CHAPTER XXVI
FACE TO FACE
When Kent-Lauriston had disappeared in his bedroom, and closed the door, the Secretary, extinguishing his own candle, turned on his heel, and walked slowly back to the head of the stairs. It was easy to preserve an unruffled demeanour before his friend, but he was far from being as calm as he appeared.
All was not right in the house, he knew. Some mischief was afoot, and he meant to find out what it was, even though he dared not admit to himself some of the possibilities which it suggested.
He softly descended the stairs. Everything was silent. He moved the screen; the space behind it was vacant. Suddenly, his eye fell upon the smoking-room door, and he drew in his breath softly. There was a line of light showing under the crack. Yet he could have sworn that Kent-Lauriston had turned off the switch, and while he stood hesitating as to what it was best to do, a soft breath of wind upon his cheek caused him to make another discovery. The great front door was open. He stepped softly down the hall, and going out under the porte-cochère, cast his eyes over the driveway. No one was in sight. He was about to return to the house when he heard light steps coming down the hall. Drawing back into the shadow to escape observation, he waited. Someone was evidently leaving the house. A moment later, a hand was lightly laid upon the door, and it was closed behind him, before he could realise what was happening. He was shut out into the night.
His first impulse was to ring sharply for assistance. Second thoughts showed him the foolishness of such an attempt. It would be merely apprising the intruders of his presence, and long before a servant could be aroused and the bell could be answered, they would have made their escape.
The Secretary judged that shutting him out was unintentional. The persons, whoever they were, had hidden somewhere, till he had gone upstairs, had then slipped into the smoking-room, probably to arrange their plans, and coming out while he was on the lawn, and seeing the door ajar, had closed it, quite unconscious that by so doing they were putting their pursuer in a very awkward predicament.
However, the Secretary told himself that there was nothing to prevent him from seeing what was going on in the hall, and he hastened to make his way round to the side of the house where there were several large windows opening into that apartment. He had picked his way across several flower-beds, and was just turning the corner to approach the house when he was startled by seeing a dark figure loom up beside him, and feeling a hand lightly laid on his shoulder, and a whispered word of caution to be silent. Almost involuntarily, however, he exclaimed: —
"Inez! You here, and at this hour."
"Sh!" she said, "There are listeners. I, like you, am watching."
"Who are you watching?" he asked, softly.
"My husband."
"Your husband?"
"Yes," she replied. "Why has he entered this house secretly every night since he has been here?"
"You amaze me," said the Secretary. "How has it been possible for him to get in?"
"He has been aided by someone who opens the door for him."
"A man?"
"No, a woman."
The Secretary whistled softly.
"Well," he said, "we'll probe this mystery to the bottom. I, too, have heard suspicious noises in the passages to-night, and, coming down, after I had retired, to find out what they were, I was shut out from within, though I don't think they were aware of my presence. We must go round on the outside and see what we can through the windows."
"You can't," she said. "The approaches are protected by an iron fence with spikes."
"But surely there's a gate?"
"Yes, but it's always padlocked."
"We'll have a look at it, any way," he replied; and they approached and examined it closely.
The Secretary rattled the lock cautiously and found it old and shaky.
"I think I could smash this with a couple of bits of flint," he said, "and if I have a new lock put on at my own expense, my hostess will, under the circumstances, probably forgive me." And suiting the action to the word, he managed, by a few judicious blows, with two bits of stone, picked up from the driveway, to bend the hasp of the lock sufficiently to release it.
There being no further impediment to their progress they hastened through the gardens, and a moment later were standing outside one of the great hall windows whose lower panes were on a level with their faces. They could distinctly see three people, but their glances were riveted on a circle of light farther up the hall, a circle that shifted and danced over the surface of the secret door, flashing on the heads of the silver nails; a circle that was made by the lens of a small bull's-eye lantern, held in the grasp of a crouching figure whose back was turned towards them. By his side were two others, apparently a man and a woman, who seemed to be directing him at his work. For several minutes the little group presented their backs to the spectators, but at an incautious step of the Secretary's, which caused a dry twig to crackle, they all turned sharply round, the owner of the lantern throwing its rays full on the window outside which they were standing. The watchers drew back, in time evidently to escape detection, for the absence of footsteps and the recurrence, after a moment, of the curious sounds which Stanley had noticed from the smoking-room, assured him that they had once more returned to their work. The lantern, however, though it had failed to discover them, had, for a brief second, illumined the faces of the intruders, and both the Secretary and Madame Darcy recognised the trio. The man at work on the door was the Colonel; his assistants were Mr. Riddle and Miss Fitzgerald. The Secretary's worst suspicions were confirmed, and a smothered sob at his side told him that the discovery had inflicted no less keen a pang on his companion. She slipped down in a little heap on the ground, and he dropped on his knees beside her, whispering such consolation as he could without running the risk of being overheard.
"I knew it must be so," she said, "and yet I hoped against hope that he was not guilty of this last infamy."
Suddenly another thought seemed to have occurred to her.
"You knew," she said. "You must have known, and yet you did not tell me."
"My dear Inez," he said. "How could I, when my suspicions were directed against your own husband?"
"But why do I think of myself?" she said. "I am nothing. But it is you – you, that my heart bleeds for. I, too, concealed my suspicions for your sake."
"And you can think of me," he said, "at a time like this?"
"Of course," she replied. "Yours is the greater sorrow. I knew that my husband was bad – worthless – capable of anything. My eyes are only proving what my reason told me must be so. But with you, it is so much harder. This is the woman you loved, and, whom loving, you must have made your ideal. And now to find that she is – this." And she pressed his hand silently.
"Don't talk about it," said the Secretary.
"You don't quite understand."
"But what is to be done?" she said.
"Nothing, unless they show signs of success, and that I do not think likely. If the secret of the door has withstood the ingenuity of generations in the past, it is likely to do so in the future, unless they tried to force it, and that I think they'd hardly dare to do."
"Listen," she said. And the Secretary heard a noise of creaking, straining wood.
"They are trying to force it!" he cried, springing up and looking through the window. And she, following his lead, saw that Darcy was working with might and main with some burglar's tool after the nature of a lever. But though the old oaken door groaned in protest at such treatment, it never gave an inch, and the Colonel, removing his instrument, made a gesture of despair, and stood wiping the sweat from his brow.
"What does this all mean?" said Madame Darcy, as they slipped down again into their place of concealment.
"It means," said the Secretary shortly, "that your husband's secret instructions are behind that door, and from his eagerness to get them I should say that they contain a cipher of something that cannot be duplicated in the time at his command."
"I do not understand," she said.
"Well, if you must know the truth," he replied, "he's to take over the specie needed to defeat the treaty, and to get there in time he must sail from England in a few days."
She nodded mournfully.
"I supposed it was something like that," she said. "I knew Mr. Riddle had brought the gold. It is here."
"No," he said, "it's in the Victoria Street Branch of the Bank of England, in London."
"How was it sent up?"
"Lieutenant Kingsland took it."
"Is he a member of the conspiracy?"
"It appears so – but I am not certain. He may be an innocent dupe," replied the Secretary.
"And you let the specie go?" she asked.
"Yes," he said. "When I discovered where they were sending the chests I helped them. It's safer in the Bank than knocking round here, and I can prevent its being drawn out any time I wish."
"By the arrest of the conspirators?" she said.
"I hope that it won't be necessary to arrest anybody," he replied.
"Then you have some plan?"
"Yes. But I'm afraid you mustn't ask me what that is. Nor must you write a word of all this to your father. But I promise you that if it's possible I'll save your husband from open disgrace, and I think it will be."
"Thank you, thank you," she murmured. "You are indeed my friend," and her hand again sought his, and he quivered under her touch.
"Listen!" she said. "They're moving."
He raised himself cautiously, and looked through the window. The attempt for that night had evidently been given up. The three conspirators shook hands, and Miss Fitzgerald and Mr. Riddle stole softly upstairs, leaving Darcy to put his tools in a bag and let himself out. This he proceeded to do in a leisurely manner. Once his companions were out of sight, he again took out the lever, and made one more attempt to open the secret door, bending all his force to the task. Madame Darcy and the Secretary watched him breathlessly, but he was again unsuccessful, and with a disgusted shrug of his shoulders he relinquished the attempt.
His attacks on the door had, however, evidently marred the wood, and he produced from his receptacle a bottle of varnish and a brush, with which he proceeded to repair the traces of the damage. The Secretary's eyes, wandering from the Colonel, suddenly lighted on the figure of his friend, Kent-Lauriston, who had evidently been awakened by the returning footsteps of Darcy's companions as they sought their bedrooms, and who was now stealing downstairs to intercept the intruder.
Before Stanley could restrain his friend, Kent-Lauriston had softly approached the recumbent figure, so softly, indeed, that the Colonel, who was intent on trying to repair the door, did not hear him, and was aware of his presence only when a stout arm encircled his neck, throwing him backwards on the floor, where he lay, with his captor's knee upon his chest.
Stanley felt the need of being present also, and exerting his strength on the sash, found, to his great satisfaction, that the butler had neglected to bolt the window. With a quiet good-night to Madame Darcy, who slipped away in the darkness, he swung himself over the sill, and landing on his feet in the hall, joined the group, nodding to his friend as he did so.
"Ah, my fine fellow. Burgling, were you?" said Kent-Lauriston to his captive.
"You're mistaken," said the Secretary, stepping quietly up. "This is not a thief; it's only Colonel Darcy, engaged, if I mistake not, in an attempt to recover his lost property."
"I beg your pardon," returned Kent-Lauriston, releasing his prostrate foe; and turning to Stanley, he continued: "Lacking the fineness of perception bred of diplomatic training, I must confess I didn't see the subtle distinction."
Darcy rose deliberately, growling a surly something, which might have been equally well an apology or an oath, and snapped to the shutter of his dark lantern.
"Yes, we shan't need that light now, thank you," said Stanley, turning on the central lamp.
"Well, what are you going to do about it?" asked the Colonel, gruffly.
The diplomat was on his best behaviour.
"I'm so sorry," he said. "Of course, we did not know you were a caller. The ladies have retired, and I'm sure you don't want to see us; we won't detain you."
"I – " began Darcy, clenching his fist.
"Oh, I'll make your excuses to Mrs. Roberts," pursued the Secretary. "Don't trouble about that."
"I'll be damned if I'll tolerate this interference," burst out the Colonel.
"I'm sure you'll be the first, and will also endure the second, my dear sir," continued Stanley in his most suave tones. "So we'll say no more about it. The front door is easy to open, Colonel Darcy, as of course you know. Good-night."
CHAPTER XXVII
THE MARRIAGE REGISTER
On the morning which succeeded Stanley's midnight vigil, the Reverend Reginald Lambert was early at the little chapel, which was his great pride in life. The good old gentleman was never so happy as when he could induce any of the visitors at the Hall to give him an hour of their time to listen to his dissertations on the ecclesiastical history of the building; to examine its fragments of "dog-tooth," and discuss the meaning of that one "foliated capital," in a structure otherwise severely Saxon. He was even writing a little book on all these things; a volume which he fondly hoped might some day be given to the world. This morning, however, he must have been engaged on some work of special interest, in which he was so absorbed that time flew by unnoticed till his task was finished. He was just preparing to return to his rectory, when he received an unexpected visit from a lady, who requested permission to examine the marriage register.
The lady was a stranger to him, and was evidently of foreign extraction. She asked to see an old volume of the records, and took the occasion, when his back was turned, to hastily glance at the last matrimonial entry, for the marriage register lay open on the table, comparing the same with a line of handwriting which she had with her, and evincing surprise as well as satisfaction at the knowledge she derived therefrom.
A moment later, when the old man returned, she was, to all appearances, absorbed in the contemplation of an extremely repellent gargoyle.
The entry she desired was not to be found, was probably in some neighbouring parish, she suggested – a fact which the narrator thinks unlikely. She nevertheless passed a profitable hour, allowing the good parson to show her every nook and corner of his precious possession, and displaying an intelligent interest, which was as rare as it was gratifying.
But the morning had not yet revealed all its treasures to Mr. Lambert. Scarcely had the strange lady's footsteps died away, when another visitor, a new arrival at the Hall, put in an appearance; and avowed himself such an ardent enthusiast in all matters ancient and ecclesiastical, and, moreover, substantiated his pretensions to such a degree, that the old parson declared afterwards he had never had such a morning of perfect enjoyment in his life. Kent-Lauriston, for it was none other, exerted himself to interest his cicerone, and succeeded admirably. He possessed that rare gift of developing any topic that might be suggested by the person to whom he was talking, of making it his own, and at the same time causing his companion to believe that he was contributing, in no small part, to the brilliancy of the conversation. So, more than an hour slipped by, and Kent-Lauriston found ample opportunity to consult the marriage register unobserved, and to be much surprised at what he saw there – moreover he learned many things besides the subject of Norman decoration and Saxon construction – among the more important of which was the visit of the foreign lady, who wanted to look up old volumes of the records.
"I have the honour to be invited to dine at the Hall this evening," said Mr. Lambert, in parting with Kent-Lauriston. "I shall look forward to the pleasure of continuing our conversation."
His visitor bowed, and left him.
It cannot be said of most of the members of the house party that they passed the morning as usefully or happily as Kent-Lauriston. In the Secretary's mind the problem was uppermost, of how to be alone from breakfast to lunch. He was aided in the accomplishment of his intent by the connivance of the three ladies whom he was most anxious to avoid. The Dowager sent him a little note saying that she always spent the morning in her room, and that her dear Isabelle would be quite free in consequence. The "dear Isabelle" informed Stanley publicly, that she should spend the morning in the library, and intimated privately, that it would be well if he was supposedly with her, and in reality any where else; while Miss Fitzgerald remarked, that she intended spending the morning in the park, as she wished to be alone. As a result of these obvious suggestions, the Secretary followed Lady Isabella into the library, in full sight of the party at large, and crossing the room, stepped out of one of the long, low windows on to the lawn, and by means of a side staircase quietly gained his own apartment, where he spent the morning in reading and meditation. His reading was confined to a comprehensive volume on "Locks, Ancient and Modern," by Price, received that morning from John. His meditations, on the other hand, were on an entirely different subject.
The events of the night before, aided by Kent-Lauriston's suggestive comments, had brought him face to face with a question to which he had hitherto avoided giving an answer. Was Miss Fitzgerald a party to the conspiracy to defeat the treaty? He put it to himself in so many words.
Repugnant as was the task, the Secretary felt that he must, in the interests of his country, put sentiment aside and face the facts.
It was not to be supposed because he had made the mistake of taking pity for love, in the case of the lady, that he was any the less indifferent to her fate. He still considered himself bound to her, should she ask the redemption of his promise; he had championed her purity and innocence in the face of all opposition; and it was inexpressibly shocking to him to find himself forced to consider even the possibility of her being connected with such a nefarious transaction.
Yet he felt it only just to face the evidence against her, and seek to the best of his ability to rebut it.
What reasons were there for supposing her to be connected with the plot to defeat the treaty? He placed them in order of their occurrence.
1. He had seen her driving with Mr. Riddle on the day after his dinner.
2. She had denied her acquaintance with Darcy, in his presence, to that gentleman's wife, though she had since been proven to be very intimate with him.
3. She had proposed a game of cards, and suggested Stanley's using an old letter to score on, which proposal and suggestion had led to the restoration of the secret instructions to Mr. Riddle.
4. Kent-Lauriston said she had asked Kingsland to take the chests containing the money to London.
5. She had been in the hall late the night before, assisting Darcy to break open the door.
This was all the evidence against her. Did it prove that she was a partner to the plot?
No, he told himself. It did not.
Did it prove that she was a dupe of these men? An innocent instrument in the furtherance of their vile conspiracy?
He was forced to admit the possibility of this, though he told himself he knew her too well to believe for an instant that she had any knowledge of the plot itself, or the desperate game her friends were playing. It now became his duty to save the Irish girl from the consequences of her own folly; to open her eyes to the true character of her friends. He could only do this by proving their complicity. The destruction of the plot, and her salvation alike, hung on the recovery of that lost letter, for in the light of the events of the past night, it seemed fair to assume that this paper had an important bearing on the conspiracy, and was necessary to its success.
The money had been sent, the time was short, but Darcy still remained. Why did he do so, unless it was to attempt a recovery of the document? It must, then, be of vital importance.
Having arrived at these conclusions, Stanley found himself committed to one of two courses of action: either to play the spy on the movements of his friends, or to effect the opening of the door with the silver nails. The first was repugnant to his spirit as a gentleman, and he instantly chose the second, believing that within the portal lay the only real clue he had so far obtained. This plan also had the added recommendation of placing in his hand evidence which would not involve the introduction of Miss Fitzgerald's name in the matter.
Having thus mapped out his course of action, and finding there was still an hour before lunch, he descended to the lawn, and made a preliminary inspection of the exterior walls of the old manor house. It might be possible to enter in some other way than by the oaken door which remained so obstinately closed. The building was of stone, and two stories in height, though most irregular in form, having been added to and altered during succeeding generations, as suited the taste of the owner of the period. The north-east end, however, instead of having a corner, was slightly rounded, and above the level of the roof assumed the shape of a circular tower, rising some forty feet higher than the rest of the structure, and surmounted by crumbling battlements. Even an inexperienced eye might detect that the door with the silver nails gave entrance to this tower, which Stanley was sure did not assume, in the lower storey at least, a space commensurate with its diameter above. Probably the door communicated with a narrow winding stair for the first, and perhaps the second, floors, the real space of the structure being contained in the portion which arose detached. This conjecture could easily be verified by measuring. At the first convenient opportunity he determined to make these preliminary investigations. It was said that the tower possessed no windows, and certainly this was the case, unless they gave on the leads; for, from the ground, it presented everywhere a blank wall of solid masonry, to which here and there strands of ivy clung.
"But they must have got their light from somewhere," he said to himself. "Perhaps from the roof, in which case there is probably some antique form of scuttle by which entrance could be had. If one could only get up there to see – but it's not a likely place for climbing. There should be the remains of an old flag-staff or cresset, or something of that nature – " and he walked slowly backwards across the lawn, hoping to reduce the visual angle sufficiently to see any slight projection above the battlements, but in vain; and he was about to abandon his backward course and return to the house, when a soft voice murmured at his elbow: —
"Star-gazing by daylight?" and he turned, to find himself close beside Madame Darcy.
"Oh, good-morning," he said, lifting his hat. "I beg your pardon, but I was trying to discover the remains of some superstructure on those battlements."
"Why not go up and see?"
"That is what many people have wished to do for the last two hundred years, but the only door of entrance is shut, and no man knows the secret of the lock."
"And do you mean to discover it?"
"I'm afraid it would only be a waste of time, for probably the whole thing is so disgustingly simple that everyone has overlooked it. However, the present, as represented by you, is infinitely more interesting; let the old tower guard the secret it has kept so long; who wants to know it?"
"My husband!" she replied.
"Quite so," said the Secretary. "And that reminds me, I hope you reached home quite safely last night, and have felt no ill effects from it."
"None in body," she returned sadly, "but, of course, what I saw could not but add to my distress of mind. Tell me what happened after I left."
"Nothing particular," said Stanley. "We all kept our tempers and were very polite."
"Then there was no disturbance?"
"None whatever; the Colonel was quite amenable to reason and went away quietly."
"But Mr. Kent-Lauriston?"
"Oh, he's too much a man of the world not to know when to hold his tongue."
"You will not tell your hostess? Promise me that. Badly as he has treated me, I am still his wife, and his honour is yet mine."
"I will keep your secret. If he is discovered in the house, someone else must do it."
"Oh, you're indeed my friend!" she cried impulsively. "I can never forget your goodness to me. There are, I'm sure, few men like you in the world."
The Secretary flushed under her praise, and disclaiming any inherent superiority to the other members of his race, hastened to change the subject by saying: —
"Tell me, are you succeeding any better with your proofs against your husband on another charge?"
"I've made a discovery this morning which has greatly disturbed me. I do not know how to act."
"What have you found?"
"I've compared the handwriting of the letters I hold, with the handwriting of the most recent entry in the marriage register of this church."
"Good Heavens! It surely can't tally – !"
"It does, and with the name of the bride."
The Secretary was simply staggered, – Lady Isabelle – it was impossible on the face of it.
"You're mistaken," he said coldly. "Such charges against the lady to whom you refer are impossible."
"You know of this marriage then?"
"Yes – I'm even popularly supposed to be engaged to the bride!"
"But you are not – tell me you are not."
"Of course I'm not – I've never had the slightest interest in her, except as a friend."
"You relieve me immensely. To lay such charges at the door of one you loved – to break your heart – I could not have done it."
"You could not do it in any event – to a woman of her nature such things would be impossible. I assure you, it is some grievous mistake."
She shook her head.
"Why should my husband be a witness to this secret marriage?"
"Was he – ?"
"Sh!" she said, "he is coming," and disappeared so silently into the bushes that she seemed to fade away from his sight. A moment later, the dry leaves crackled under a man's foot, and Colonel Darcy stood before him.
"We have not had our little meeting yet, Mr. Stanley," he said abruptly.
"When do you leave this vicinity, Colonel Darcy?" asked the Secretary, ignoring the other's remark.
"When you do. Till then I remain here to guard my honour."
"You surely are not trying to live up to that absurd fable!"
"Why not, when my wife has this moment left you?"
"You have sharp eyes, Colonel," replied the Secretary, turning on his heel, and walking towards the house.
"I need to have, Mr. Stanley," remarked the other, as he watched him go.
"Kent-Lauriston," said the Secretary, when they were alone after lunch, "affairs have taken a startling turn since I last saw you."
"I think so myself."
"Have you been making discoveries?"
"I don't know that they can be dignified by that name; but tell me of yours."
"Madame Darcy assures me that the letters which she holds, and on which she bases her case against her husband, are in the same handwriting as the name of Lady Isabelle, in the parish register."
"Lady Isabelle!"
"Yes. It's absurd, isn't it?"
"Perfectly so – you may take my word for it. But do you assure me that she said 'Lady Isabelle'?"
"We mentioned no names, of course. She said that the bride's signature corresponded – it's the same thing."
"Ah, I see. I think you've made a little mistake about this affair, my boy. I've seen the register myself."
"Good Heavens! You don't mean – you can't – !" exclaimed Stanley, a sickening suspicion dominating his mind.
"I mean," replied Kent-Lauriston, "that the maiden name of the bride, as written there, is not Isabelle McLane, but Isabelle Fitzgerald."