Stolen Idols
Page 30
CHAPTER XIII
"Doing me well for our farewell dinner, Dad," Gregory murmuredappreciatively, as he set down his glass with a little gesture ofreverence. "'70 Port."
Sir Bertram smiled pleasantly. It was not for the two footmen standingmotionless at either end of the magnificent sideboard, or even forRawson behind his master's chair, to know that this was anything but anordinary function. Conversation throughout the meal had taken no accountof possible catastrophe. They had talked of the sporting side ofGregory's expedition; Sir Bertram himself had shot big game in Canadamore than once.
"There are only a few bottles left, I regret to say," Sir Bertramremarked. "We started on the last bin at the commencement of the year."
"This is the Cockburn's shipping," Henry put in. "We have alwaysconsidered it the finer wine. If you will pass the decanter, Bertram, Iwill indulge in my second glass."
Before the decanter was finished Rawson and his satellites had departed.Sir Bertram glanced at his watch.
"You have nearly an hour," he said. "What time did you tell Holmes youwould leave?"
"At ten o'clock," Gregory replied. "The train leaves Norwich ateleven-thirty."
Sir Bertram rose from his place. They strolled into the library, drankcoffee and liqueurs, and lit cigarettes. There was still nothing intheir conversation to indicate the great crisis. Henry was the first tointroduce a note of unexpectedness.
"If I may claim ten minutes of your time, Gregory," he said, "it wouldgratify me if you would pay a visit to my room. You too, I trust,Bertram," he added.
"Why, of course, Uncle," Gregory acquiesced. "I'll just fill my casewith these cigarettes, if you don't mind, Dad. May save me opening mytravelling bag."
"By all means," his father begged.
They ascended the great staircase, Gregory pausing every now and then tolook at one of his favourite pictures. Henry led the way to his own roomwith its quaint air of monasticity and severity, accentuated by theoriel-shaped windows. He closed the door carefully behind him.
"I should like before you depart, Gregory," he began, "to assure youthat my sympathies have been entirely with you in your gallant butnon-successful attempt to restore the fortunes of our family. I may, ormay not agree with you in your decision that these"--he waved his handtowards the two Images--"should remain unbroken. There are times," hewent on, "when I fancy that our friend there with the very evil andmocking leer is trying to boast of the treasures he possesses, and withwhich he refuses to part. That, however, is an effort of the imaginationin which I seldom indulge. It occurred to me further that I should like,before you leave, to prove to you that my sympathy with your enterprisewas not confined to a merely passive attitude. My actions may not havebeen entirely judicious, but they were well-intentioned. It was I who ona certain night made use of your key, entered the Great House in, I mustconfess, a surreptitious manner, relieved myself of interference on thepart of Mr. Johnson, I am afraid in somewhat inconsiderate fashion, andpurloined the manuscripts, which I had hoped might help us towards thediscovery of the treasure."
The cigarette which Sir Bertram had been holding between his fingersslipped on to the carpet and lay there almost unnoticed. He gazed at hisbrother with a great astonishment in his face. Gregory, taken even moreby surprise, stared at him, speechless and open-mouthed. Neither of themsaid a word. Henry stooped down, picked up the lighted cigarette, andthrew it into the fireplace.
"Henry, you're crazy!" Sir Bertram exclaimed at last.
"Uncle Henry!" Gregory cried.
Something which was finally a smile parted Henry's lips, as he pointedto a neat package upon the table.
"These are the manuscripts," he said. "I regret to say that myexpedition was a failure. Nothing there helps us in any degree."
"But how the devil do you know?" Gregory demanded. "Whom did you get toread them?"
"During the last few months," his uncle confided, "with a view to makingthis enterprise a success, I have studied and read Chinese."
"God bless my soul!" Sir Bertram gasped.
"The language presented its difficulties," Henry admitted. "During mylast visit to London in January I consulted a Chinese scholar who put mein the right way, and I have attained to a certain proficiency--enough,at any rate, for the purpose. It struck me that Major Holmes's enquiriesinto the matter were becoming somewhat unpleasant, and I thought,therefore, that I would confide the truth to you, in case at any timesuspicion should fall upon another person. This parcel containing thedocuments contains also a letter from me acknowledging my exploit and aletter of apology to Miss Endacott, whose property I suppose they mustbe considered. They are undamaged and, except for the slight injury toMr. Johnson, which I regret was necessary, the affair seems to me to betrivial."
Gregory clasped his forehead.
"Trivial!" he groaned.
"There will, I fear, be a certain loss of dignity should I be calledupon to answer for my misdoing," Henry concluded, "but I can assure youthat I shall take no steps to evade any action which may ensue. That, Ithink, is all. It only remains for me, Gregory, to wish you successabroad. Of our own future here, we will not speak. Whilst the Ballastontreasures and heirlooms remain intact my place is with them. A pleasantvoyage, Gregory!"
He shook hands and conducted them courteously to the door. His littlepat on his nephew's shoulder was the nearest approach to affection hehad ever shown. Gregory and his father descended the stairs almost insilence. When they reached the hall, Gregory sank into a chair and heldhis head in his hands.
"Dad, was that a dream?" he demanded. "I can't conceive it. Uncle Henry,of all men in the world!"
"It is the Ballaston spirit concealed," Sir Bertram murmured.
For a quarter of an hour or so father and son sat in the great hallwithout speech. There was a curiously intense silence, broken only bythe ticking of a large clock, and, through the wide-flung window, thetwittering of a nightingale preparing for his aftermath of song. SirBertram rose at last to his feet.
"Let us walk on the terrace, Gregory," he suggested. "The car will beround in a few minutes."
They strolled out together, Sir Bertram correct and debonair, from thepolish of his well-brushed hair to the pearl studs in his shirt and hisscrupulously cut dinner clothes; Gregory in travelling tweeds, preparedfor his journey. Sir Bertram took his son's arm as they commenced theirleisurely promenade.
"I am afraid," he said, in a tone of very rare gravity, "that it's allup with us Ballastons, Gregory. You're young and fit though, and I'vegot quite enough to amuse myself with--it will have to be France, Isuppose, or Spain. It's all a compromise, of course, and a cursedcompromise. There's only one place for an Englishman to live, and that'son his own land. It's the devil's own luck to lose Ballaston, but we'vegone the limit, eh, Gregory, to try to keep it?"
"Yes," Gregory admitted. "We made a bid for it, at any rate--even UncleHenry!"
His tone had grown more serious. The shadow of something unspoken seemedto be lying between them.
"Personally," Sir Bertram continued, "I regret nothing, I blame nobodyfor anything. I consider that everything was justified. You have to makea fresh start, Gregory. Don't do so with that somewhat bourgeoisimpediment--a slurred conscience. What has been done has been done, andis finished with."
Gregory for a moment did not reply. His puzzled eyes sought hisfather's, but sought them in vain.
"For my part," Sir Bertram repeated steadily, "I regret nothing. It wasworth the effort. And as for Henry--God bless him!"
The lights of the car flashed from the stable yard.
"And so, my dear boy," his father concluded, in his ordinary tone, "youswing your bundle, figuratively speaking, at the end of your stick, andset out on your allegorical journey. Only, for God's sake, don't comeback Lord Mayor of London!"
Gregory had already taken his seat, the chauffeur's hand was upon thechange speeds gear, when Rawson hurried forward.
"There is another car coming up the av
enue, sir," he announced. "Wouldit be as well to wait for a moment?"
Gregory looked out of the window. He could see the twin lights flashingin the distance, gleaming slantwise through the trees, then again poolsof light in the semi-darkness. For only a moment he hesitated, but,during that moment, it seemed to him that he was taking leave of muchthat was dear in life. Then he stepped out of the car and stood upon theedge of the terrace.
"It might be as well, Rawson," he agreed, with somewhat elaboratecasualness.
"I wonder who the devil it can be at this time of the night?" SirBertram speculated.
The car resolved itself into shape. Its very crudity, its ugliness,seemed symbolic. The driver was in plain clothes, but he sat stiffly andthere was something official about his appearance. By his side was MajorHolmes. Behind sat Inspector Cloutson. The two latter descended as thecar drew up.
"Well, Major?" Sir Bertram exclaimed. "What new thunderbolt are yougoing to launch?"
The Chief Constable rather avoided his eyes.
"We want a word with you, please," he confided, laying his hand lightlyupon Gregory's arm.
They all entered the house together. Sir Bertram led the way to thelibrary, thrust open the door and closed it again when they had allentered.
"Now what the devil is it this time, Holmes?" he asked, a littletestily. "You mustn't be annoyed with me if I say that I am gettingrather tired of these visitations."
"I deeply regret the necessity for the present one," was the gravereply. "Gregory Ballaston, I am sorry to tell you that InspectorCloutson here has a warrant for your arrest. I should strongly adviseyou to make no reply to the charge and to come with us to Norwich."
"What is the charge?" Gregory demanded.
"A very serious one, I am afraid," Major Holmes announced. "I have, as amatter of fact, two warrants; the first charging you, Gregory Ballaston,with assault on one Peter Johnson, and burglary at the Great House onthe night of July 28th, and the second by which you stand charged withthe murder of Ralph Endacott at the Great House on June 30th of lastyear. There is nothing to be gained by denial or comment or anythingelse, at the present moment. I beg you, Gregory, not to attempt anyreply but to come with us."
The door behind had been opened so softly that no one heard it. Theywere all standing motionless when Henry, with a brown paper parcel underhis arm, entered.
"But that is ridiculous, Major Holmes," he said quietly. "You must havebeen very greatly misled. It was I who was guilty of the burglary. Here,in this parcel, you will find all the documents I purloined, or I mightsay borrowed, the instrument with which I cut out the panel of the door,another with which I picked the lock--instruments, I may say, obtainedwith the greatest possible difficulty from an establishment in London."
There was a moment's blank silence. Major Holmes's expression, after thefirst shock of surprise, was one of complete incredulity.
"This is a very remarkable statement on your part, Mr. Ballaston," heobserved. "I presume you wish us to take note of what you say. At thesame time I have, I am sorry to remind you, a warrant against yournephew on a more serious charge."
Henry Ballaston apologised with dignity.
"I regret," he said, "not to have mentioned the two affairs together. I,also, on June 30th of last year, after a few words of unpleasantdiscussion with Mr. Endacott, shot him through the head."
Once more there was a brief spell of breathless silence. Henry Ballastonwas entirely master of the situation, perfectly self-possessed, slightlyapologetic. Father and son were gazing into each other's eyes withmutual and amazed interrogation.
"You see," Henry continued, in explanatory fashion, "Mr. Endacott was avery unreasonable man. He admitted that he had made a translation of themanuscript, but he refused to give it to me. He desired his niece toprofit by it. I suppose I must have lost my temper. I shot him andsecured the other Image, but could find no trace of the manuscript.Hence my second effort within the last few days. Have I made myselfquite clear?"
Sir Bertram's fingers upon his son's arm had grown like the grip of avice. He leaned forward.
"Do you mean to say that you didn't do it, Greg?" he whispered hoarsely.
"Before God, I didn't!" was the passionate reply. "I thought it wasyou."