow, go to Ruhannah’s house, open it, take from it a chest made of olive wood and bound with some metal which looks like silver, lock the box, take it to New York, place it in a safe deposit vault until you can sail for Paris on the first steamer that leaves New York?
Will you do this — get the box I have described and bring it to me yourself on the first steamer that sails?
And, Jim, keep your eye on the box. Don’t trust anybody near it. Rue says that, as she recollects, the box is about the size and shape of a suitcase and that it has a canvas and leather cover with a handle which buttons over it.
Therefore, you can carry it yourself exactly as though it were your suitcase, keep it with you in the train and on shipboard.
Will you do this, Jim? It is much to ask of you. I break in upon your work and cause you great inconvenience and trouble and expense. But — will you do it for me?
Much depends upon your doing this. I think that possibly the welfare of your own country might depend on your doing this for me.
If you find yourself embarrassed financially, cable me just one word, “Black,” and I shall arrange matters through a New York bank.
If you feel that you do not care to do me this favour, cable the single word, “White.”
If you have sufficient funds, and are willing to bring the box to me yourself, cable the word, “Blue.”
In case that you undertake this business for me, be careful of the contents of the box. Let nobody see it open. Be certain that the contents are absolutely secure. I dare not tell you how vitally important to civilisation these papers already are — how much they may mean to the world; what powers of evil they might encourage if in any way they fall into other hands than the right ones.
Jim, I have seldom taken a very serious tone with you since we have known each other. I am very serious now. And if our friendship means anything to you, prove it!
Yours,
Naïa.
* * * * *
As he sat there in his studio, perplexed, amazed, annoyed, yet curious, trying to think out what he ought to do — what, in fact, must be done somehow or other — there came a ring at his door bell. A messenger with a cable despatch stood there; Neeland signed, tore open the envelope, and read:
* * * * *
Please go at once to Brookhollow and secure an olive-wood box bound with silver, containing military maps, plans, photographs, and papers written in German, property of Ruhannah Carew. Lose no time, I implore you, as an attempt to rob the house and steal the papers is likely. Beware of anybody resembling a German. Have written, but beg you not to wait for letter.
Naïa.
* * * * *
Twice he reread the cablegram. Then, with a half-bewildered, half-disgusted glance around at his studio, his belongings, the unfinished work on his easel, he went to the telephone.
It being July he had little difficulty in reserving a good stateroom on the Cunarder Volhynia, sailing the following day. Then, summoning the janitor, he packed a steamer trunk and gave order to have it taken aboard that evening.
On his way downtown to his bank he stopped at a telegraph and cable office and sent a cable message to the Princess Mistchenka. The text consisted of only one word: “Blue.”
He departed for Gayfield on the five o’clock afternoon train, carrying with him a suitcase and an automatic pistol in his breast pocket.
CHAPTER XIV
A JOURNEY BEGINS
IT WAS A five-hour trip. He dined aboard the train with little desire for food, the July evening being oppressive, and a thunder storm brewing over the Hudson. It burst in the vicinity of Fishkill with a lively display of lightning, deluging the Catskills with rain. And when he changed to a train on the Mohawk division the cooler air was agreeably noticeable.
He changed trains again at Orangeville, and here the night breeze was delightful and the scent of rain-soaked meadows came through the open car window.
It was nearly ten o’clock and already, ahead, he caught sight of the lights of Neeland’s Mills. Always the homecoming was a keen delight to him; and now, as he stepped off the train, the old familiar odours were in his nostrils — the unique composite perfume of the native place which never can be duplicated elsewhere.
All the sweet and aromatic and homely smells of earth and land and water came to him with his first deep-drawn breath. The rank growth of wild flowers and weeds were part of it — the flat atmosphere of the mill pond, always redolent of water weed and lily pads, tinctured it; distant fields of buckwheat added heavier perfume.
Neither in the quaint brick feed mill nor in the lumber mill were there any lights, but in his own home, almost buried among tall trees and vines, the light streamed from the sitting-room windows.
From the dark yard two or three dogs barked at him, then barked again in a different key, voicing an excited welcome; and he opened the picket gate and went up the path surrounded by demonstrative setters and pointers, leaping and wagging about him and making a vast amount of noise on the vine-covered verandah as he opened the door, let himself into the house, and shut them out.
“Hello, dad!” he said, crossing swiftly to where his father sat by the reading lamp.
Their powerful grip lingered. Old Dick Neeland, ruddy, white-haired, straight as a pine, stood up in his old slippers and quilted smoking coat, his brier pipe poised in his left hand.
“Splendid, Jim. I’ve been thinking about you this evening.” He might have added that there were few moments when his son was not in his thoughts.
“Are you all right, dad?”
“Absolutely. You are, too, I see.”
They seated themselves.
“Hungry, Jim?”
“No; I dined aboard.”
“You didn’t telegraph me.”
“No; I came at short notice.”
“Can’t you stay?”
“Dad, I have a drawing-room reserved for the midnight tonight, and I am sailing on the Volhynia tomorrow at nine in the morning!”
“God bless me! Why, Jim?”
“Dad, I’ll tell you all I know about it.”
His father sat with brier pipe suspended and keen blue eyes fixed on his son, while the son told everything he knew about the reason for his flying trip to Paris.
“You see how it is, don’t you, dad?” he ended. “The Princess has been a good and loyal friend to me. She has used her influence; I have met, through her, the people I ought to know, and they have given me work to do. I’m in her debt; I’m under real obligation to her. And I’ve got to go, that’s all.”
Old Dick Neeland’s clear eyes of a sportsman continued to study his son’s face.
“Yes, you’ve got to go,” he said. He smoked for a few moments, then: “What the devil does it mean, anyway? Have you any notion, Jim?”
“No, I haven’t. There seems to be some military papers in this box that is mentioned. Evidently they are of value to somebody. Evidently other people have got wind of that fact and desire to obtain them for themselves. It almost seems as though something is brewing over there — trouble of some sort between Germany and some other nation. But I haven’t heard of anything.”
His father continued to smoke for a while, then:
“There is something brewing over there, Jim.”
“I hadn’t heard,” repeated the young man.
“I haven’t either, directly. But in my business some unusual orders have come through — from abroad. Both France and Germany have been making inquiries through agents in regard to shipments of grain and feed and lumber. I’ve heard of several very heavy rush orders.”
“What on earth could cause war?”
“I can’t see, Jim. Of course Austria’s attitude toward Servia is very sullen. But outside of that I can see no trouble threatening.
“And yet, the Gayfield woollen mill has just received an enormous order for socks and underwear from the French Government. They’re running all night now. And another thing struck me: there has been a man in this section buying horses for the British Government. Of course it’s done now and then, but, taking this incident with the others which have come to my personal knowledge, it would seem as though something were brewing over in Europe.”
Jim’s perplexed eyes rested on his father; he shook his youthful head slightly:
“I can’t see why,” he said. “But if it’s to be France and Germany again, why my sympathy is entirely for France.”
“Naturally,” nodded his father.
Their Irish ancestors had fought for Bonaparte, and for the Bourbons before him. And, cursed with cousins, like all Irish, they were aware of plenty of Neelands in France who spoke no English.
Jim rose, glanced at his watch:
“Dad, I’ll just be running over to Brookhollow to get that box. I haven’t such a lot of time, if I’m to catch the midnight train at Orangeville.”
“I should say you hadn’t,” said his father.
He was disappointed, but he smiled as he exchanged a handclasp with his only son.
“You’re coming right back from Paris?”
“Next steamer. I’ve a lot of work on hand, thank goodness! But that only puts me under heavier obligations to the Princess Mistchenka.”
“Yes, I suppose so. Anything but ingratitude, Jim. It’s the vilest vice of ’em all. They say it’s in the Irish blood — ingratitude. They must never prove it by a Neeland. Well, my boy — I’m not lonesome, you understand; busy men have no time to be lonesome — but run up, will you, when you get back?”
“You bet I will.”
“I’ll show you a brace of promising pups. They stand rabbits, still, but they won’t when the season is over.”
“Blue Bird’s pups?”
“Yes. They take after her.”
“Fine! I’ll be back for the shooting, anyway. Many broods this season?”
“A fair number. It was not too wet.”
For a moment they lingered, smiling at each other, then Jim gave his father’s hand a quick shake, picked up his suitcase, turned.
“I’ll take the runabout, dad. Someone from the Orangeville garage will bring it over in the morning.”
He went out, pushed his way among the leaping dogs to the garage, threw open the doors, and turned on the electric light.
A slim and trim Snapper runabout stood glistening beside a larger car and two automobile trucks. He exchanged his straw hat for a cap; placed hat and suitcase in the boot; picked up a flash light from the work-table, and put it into his pocket, cranked the Snapper, jumped in, ran it to the service entrance, where his father stood ready to check the dogs and close the gates after him.
“Good-bye, dad!” he called out gaily.
“Good-bye, my son.”
The next instant he was speeding through the starry darkness, following the dazzling path blazed out for him by his headlights.
CHAPTER XV
THE LOCKED HOUSE
FROM THE ROAD, just before he descended to cross the bridge into Brookhollow, he caught a gleam of light straight ahead. For a moment it did not occur to him that there was anything strange in his seeing a light in the old Carew house. Then, suddenly, he realised that a light ought not to be burning behind the lowered shades of a house which was supposed to be empty and locked.
His instant impulse was to put on his brakes then and there, but the next moment he realised that his car must already have been heard and seen by whoever had lighted that shaded lamp. The car was already on the old stone bridge; the Carew house stood directly behind the crossroads ahead; and he swung to the right into the creek road and sped along it until he judged that neither his lights nor the sound of his motor could be distinguished by the unknown occupant of the Carew house.
Then he ran his car out among the tall weeds close to the line of scrub willows edging the creek; extinguished his lights, including the tail-lamp; left his engine running; stood listening a moment to the whispering whirr of his motor; then, taking the flash light from his pocket, he climbed over the roadside wall and ran back across the pasture toward the house.
As he approached the old house from the rear, no crack of light was visible, and he began to think he might have been mistaken — that perhaps the dancing glare of his own acetylenes on the windows had made it seem as though they were illuminated from within.
Cautiously he prowled along the rear under the kitchen windows, turned the corner, and went to the front porch.
He had made no mistake; a glimmer was visible between the edge of the lowered shade and the window casing.
Was it some impudent tramp who had preëmpted this lonely house for a night’s lodging? Was it, possibly, a neighbour who had taken charge in return for a garden to cultivate and a place to sleep in? Yet, how could it be the latter when he himself had the keys to the house? Moreover, such an arrangement could scarcely have been made by Rue Carew without his being told of it.
Then he remembered what the Princess Mistchenka had said in her cable message, that somebody might break into the house and steal the olive-wood box unless he hastened to Brookhollow and secured it immediately.
Was this what was being done now? Had somebody broken in for that purpose? And who might it be?
A slight chill, not entirely agreeable, passed over Neeland. A rather warm sensation of irritation succeeded it; he mounted the steps, crossed the verandah, went to the door and tried the knob very cautiously. The door was locked; whoever might be inside either possessed a key that fitted or else must have entered by forcing a window.
But Neeland had neither time nor inclination to prowl around and investigate; he had a duty to fulfil, a train to catch, and a steamer to connect with the next morning. Besides, he was getting madder every second.
So he fitted his key to the door, careless of what noise he made, unlocked and pushed it open, and started to cross the threshold.
Instantly the light in the adjoining room grew dim. At the same moment his quick ear caught a sound as though somebody had blown out the turned-down flame; and he found himself facing total darkness.
“Who the devil’s in there!” he called, flashing his electric pocket lamp. “Come out, whoever you are. You’ve no business in this house, and you know it!” And he entered the silent room.
His flash light revealed nothing except dining-room furniture in disorder, the doors of a cupboard standing open — one door still gently swinging on its hinges.
The invisible hand that had moved it could not be far away. Neeland, throwing his light right and left, caught a glimpse of another door closing stealthily, ran forward and jerked it open. His lamp illuminated an empty passageway; he hurried through it to the door that closed the farther end, tore it open, and deluged the sitting-room with his blinding light.
Full in the glare, her face as white as the light itself, stood a woman. And just in time his eyes caught the glitter of a weapon in her stiffly extended hand; and he snapped off his light and ducked as the level pistol-flame darted through the darkness.
The next second he had her in his grasp; held her writhing and twisting; and, through the confused trample and heavy breathing, he noticed a curious crackling noise as though the clothing she wore were made of paper.
The struggle in pitch darkness was violent but brief; she managed to fire again as he caught her right arm and felt along it until he touched the desperately clenched pistol. Then, still clutching her closed fingers, he pulled the flash light from his side pocket and threw its full radiance straight into her face.
