ascent was a difficult one, but heresolved to attempt it.
Taking a small coil of thin but very strong rope which Charlie producedfrom the capacious pocket of the shooting-jacket he wore for thatpurpose, he mounted upon his friend's shoulders, and then climbed slowlyup, with an agility which surprised his friend.
Once upon the roof he made fast the rope to one of the iron stays of thespouting, and let it down to Charlie, who a few moments later swarmed upit and stood on the edge of the glass roof beside his companion.
Their position there was one of greatest peril. They stood togetherupon the narrow edging of lead by which the glass roof was joined to thewall of the house. They moved slowly and gingerly, for it was quiteuncertain whether it would bear their weight. Besides, there wasnothing to grasp by which to relieve their weight, for above them rosethe wall sheer to the ledges of the row of windows, too high for them toreach.
A step in the wrong direction, and down they must come with a crash intothe neglected conservatory.
Max could hear his own heart beating. The risk was greater than he hadever anticipated. Yet so greatly was their curiosity now aroused thatnothing could brook their attempt to learn the secret that darkmysterious house contained.
They stood together, not daring to move. At a short distance away was athin iron support running into the wall--part of the framework of theroof--and towards that Max crept carefully, until at last he reached itand stood in a safer position.
The weight of both men caused the curved roof to give slightly, and morethan once they heard sharp noises where the glass, fitting too tightly,cracked across by the undue pressure.
Neither spoke. Max was eagerly searching for some means by which toreach one of the windows above. In his ascent there he had torn hiscoat, and a great strip of it was hanging. He had left his hat below,and the light rain was falling upon his uncovered head.
Slowly he crept forward from iron to iron until he reached the oppositeside of the big glass roof, and there found, as he had hoped, anotheriron rain-spout which led straight up past the end window, to the roofof the house.
Back he came to his companion in order to obtain the rope, and then,with it bulging in his pocket, he stole along and ascended the secondpipe as he had done the first. This proceeding was, however, far moredangerous, for to fall with the glass beneath him meant almost certaindeath.
Charlie watched his form ascending in the darkness, scarce daring tobreathe. Slowly he went up, until, on a level with the window, hehalted. Around the ledge, six inches above, was an iron bar let intothe wall in order to prevent flowerpots from being blown down upon theconservatory roof. This iron proved Max's salvation, for gripping it hesteadied himself while he secured the rope to the spout as he hadpreviously done on the first ascent.
Then, with a firm grip upon the strong bar, and his knee upon the stoneledge, he tried the window.
It was fastened. The green holland blind was drawn, but as far as hecould ascertain the shutters were not closed.
From his pocket he drew a glazier's putty-knife, and, inserting itbetween the sashes, worked quietly until his heart gave a bound ofsatisfaction at feeling the latch slowly give.
A second later it went back with a sharp snap, and the window was free!
He lifted the sash, pushed the blind aside, and crept within.
Then leaning forth he whispered to Charlie to follow. Up the lattercame by means of the rope as quickly as he was able, and a few momentslater both men stood within the room.
By its sound, and by the fact that it was carpetless, they knew it wasdevoid of furniture. Max flashed on the light, and the truth was atonce made plain. The apartment was square and of fair size, but withinwas not a single thing; was perfectly empty.
In a second a thought occurred to Charlie.
"If the door's locked on the outside we're done!" he gasped.
They both crossed to the door in an instant, and Max placed his handupon it. The handle turned slowly, and the door yielded. By great goodfortune it was not locked.
Creeping noiselessly outside, they found themselves upon a big squarelanding above half a dozen broad stairs. Below them was thewhite-enamelled iron door, which opened only to its owner and which noperson had been known to pass.
The landing and stairs were thickly-carpeted, just as they were belowthe door. But about the place was the close musty smell of a house thatfor years had remained closed and neglected.
From the landing were three other doors beside the one at which theystood, all of them closed.
Charlie took his bearings, and, pointing to the door farthest away fromthem, whispered:
"That's the drawing-room, no doubt. And that's the door of the roomadjoining. I expect it's a big room opening from back to front like alldrawing-rooms in these houses."
"Awkward if it proves to be the old man's bedroom," Max replied, with alaugh.
"We must risk that. My own belief is that he sleeps up on the nextfloor. These are all reception-rooms, without a doubt," was Charlie'sanswer. It was strange, after all the time he had been in the old man'semploy, that this should be the first occasion he should explore thehouse.
Those moments of pitch darkness were exciting ones.
They resolved to enter the door furthest away, the door which theybelieved led to the drawing-room, and together they moved noiselesslyacross with that purpose.
The key was in the lock. Without noise Max turned it, and slowly pushedopen the door.
Both entered, holding their breath and fearing to make the slightestsound, for they knew not whether old Sam was asleep there.
For a full ten minutes they paused listening for sounds of breathing inthe pitch darkness. But there were none, only the beating of their ownhearts.
Then, with Charlie's whispered consent, Max pressed the button of thepocket-lamp, and it shed a streak of light across to the opposite wallof the big apartment.
What was revealed held them aghast and amazed.
"This is indeed strange?" gasped Charlie. "What can it be?"
Max was turning the light from side to side of the room, examining everycorner.
What they saw had held them both speechless.
Charlie saw an electric switch near his hand, and touched it. In aninstant the great room was flooded with light, revealing a scene,curious, unusual, extraordinary.
There was no thick carpet or upholstered furniture; no painted ceilingor pictures upon the walls; no cabinet or bric-a-brac, or grand piano,or palms, or anything connected with drawing-room furniture.
Instead, the two intruders found themselves inside a peasant's cottagein some far-off country--a house, it seemed, with quaint furniturepainted and carved. Before them was an old-fashioned oak press, blackwith smoke and age, and along the wall a row of shining cooking utensilsof copper. In the centre was a long old table, with big high-backedwooden chairs; at the side a high brick stove.
The men stepped within and gazed around, bewildered.
At one end was a small square window, where beyond lay a snow-cladscene, lit by the moon's rays--a cleverly contrived piece of scenery,showing the white road winding into the distance lined on each side bythe dark forest of firs.
The scene was intended to be Russian, without a doubt, for over thestove a holy ikon hung against the wall, a small painted head surroundedby a square of highly burnished gold.
Every object was quaintly shaped and foreign. In one corner stood anold spinning-wheel with the flax upon it, while in another was anold-fashioned gun. A couple of wolves' skins were spread upon thefloor, while upon the cleanly-scrubbed table showed a large brownstain--it might be of coffee, or it might be of blood!
The walls had been whitewashed, and across the ceiling, once gilt andadorned, no doubt, ran blackened beams in exact imitation, it seemed, ofsome house in the far east of Russia beyond the Volga.
Upon a side table lay a big, rather thin book, bearing upon its black,greasy cover the Imperial Russian arms--the double-
headed eagle.Charlie opened it, and found it ruled like an attendance book, withcareful entries in Russian in various hands. Neither could read thelanguage, therefore it was to them unintelligible. By the stove was alow wooden settle, upon which lay a man's fur cap and big sheepskinwinter coat, as though the owner of the place had just risen and left.
"What can this possibly mean?" asked Max, gazing around in sheerwonderment.
To this query, however, Charlie could venture no suggestion.
They stood amid surroundings that were to both a complete mystery.
Charlie touched the switch when, lo! the lights in the room wereextinguished, and only a line of white brilliance as that of the fullmoon entering the window from the snow-covered land beyond, fell acrossthe silent place full upon the table which bore that ugly dark brownstain.
Both men stood motionless and wondering, fascinated by the extraordinaryand striking effect.
Was that stain shown so vividly beneath the white moonbeams actually thestain of blood?
CHAPTER FIFTY.
FACE TO FACE.
That a Park Lane drawing-room should be transformed into the interior ofa log-built house of the Russian steppe was surely unsuspected by any ofthose who passed up and down that renowned thoroughfare every day.
The popular idea associated that long row of millionaires' houses facingHyde Park with luxuriant saloons, priceless paintings, old Persiancarpets, and exquisite furniture. Who would believe that behind thosewindows with their well-kept curtains, and _brise-brise_ of silk andlace, was a room arranged with such care, with the snowy road andmoonlight shown beyond the false window?
"With what object, I wonder, is all this?" asked Charlie, speaking in anundertone, as though to himself. There was something weird and uncannyabout the scene with that white streak of brilliance falling like a baracross the place, an indescribable something which made it plain thatall had been arranged with some evil design by the old man.
No second glance was needed to show that every bit of furniture, andevery article in the place was genuine. They were no stage properties,but real things, brought from some far-distant spot in Eastern Russia.But with what motive?
Ay, that was the question!
They had turned, and were about to withdraw from the place, Max leadingthe way, when suddenly he halted, for his quick ears caught some sound.It was a curious, low, whirring noise, followed almost instantly by aswift swish close to him, so near, indeed, that it caused a current ofair in his face as some object passed him from above.
At the same moment the noise of mechanism ceased.
For a few seconds both intruders hesitated.
Charlie asked breathlessly what it could be, whereupon his friend turnedon the light, and the truth stood revealed.
By an ace he had escaped with his life!
At the door, in order to prevent the egress of any intruder, a cunningbut dastardly mechanical device had been placed. A long iron lever, towhich was attached a keen-edged Japanese cutlass, had come forth fromits hiding-place in the lintel of the door, and, descending withterrific force, had only just escaped cutting Max down.
Both men saw the means by which old Statham guarded the secret of thatroom, and shuddered. To enter was easy, but it was intended that he whoentered might not emerge alive.
Apparently one of the floor boards just within the door was loose, and,being trodden upon, the weight released the spring or mechanism, and therazor-edged cutlass shot forth with murderous force.
"By Jove!" gasped Charlie. "I had no idea the old man set traps for theunwary. We'd better be careful!"
"Yes. That was indeed a narrow escape!" whispered Max. "It would havebeen certain death. Let's get out of it."
The steel lever was down, the point of the cutlass touching the floor.Therefore they were both compelled to step over the death-trap in orderto leave the remarkable apartment.
Then with careful hands Charlie tried the next door. It was locked.
Brief examination showed it to be the door of the back drawing-room,which had been thrown into the larger room with the mysterious purposeof constructing that striking rural interior.
So they crossed to the third door, on the opposite side of the landing,and, with greatest caution lest another pitfall should lurk there,opened it.
That night of investigation was full of surprises.
The instant Max flashed on his light the pair drew back with lowexclamations of horror.
The small apartment was unfurnished. It contained only one object--gruesome and unexpected. In the centre of the place, upon the blacktrestles, stood a coffin of polished oak with shining electro handlesand fittings.
The lid, they noticed, was screwed down. Was it possible that itcontained an unburied corpse. Did that white-enamelled door upon thestairs conceal from the world the evidence of a crime?
For a moment both men stood in that bare, uncarpeted room, rooted to thespot.
The secret of Sam Statham stood revealed.
Then with a sudden effort Charlie crept forward, nearer the coffin, andread upon its plate the words, plainly engraved:
JEAN ADAM. AGED 49.
Then Adam had been entrapped there--and had lost his life!
Both men started as the tragic truth dawned upon them. Adam was oldSam's most bitter enemy. He was dead--in his coffin--yet themillionaire had, up to the present, been unable to dispose of theremains. There was no medical certificate, therefore burial wasimpossible.
The weird stories which both men had heard of nocturnal visitors to thathouse who had never been seen to emerge, and of long boxes like coffinswhich more than one person said they had seen being brought out andloaded upon four-wheeled cabs all now flashed across their minds.
Of a verity that house was a house of grim shadows, for murder wascommitted there. Men entered alive, and left it dead.
Max stood by the coffin of the man who had so cleverly sought to enticehim away to Constantinople with stories of easily obtained wealth, andremained there breathless in wonder. He recollected Sam's words, andsaw in them a bitter hatred of the Franco-English adventurer. Had hecarried this hatred to the extreme limit--that of secret assassination?
Charlie, on his part, stood silent also. He knew well that upon thedeath of Adam depended the future prosperity of his master. He was wellaware, alas! that Adam, having suddenly reappeared, had vowed a terribleand crushing vengeance upon the head of the great firm of StathamBrothers.
But old Sam, with his usual crafty forethought and innate cunning, hadforestalled him. The adventurer had been done to death, and was alreadyin his coffin!
In his cool audacity old Sam had actually prepared the lead-lined coffinwith its plate ready inscribed!
Its secret arrival at night had evidently been witnessed, and had givenrise to strange and embellished stories.
The last occasion Max had seen Adam was one night three weeks beforewhen, dining with two other men in the gallery of the TrocaderoRestaurant, he had seen him below seated with a rather young andgood-looking lady in an evening-dress of black net. The pair werelaughing together, and it struck him that the companion of theadventurer might be French. He had afterwards discovered that she wasLorena Lyle, daughter of the old hunchback engineer who was his partnerin certain ventures.
"The girl who met me in Paris and gave me warning!" Rolfe exclaimed.
"Yes, the same. They dined together that night and hurried out to getto the theatre."
"And you've never seen him since?"
"No. Ten days ago, I wrote to the National Liberal Club giving him anappointment, but he never kept it."
"Because he was lying here, I suppose," remarked Charlie with batedbreath, adding: "This, Max, is all utterly incomprehensible. How darethe old man do such a thing?"
"He's been driven into a corner, and as long as he preserves his secrethe will still remain a power in the land."
"But his secret is out--we have laid it bare."
"At risk of
our lives--eh?" remarked Max, shuddering again as herecollected his own narrow escape of a few minutes before.
They stood before the mortal remains of the man who had sworn vengeanceupon Statham, neither of them speaking. Presently, however, Charlieproposed that they should make further investigation on the floor above.
Closing the door of the death-chamber, they stole noiselessly up thewide, thickly-carpeted staircase to the next landing, where four whitedoors opened. Which they should enter first they were undecided. Theywere faced by a serious problem. In either of those four chambers theold millionaire might be asleep. To enter might awaken him.
This they had no desire to do. They expected to be able to open theiron door from within and pass down the stairs into the hall, and sointo the street without detection. That was their intention. To returnby the way they had come would be impossible.
Together they consulted in low whispers, and, both agreed, Charlie verycarefully turned the handle of the door nearest them. It yielded, andthey crept forward and within. At first Max feared to show his light,yet as they found no carpet beneath their feet, and as they felt a vaguesense of space in the darkness, he became bolder, and pressed the buttonof his little lamp.
It was, like the other apartments, entirely devoid of furniture! Theupper part of those premises, believed by the world to be filled withcostly furniture and magnificent antiques, seemed empty. Charlie wasamazed. He had heard many romantic stories of why the old man neverallowed a stranger to ascend the stairs, but he had never dreamed thatthe fine mansion was unfurnished.
The next room they examined was similar in character, rather larger,with two long windows overlooking the Park. They were, however,carefully curtained, and the blinds were down. Beyond a rusty oldfender before the fireplace and a roll of old carpet in a corner, it,however, contained nothing.
They passed to the third apartment, likewise a front room, and Maxslowly turned the door-handle. In the darkness they stepped within, andagain finding it uncarpeted, he shone his light across the place.
Next instant the pair drew back, for sitting up upon a low, iron campbedstead, glaring at them with eyes haggard and terrified, was old SamStatham himself.
The room was bare save an old painted washstand and chest of drawers,dirty, uncarpeted, and neglected. The low, narrow bed was covered by anold blue and white counterpane, but its occupant sat glaring at theintruders, too terrified to speak.
In the darkness he probably could not recognise who it was. Theelectric light blinded him. Next second, however, he touched the switchnear his hand, and the wretched room became illuminated, revealing thetwo intruders.
He tried to speak, but his lips refused to articulate. The old man'stongue clave to the roof of his mouth.
He knew that his carefully-guarded secret was out!
CHAPTER FIFTY ONE.
DESCRIBES ANOTHER SURPRISE.
"To what, pray, do I owe this intrusion?" demanded the old man fiercely,rising from his bed, and standing erect and defiant before them.
"To your own guilt, Mr Statham," was Max Barclay's quiet but distinctresponse.
"My guilt?" gasped the old man. "Of what crime am I guilty?"
"That's best known to yourself," answered the younger man. "But Ithink, now that we've investigated your house and discovered yourdeath-trap, we will bid you good-night."
"You've--you've found it--eh?" gasped the old fellow, pale as death.
"Yes; and, furthermore, we know how Maud Petrovitch had cast your moneyat your feet, and defied you."
"I--I must explain," he cried, as in frantic eagerness he put on hisclothes. "Don't leave me. Come below, and--and'll tell you."
The pair remained in the wretchedly uncomfortable room, while the oldman finished dressing. Then all three descended, the millionairewalking first. They passed the door of the room where stood the coffin,and by touching a spring the iron door opened, and they descended to thelibrary.
The noise wakened old Levi, who appeared at the head of the back stairs,full of surprise.
A reassuring word from his master, however, caused him to at once retireagain.
Within the library old Sam switched on the light, and invited both hisunwelcome visitors to be seated. Then, standing before them, he said:
"I presume, gentlemen, that your curiosity led you to break into myhouse?"
Max Barclay nodded.
"I can understand you acting thus, sir; but I cannot understand Rolfe,who knows me so well and who has served me so faithfully."
"And, in return, how have I been served?" asked Charlie, bitterly. "Mypoor sister has been turned adrift, and you have refused to lift afinger to reinstate her."
"I admit that on the face of it, Rolfe, I have been hard and cruel,"declared the old man. "But when you know the truth you will not,perhaps, think so unkindly of me as at this moment."
The old fellow was perfectly calm. All his fear had vanished, and henow stood his old and usual self, full of quiet assurance.
"Well," Rolfe said, "perhaps you will tell us the truth. Why, forinstance, did Maud Petrovitch visit you to-night?"
"She came upon her own initiative. She wished to ask me a question."
"Which you refused to answer."
"It was not judicious for me to tell her what she desized to know--notat present, at least."
"But now that we are here together, in confidence you will, no doubt,allow us to know where she and her father are in hiding," Charlie asked,breathlessly.
"Certainly, if you will promise not to communicate with them or callupon them without my consent."
"We promise," declared Max.
"Then they are living in strictest seclusion at Fordham Cottage,Arundel, in Sussex."
"But you have quarrelled with Maud?" Charlie remarked, at the same timeremembering that closed coffin in the room above.
"Upon one point only--a very small and unimportant one," responded theold man.
"Where is my sister?"
"Unfortunately, I have no knowledge of where she is at present."
"But you have just assured me that when I know the truth I shall notregard you so harshly," Rolfe exclaimed.
"And I repeat it," Statham said.
The old man's attitude amazed them both. He was perfectly calm andquite unperturbed by the grim discoveries they had made.
"You mean that you refuse to tell me anything concerning my sister?"Charlie asked, seriously.
"For the present--yes."
"Why not now? Why forbid us also from seeking the Doctor and hisdaughter?"
"For reasons of my own. I am expecting a visitor."
Max laughed sarcastically. The reason put forward seemed too absurd.
"Ah! you don't believe it!" cried the old fellow. "But you will see.Your curiosity has, no doubt, led you to misjudge me. It was only tohave been expected. I ought to have guarded my secret better."
Neither man spoke. Both had their eyes fixed upon the grey face of theold millionaire before them. They recollected his despair before he hadretired to rest, and remembered, too, the tender care of his faithfulLevi.
The clock chimed the half-hour--half-past three in the morning.
The night had been fraught by so many surprises that neither Charlie norhis friend could believe in the grim reality of it all. They neversuspected that that fine mansion was practically unfurnished, or thatits millionaire owner practically lived the life of a pauper. Had notCharlie been well aware of his master's shrewdness in his business andclearness in his financial operations, he would have believed it all dueto an unbalanced brain. But there was no madness in Samuel Statham. Hewas as sane as they were. All his eccentricity was evidently directedtowards one purpose.
As he stood there he practically told them so.
"You misjudge me!" said he, his grey face relaxing in a smile. "Youthink me mad--eh? Well, you are not alone in that. A good many peoplebelieve the same of me. I am gratified to think they believe it. It
ismy intention that they should."
"But, Mr Statham, we have asked you a question to which you haverefused to answer. We wish to know what has become of Marion Rolfe."
"You were engaged to her--eh? Yes, I know," responded the old man."For that very reason I refuse to tell you. I can only reassure you,however, that you need experience no anxiety."
"But I do. I love her!"
"Then I am very sorry, your mind must still continue to be exercised.At present I cannot tell you anything."
"Why?"
"Have I not already told you? I am expecting a visitor."
It was all the satisfaction they could obtain.
Charlie longed for an opportunity to refer to the gruesome object inthat locked room upstairs. The man who had so suddenly reappeared andsworn vengeance upon the great financier was dead--fallen a victim, nodoubt, to the old man's clever cunning. He had, without doubt, beenenticed there to his death. The secret reason of the white-enamelleddoor at the top of the stairs was now quite plain. In that house was aterrible death-trap, as deadly as it was unexpected.
They held knowledge of the truth. How would the old man act?
Contrary to their expectations, he remained quite indifferent. He evenoffered them a drink, which they refused.
His refusal to tell them anything regarding Marion and his treatment ofMaud had incensed them, and they both were bitterly antagonistic towardshim. He was, no doubt, playing a huge game of bluff. His disregard oftheir discoveries was in order to lessen their importance, and his storyof a visitor told to gain time.
Probably he intended to make good his escape.
Both were expecting every moment that his coolness would break down, andthat he would suggest that they kept silence as to what lay concealed onthe floor above.
Indeed, they were not mistaken, for of a sudden he turned to them, andin rather strained voice said:
"Now, gentlemen, I admit that you have discovered my secret; that myposition is--well--a disagreeable one, to say the least. Is there anyreal reason why you should divulge it--at least for the present?"
Charlie shrugged his shoulders, and Max at the same time realised that adeadly fear was creeping back upon the old man, whose enormous wealthhad stifled all human feeling from his soul.
"I merely ask your indulgence," said the old man, in a low, eager tone.
"For how long?"
"For a day--maybe for a week--or perhaps a month. I cannot tell."
"That means that we preserve the secret indefinitely?"
"Until the arrival of my visitor."
"Ah! the visitor!" repeated Max, with a grin of disbelief. "When do youexpect the visit?"
"I have expected it during many months," was the millionaire's briefreply.
"And you can
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