XII
BEHIND THE WALL
"A most pathetic and awesome history!" I exclaimed, after the pausewhich instinctively followed the completion of this tale, read as few ofits kind have ever been read, by this woman of infinite resources infeeling and expression.
"Is it not? Do you wonder that a visit in the dead of night to a spotassociated with such superstitious horrors should frighten me?" sheadded as she bundled up the scattered sheets with a reckless hand.
"I do not. I am not sure but that I am a little bit frightened myself,"I smiled, following with my eye a single sheet which had escaped to thefloor. "Allow me," I cried, stooping to lift it. As I did so I observedthat it was the first sheet, the torn one--and that a line or so ofwriting was visible at the top which I was sure had not been amongstthose she had read.
"What words are those?" I asked.
"I don't know, they are half gone as you can see. They have nothing todo with the story. I read you the whole of that."
Mistress as she was of her moods and expression I detected traces ofsome slight confusion.
"The putting up of the partition is not explained," I remarked.
"Oh, that was put up in horror of the stains which from time to timebroke out on the ceiling at that end of the room."
I wished to ask her if this was her conclusion or if that line or two Ihave mentioned was more intelligible than she had acknowledged it to be.But I refrained from a sense of propriety.
If she appreciated my forbearance she did not show it. Rising, shethrust the papers into a cupboard, casting a scarcely perceptible glanceat the clock as she did so.
I took the hint and rose. Instantly she was all smiles.
"You have forgotten something, Mr. Trevitt. Surely you do not intend tocarry away with you my key to the bungalow."
"I was thinking of it," I returned lightly. "I am not quite through withthat key." Then before she could recover from her surprise, I addedwith such suavity as I had been able to acquire in my intercourse withmy more cultivated clients:
"I have to thank you, Mrs. Carew, for an hour of thrilling interest.Absorbed though I am in the present mystery, my mind has room for theold one. Possibly because there is sometimes a marked connection betweenold family events and new. There may be some such connection in thiscase. I should like the opportunity of assuring myself there is not."
She said nothing; I thought I understood why. More suavely yet, Icontinued, with a slight, a very slight movement toward the door:"Rarely have I had the pleasure of listening to such a tale read by suchan interpreter. It will always remain in my memory, Mrs. Carew. But theepisode is over and I return to my present duty and the bungalow."
"The bungalow! You are going back to the bungalow?"
"Immediately."
"What for? Didn't you see all there was to see?"
"Not quite."
"I don't know what there can be left."
"Nothing of consequence, most likely, but you can not wish me to haveany doubts on the subject."
"No, no, of course not."
The carelessness of her tone did not communicate itself to her manner.Seeing that my unexpected proposition had roused her alarm, I grew waryand remarked:
"I was always overscrupulous."
With a lift of her shoulders--a dainty gesture which I congratulatedmyself I could see unmoved--she held out her hand in a mute appeal forthe key, but seeing that I was not to be shaken in my purpose, reachedfor the wrap she had tossed on a chair and tied it again over her head.
"What are you going to do?" I asked.
"Accompany you," she declared.
"Again? I thought the place frightened you."
"It does," she replied. "I had rather visit any other spot in the wholeworld; but if it is your intention to go back there, it is mine to gowith you."
"You are very good," I replied.
But I was seriously disconcerted notwithstanding. I had reckoned upon aquiet hour in the bungalow by myself; moreover, I did not understand hermotive for never trusting me there alone. Yet as this very distrust wassuggestive, I put a good face on the matter and welcomed her companywith becoming alacrity. After all, I might gain more than I couldpossibly lose by having her under my eye for a little longer. Strong aswas her self-control there were moments when the real woman showedherself, and these moments were productive.
As we were passing out she paused to extinguish a lamp which wasslightly smoking,--I also thought she paused an instant to listen. Atall events her ears were turned toward the stairs down which there camethe murmur of two voices, one of them the little boy's.
"It is time Harry was asleep," she cried. "I promised to sing to him.You won't be long, will you?"
"You need not be very long," was my significant retort. "I can not speakfor myself."
Was I playing with her curiosity or anxieties or whatever it was thataffected her? I hardly knew; I spoke as impulse directed and waited incold blood--or was it hot blood?--to see how she took it.
Carelessly enough, for she was a famous actress except when taken bysurprise. Checking an evident desire of calling out some direction upstairs, she followed me to the door, remarking cheerfully, "You can notbe very long either; the place is not large enough."
My excuse--or rather the one I made to myself for thus returning to aplace I had seemingly exhausted, was this. In the quick turn I had madein leaving on the former occasion, my foot had struck the edge of thelarge rug nailed over the center of the floor, and unaccountablyloosened it. To rectify this mishap, and also to see how so slight ashock could have lifted the large brass nails by which it had been helddown to the floor, seemed reason enough for my action. But how to drawher attention to so insignificant a fact without incurring her ridiculeI could not decide in our brief passage back to the bungalow, andconsequently was greatly relieved when, upon opening the door andturning my lantern on the scene, I discovered that in our absence therug had torn itself still farther free from the floor and now lay withone of its corners well curled over--the corner farthest from the doorand nearest the divan where little Gwendolen had been lying when she waslifted and carried away--where?
Mrs. Carew saw it too and cast me a startled look which I met with asmile possibly as ambiguous as the feeling which prompted it.
"Who has been here?" she asked.
"Ourselves."
"Did we do that?"
"I did; or rather my foot struck the edge of the rug as I turned to goout with you. Shall I replace it and press back the nails?"
"If you will be so good."
Do what she would there was eagerness in her tone. Remarking this, Idecided to give another and closer look at the floor and the nails. Ifound the latter had not been properly inserted; or rather that therewere two indentations for every nail, a deep one and one quite shallow.This caused me to make some examination of the others, those which hadnot been drawn from the floor, and I found that one or two of them wereequally insecure, but not all; only those about this one corner.
Mrs. Carew, who had paused, confused and faltering in the doorway, inher dismay at seeing me engaged in this inspection instead of inreplacing the rug as I had proposed, now advanced a step, so that ourglances met as I looked up with the remark:
"This rug seems to have been lately raised at this corner. Do you knowif the police had it up?"
"I don't. I believe so--oh, Mr. Trevitt," she cried, as I rose to myfeet with the corner of the rug in my hand, "what are you going to do?"
She had run forward impetuously and was now standing close besideme--inconveniently close.
"I am going to raise this rug," I informed her. "That is, just at thiscorner. Pardon me, I shall have to ask you to move."
"Certainly, of course," she stammered. "Oh, what is going to happennow?" Then as she watched me: "There is--there _is_ something under it.A door in the floor--a--a--Mrs. Ocumpaugh never told me of this."
"Do you suppose she knew it?" I inquired, looking up into her face,which was very nea
r but not near enough to be in the full light of thelantern, which was pointed another way.
"This rug appears to have been almost soldered to the floor, everywherebut here. There! it is thrown back. Now, if you will be so very good asto hold the lantern, I will try and lift up the door."
"I can not. See, how my hands shake! What are we about to discover?Nothing, I pray, nothing. Suspense would be better than that."
"I think you will be able to hold it," I urged, pressing the lanternupon her.
"Yes; I have never been devoid of courage. But--but--don't ask me todescend with you," she prayed, as she lifted the lantern and turned itdexterously enough on that portion of the door where a ring lay outlinedin the depths of its outermost plank.
"I will not; but you will come just the same; you can not help it," Ihazarded, as with the point of my knife-blade I lifted the small roundof wood which filled into the ring and thus made the floor level.
"Now, if this door is not locked, we will have it up," I cried, pullingat the ring with a will. The door was not locked and it came up readilyenough, discovering some half-dozen steps, down which I immediatelyproceeded to climb.
"Oh, I can not stay here alone," she protested, and prepared to followme in haste just as I expected her to do the moment she saw the lightwithdrawn.
"Step carefully," I enjoined. "If you will honor me with your hand--"But she was at my side before the words were well out.
"What is it? What kind of place do you make it out to be; and is thereanything here you--do--not--want--to see?"
I flashed the light around and incidentally on her. She was nottrembling now. Her cheeks were red, her eyes blazing. She was looking atme, and not at the darksome place about her. But as this was natural, itbeing a woman's way to look for what she desires to learn in the face ofthe man who for the moment is her protector, I shifted the light intothe nooks and corners of the low, damp cellar in which we now foundourselves.
"Bins for wine and beer," I observed, "but nothing in them." Then as Imeasured the space before me with my eye, "It runs under the wholehouse. See, it is much larger than the room above."
"Yes," she mechanically repeated.
I lowered the lantern to the floor but quickly raised it again.
"What is that on the other side?" I queried. "I am sure there is a breakin the wall over in that corner."
"I can not see," she gasped; certainly she was very much frightened."Are you going to cross the floor?"
"Yes; and if you do not wish to follow me, sit down on these steps--"
"No, I will go where you go; but this is very fearful. Why, what is thematter?"
I had stepped aside in order to avoid a trail of footprints I sawextending across the cellar floor.
"Come around this way," I urged. "If you will follow me I will keep youfrom being too much frightened."
She did as I told her. Softly her steps fell in behind mine, and thuswith wary tread and peering eyes we made our way to the remote end,where we found--or rather where I found--that the break which I hadnoticed in the uniformity of the wall was occasioned by a pile of oldboxes, arranged so as to make steps up to a hole cut through the floorabove.
With a sharp movement I wheeled upon her.
"Do you see that?" I asked, pointing back over my shoulder.
"Steps," she cried, "going up into that part of the buildingwhere--where--"
"Will you attempt them with me? Or will you stay here, in the darkness?"
"I--will--stay--here."
It was said with shortened breath; but she seemed less frightened thanwhen we started to cross the cellar. At all events a fine look of daringhad displaced the tremulous aspect which had so changed the character ofher countenance a few minutes before.
"I will make short work of it," I assured her as I hastily ran up thesteps. "Drop your face into your hands and you will not be conscious ofthe darkness. Besides, I will talk to you all the time. There! I haveworked my way up through the hole. I have placed my lantern on the floorabove and I see-- What! are you coming?"
"Yes, I am coming."
Indeed, she was close beside me, maintaining her footing on the topplingboxes by a grip on my disengaged arm.
"Can you see?" I asked. "Wait! let me pull you up; we might as wellstand on the floor as on these boxes."
Climbing into the room above, I offered her my hand, and in anothermoment we stood together in the noisome precincts of that abominablespot, with whose doleful story she had just made me acquainted.
A square of impenetrable gloom confronted me at the first glance--whatmight not be the result of a second?
I turned to consult the appearance of the lady beside me before I tookthis second look. Had she the strength to stand the ordeal? Was she asmuch moved--or possibly more moved than myself? As a woman, and theintimate friend of the Ocumpaughs, she should be. But I could notperceive that she was. For some reason, once in view of this mysteriousplace, she was strangely, inexplicably, impassibly calm.
"You can bear it?" I queried.
"I must--only end it quickly."
"I will," I replied, and I held out my lantern.
I am not a superstitious man, but instinctively I looked up before Ilooked about me. I have no doubt that Mrs. Carew did the same. But nostains were to be seen on those blackened boards now; or rather, theywere dark with one continuous stain; and next moment I was examiningwith eager scrutiny the place itself.
Accustomed to the appearance of the cheerful and well-furnished room onthe other side of the partition, it was a shock to me (I will not saywhat it was to her) to meet the bare decaying walls and moulderingappurtenances of this dismal hole. True, we had just come from adescription of the place in all the neglect of its many years ofdesolation, yet the smart finish of the open portion we had just leftpoorly prepared us for what we here encountered.
But the first impression over--an impression which was to recur to memany a night afterward in dreams--I remembered the nearer and moreimperative cause which had drawn us thither, and turning the light intoeach and every corner, looked eagerly for what I so much dreaded tofind.
A couch to which some old cushions still clung stood against the fartherwall. Thank God! it was empty; so were all the corners of the room.Nothing living and--nothing dead!
Turning quickly upon Mrs. Carew, I made haste to assure her that ourfears were quite unfounded.
But she was not even looking my way. Her eyes were on the ground, andshe seemed merely waiting--in some impatience, evidently, but yet merelywaiting--for me to finish and be gone.
This was certainly odd, for the place was calculated in itself to rousecuriosity, especially in one who knew its story. A table, thick withdust and blurred with dampness, still gave tokens of a bygonefestivity--among which a bottle and some glasses stood conspicuous.Cards were there too, dingy and green with mould--some on thetable--some on the floor; while the open lid of a small desk pushed upclose to a book-case full of books, still held a rusty pen and theremnants of what looked like the mouldering sheets of unused paper. Asfor the rest--desolation, neglect, horror--but no _child_.
The relief was enormous.
"It is a dreadful place," I exclaimed; "but it might have been worse. Doyou want to see things nearer? Shall we cross the floor?"
"No, no. We have not found Gwendolen; let us go. Oh, let us go!"
A thrill of feeling had crept into her voice. Who could wonder? Yet Iwas not ready to humor her very natural sensibilities by leaving quiteso abruptly. The floor interested me; the cushions of that old couchinterested me; the sawn boards surrounding the hole--indeed, manythings.
"We will go in a moment," I assured her; "but, first, cast your eyesalong the floor. Don't you see that some one has preceded us here; andthat not so very long ago? Some one with dainty feet and a skirt thatfell on the ground; in short, a woman and--a lady!"
"I don't see," she faltered, very much frightened; then quickly: "Showme, show me."
I pointed out the marks in the h
eavy dust of the long neglected floor;they were unmistakable.
"Oh!" she cried, "what it is to be a detective! But who could have beenhere? Who would want to be here? I think it is horrible myself, and if Iwere alone I should faint from terror and the close air."
"We will not remain much longer," I assured her, going straight to thecouch. "I do not like it either, but--"
"What have you found now?"
Her voice seemed to come from a great distance behind me. Was this onaccount of the state of her nerves or mine? I am willing to think thelatter, for at that moment my eye took in two unexpected details. A dentas of a child's head in one of the mangy sofa-pillows and a crushed bitof colored sugar which must once have been a bit of choiceconfectionery.
"Some one besides a lady has been here," I decided, pointing to the oneand bringing back the other. "See! this bit of candy is quite fresh. Youmust acknowledge that. _This_ was not walled up years ago with the restof the things we see about us."
Her eyes stared at the sugary morsel I held out toward her in my openpalm. Then she made a sudden rush which took her to the side of thecouch.
"GWENDOLEN HERE?" SHE MOANED. "GWENDOLEN HERE?"]
"Gwendolen here?" she moaned. "Gwendolen here?"
"Yes," I began; "do not--"
But she had already left the spot and was backing toward the opening upwhich we had come. As she met my eye she made a quick turn and plungedbelow.
"I must have air," she gasped.
With a glance at the floor over which she had so rapidly passed, Ihastily followed her, smiling grimly to myself. Intentionally orunintentionally, she had by this quick passage to and fro effectuallyconfused, if not entirely obliterated, those evidences of a formerintrusion which, with misguided judgment, I had just pointed out to her.But recalling the still more perfect line of footprints left below towhich I had not called her attention, I felt that I could afford toignore the present mishap.
As I reached the cellar bottom I called to her, for she was alreadyhalf-way across.
"Did you notice where the boards had been sawed?" I asked. "The sawdustis still on the floor, and it smells as fresh as if the saw had been atwork there yesterday."
"No doubt, no doubt," she answered back over her shoulder, stillhurrying on so that I had to run lest she should attempt the steps inutter darkness.
When I reached the floor of the bungalow she was in the open doorpanting. Watching her with one eye, I drew back the trap into place andreplaced the rug and the three nails I had loosened. Then I shut theslide of the lantern and joined her where she stood.
"Do you feel better?" I asked. "It was a dismal quarter of an hour. Butit was not a lost one."
She drew the door to and locked it before she answered; then it was witha question.
"What do you make of all this, Mr. Trevitt?"
I replied as directly as the circumstances demanded.
"Madam, it is a startling answer to the question you put me before wefirst left your house. You asked then if the child in the wagon wasGwendolen. How could it have been she with this evidence before us ofher having been concealed here at the very time that wagon was beingdriven away from--"
"I do not think you have reason enough--" she began and stopped, and didnot speak again till we halted at the foot of her own porch. Then withthe frank accent most in keeping with her general manner, however much Imight distrust both accent and manner, she added as if no interval hadintervened: "If those signs you noted are proofs to you that Gwendolenwas shut up in that walled-off portion of the bungalow while some wereseeking her in the water and others in the wagon, _then where is shenow_?"
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