CHAPTER IX
THE SNARE
Dick's face bore a broad grin as he entered the room. He lookeddreadfully mischievous. Assuming as serious an expression as I couldconjure, I said to him:
"Why, what's the meaning of this, Dick? How do you come to be in town?Are you with Aunt Hannah?"
"It's all right--brother-in-law," he answered lightly. "No, I am notwith Aunt Hannah, nor is Aunt Hannah with me. I have come up on my own."
"'On your own'? What do you mean?"
"I'll tell you, but--won't you introduce me, Mike?"
"Easterton," I said, "this is Roland Challoner's boy, Dick. Jack, thisis the boy I told you about who was chloroformed by the thievesat Holt."
Jack's eyes rested on Dick. Then he put out his hand.
"Come here, old chap," he said in his deep voice. For several moments heheld Dick's hand in his while he sat looking at him.
"Yes," he said at last, "I have heard about you--Dick. I heard aboutwhat you did that day those men caught you. Keep that spirit up, myboy--your family has never lacked pluck, if history is to betrusted--and you'll become one of the kind of men England so badlyneeds. What are you doing in London? Is your father with you?"
"No, I have come up on my own," Dick repeated. "I am going to tell Mikewhy, in a moment. Are you Mr. Jack Osborne that Mike is always talkingto my sister about, who took Mike to that house--the house where thefire was?"
"Yes, I am," Jack answered, laughing. "Why?"
"Oh, because my sister didn't like your taking Mike there, you know--shedidn't like it a bit. She and Mike are going to be married, you know,and Mike is going to be my brother-in-law."
I pounced upon him to make him be quiet, though Easterton and Osborneclamoured that he should be left alone and allowed to say anything heliked, Jack declaring that he wanted to hear "more of this romance."
At last we all became serious, and then Dick said:
"I made a discovery this morning at Holt. There is someone hidden in theold hiding-hole close to father's bedroom."
"Hidden in it!" I exclaimed. "Oh, nonsense!"
"Your telegram to Dulcie arrived at about half-past ten this morning,"he went on, not heeding my remark, "and she and Aunt Hannah at once gotready to go to town--I know what was in the telegram, because Dulcietold me. About an hour after they were gone, I happened to go up tofather's bedroom to fetch something, and when I came out again I noticedan odd sound--at first I couldn't think where it came from. It was likesomeone breathing very heavily, someone asleep. I stood quite still, andsoon I found that it came from the priests' hiding-hole--you know it,you have seen it. I went over on tip-toe, got into the angle where theopening to the hole is, and pressed my ear down on the sliding board. Icould hear the sound quite well then--somebody breathing awfullyheavily. First I thought of sliding back the board and peeping in. ThenI decided I wouldn't do that until I'd got somebody else with me. Inoticed that the sliding board was unbolted--there is a little bolt onthe side of it, you know--so I very quietly pushed forward the bolt andthen went downstairs to look for James or Charles--that's the butler andthe footman, you know," he said to Jack. "Cook told me they had bothgone into Newbury for the day, and of course father's chauffeur was outwith the car--he had taken Aunt Hannah and Dulcie to Holt Stacey tocatch the train to London, and I knew that he would take a day off too,because he always does when he gets the chance--father isn't expectedback until to-night. So then I went to try to find Churchill, or one ofthe other gardeners--goodness knows where they were hiding themselves.Anyway, I couldn't find them, nor could I find either of the keepers; infact, I seemed to be the only man on the place."
"Well, go on," I said, as he paused. "You were the only man on theplace. What did the only 'man' do then?"
"I'll tell you if you'll wait a moment--my brother-in-law is always sobeastly impatient," he said, turning again to Jack. "Don't you find himlike that, Mr. Osborne?"
"I do--always. But go on, old boy, I'm very interested."
"And so am I," Easterton laughed.
"Of course, it was no use telling cook or the maids; they'd have gotwhat cook calls 'styricks' or something, so then it suddenly struck methe best thing for me to do would be to come right up to town and findAunt Hannah and tell her. I knew where she'd be, because you'd said inyour telegram--four hundred and thirty Grafton Street. I didn't knowwhere Grafton Street was, but I thought I could find out--I borrowedmoney from cook for the railway ticket, though I didn't tell her what Iwanted it for, or she wouldn't have given it to me, and directly afterlunch I bicycled to Holt Stacey station and caught the train.
"I got to Grafton Street all right by a 'bus down Bond Street. There wasa policeman standing near the house in Grafton Street, and when I rangthe bell he came up and asked me what I wanted. I told him, and he saidhe thought I'd find 'the two ladies I wanted' at the Ritz Hotel. I knewwhere that was, and he showed me the way to get to it, down DoverStreet--of course, if I'd had money enough I'd have taken taxis and gotabout much quicker. A giant in livery at the Ritz Hotel told me that'two ladies answering to the description of the ladies I sought' hadleft the hotel about a quarter of an hour before I got there, and hedidn't know where they had gone. Then I went to Brooks's to see if youwere there, but you weren't, though they said you'd been there. That putthe lid on it. I didn't know what to do, and I'd only got tenpenceha'penny left. I was awfully hungry, so I went and had tea and buns atthe A.B.C. shop at Piccadilly Circus. While I was having tea Iremembered hearing you tell Dulcie that Mr. Osborne lived at the RussellHotel. I'd have telephoned to Mr. Osborne and explained who I was andasked him if he could tell me where I could find you, and I'd havetelephoned too to your flat in South Molton Street to ask if you werethere, but I'd got only fivepence ha'penny left after tea, and you mightboth have been out and then I'd have had only a penny-ha'penny andPaddington seemed an awfully long way to walk to, and I wasn't quitesure of the way, so I'd have had to keep asking, and that's such abore, isn't it?
"So after tea I got on to the tube and came here and asked for Mr.Osborne. The man downstairs told me 'two gentlemen were with him,' and Iasked him what they were like. He told me as well as he could, and Iguessed from the description one of them must be you, and then justafter the messenger had come up to ask if it was you and to tell you Iwas there, another hotel man turned up downstairs, and I talked to him,and he said he knew a Mr. Berrington was with Mr. Osborne because he,the man, had telephoned up your name a little while before, and Mr.Osborne had said to show you up. And so here I am, and that's all."
He stopped abruptly, breathless after his long talk, which had beendelivered without an instant's pause.
"For your age you seem fairly intelligent," Jack said, with a look ofamusement.
"Yes, fairly," Dick retorted. "But my brother-in-law says that 'when hewas my age' the world was a much better and finer place, that the boysdid wonderful things--'when he was my age.' He says, for instance, thathe talked Latin and Greek and German and French and one or two otherlanguages just as you talk English, Mr. Osborne, 'when he was my age'--funny how he has forgotten them all, isn't it? My sister told me onlyyesterday that Mike talks French fluently, but that his German 'leavesmuch to be desired.' Those were her words. Were all the boys wonderfulwhen you were my age too, Mr. Osborne, can you remember? Another thingMike says is that 'when he was my age' all boys were taught to swim bybeing taken to the ends of piers and flung into the sea--Mike says hewas taught like that just as the rest were, and that he jolly well hadto swim or he'd have been drowned, which seems pretty obvious, doesn'tit, when you come to think of it? When did the fashion of teaching boysto swim like that go out, Mr. Osborne? I'm jolly glad it has gone out."
When I had succeeded in checking Dick's flow of talk and quelling hishigh spirits, and had questioned him further with regard to the man hedeclared to be in hiding at Holt--though without my being able to obtainfrom him any further information--I turned to Jack.
"What do you make of it?" I said. "What do
you suggest ought to bedone?"
"I think," he answered after a moment's pause, "that it affords anexcellent excuse for you to run down to Holt to-night."
"Oh, good!" Dick exclaimed, jumping with excitement. "And there's atrain at a quarter to seven that we can catch; it gets to Holt Stacey atfive minutes to eight."
Jack glanced up at the clock.
"In three quarters of an hour's time," he said. "That will suit you,Mike, and you'll be glad, I know, of the excuse to go down to Holt tosee the flowers and--and things. Don't think I suppose for a moment thatyou want to see either Dulcie Challoner or the old lady you call 'AuntHannah,' but still if you should see them, and of course you will--"
"Oh, he'll see them right enough," Dick burst out, "especially mysister. There aren't any flies on my brother-in-law, you bet!"
I boxed Dick's ears, but he didn't seem to mind. Perhaps I didn't boxthem very hard, for instead of howling as he ought to have done, helooked up at me sharply and exclaimed:
"Then you're coming down to Holt now! Hooray! We'll go downtogether--how ripping! I'll telephone to say you're coming, and say toget your room ready," and he sprang across to the instrument bythe bedside.
I stopped him, gripping him by the shoulder, though not beforehe had pulled off the receiver and called through to theoperator--"Trunks, please!"
"You'll do nothing of the sort," I said, "and look here, Dick, you arein Mr. Osborne's rooms, and not in your own play-room, so don'tforget it."
I felt greatly preoccupied as the train sped down to Berkshire--anxious,too, about many things, not the least of these being how I should bereceived. Would Sir Roland have returned? Would Aunt Hannah have toldhim everything? If so would he have adopted her view with regard to thesending of that telegram, and with regard to other matters? And Dulcie,would she at last have come to think as Aunt Hannah thought? I could notbelieve she would have, but still--
As I have said, women are so extraordinary, that there is no knowingwhat they may not do, no accounting for what they may do.
Knowing there would be no conveyance obtainable at Holt Stacey, I haddecided to go on to Newbury. On our alighting at Newbury I suddenlyheard Dick's shrill voice calling:
"Why, Mike, there's father!"
Sir Roland had just got out of a compartment further up the train, andsoon we were in conversation. He too had come from London, but whereasDick and I had only just caught the train, Sir Roland had, he said,entered it as soon as it came into the station, which accounted for ournot having seen him at Paddington. As we walked along the Newburyplatform I explained to him very briefly the reason I had come down, andhow it was I had Dick with me, inwardly congratulating myself upon mygood fortune in thus meeting Sir Roland and so being able to explaineverything to him concerning what had happened that day, before heshould meet his sister and hear what she would tell him.
"It was only at the last moment I decided to come by this train," SirRoland said as he entered the taxi that a porter had hailed, and Ifollowed him, while Dick hopped in after us. "How tiresome it is onecan't get a conveyance at Holt Stacey; people are for ever complainingto me about it. As I have not telegraphed for the car to meet me I hadto come on to Newbury."
"I came to Newbury for the same reason," I said; and then, as the taxirolled swiftly along the dark lanes, for we had a twelve miles' runbefore us, I gave Sir Roland a detailed account of all that had happenedthat day, from the time Easterton had rung me up at my flat to tell meof Jack Osborne's disappearance and to ask me to come to him at once,down to the sudden and unexpected arrival of Dick at Jack's rooms at theRussell Hotel.
Sir Roland was astounded, and a good deal perturbed. Several timesduring the course of my narrative he had interrupted in order to putsome question or other to Dick. At first he had reproved him for goingto London on what Dick called "his own"; but when I told him more headmitted that what the boy had done he had done probably for the best.
"Oh, I haven't told you one thing," Dick suddenly interrupted.
"Well, what?" Sir Roland asked.
"While I was on my way to Holt Stacey this morning, Mrs. Stapletonpassed me in her car. I was on that part of the road, about a mile fromthe lodge, where if you look round you can see a long bit of the avenue.I wondered if Mrs. Stapleton were going to Holt by any chance, so Ibicycled rather slowly for a minute or two, and looked round once ortwice. I had guessed right, because all at once I saw her car going upthe avenue."
"Are you sure it was Mrs. Stapleton?" I asked, suddenly interested.
"Oh, quite. But I don't think she saw me, her car went by so fast."
"Was anybody with her?"
"No, she was alone--the chauffeur was driving."
"And the car that went up the drive, are you sure it was the same?"
"Positive--that long grey car of hers, I'd know it anywhere; you canrecognize it ever so far away."
We were half a mile from the lodge, now. Soon we had shot through theopen gates, and were sliding up the splendid avenue. I felt intenselyexcited, also happier than when in the train, for I knew I now possessedSir Roland's entire confidence. Delicious was it to think that in a fewminutes I should see Dulcie again, but what excited me--and I knew itmust be exciting Sir Roland too--was the thought of that man--or wouldit prove to be a woman?--lying concealed in the hiding-hole. Who couldhe be? How long had he been there? How had he got there and what couldhe be doing?
I had told Sir Roland of the false conclusion Aunt Hannah had come towith regard to the sending of that typed telegram, and how bitterly shehad spoken to me about it--I had thought it best to prepare him for theabsurd story that I felt sure Aunt Hannah would proceed to pour into hisear directly she met him. To my relief he had laughed, appearing totreat the matter of her annoyance and suspicion as a joke, though thesending of the telegram he looked upon, naturally, as a very gravematter. Consequently, upon our arrival at Holt, instead of inquiring forhis sister, and at once consulting her upon the subject of the day'sevents, as he would, I knew, have done under ordinary circumstances, hetold Charles, the footman, to send the butler to him at once, and toreturn with him.
We were now in the little library--Sir Roland and myself, Dick, thebutler and the footman, and the door was shut. Without any preliminariesSir Roland came straight to the point. He told the two servants ofDick's discovery that morning, told them that presumably the man wasstill in hiding where Dick had bolted him down, and that the four of uswere at once going, as he put it, "to unearth the scoundrel."
"And you will stay here, Dick," Sir Roland added. "We shall not needyour services at this juncture."
Dick was, I could see, deeply disappointed at, as he put it to me in anundertone, "being side-tracked like this by the guv'nor when it was Iwho marked the beggar to ground "; but his father's word was law, andhe knew it.
"Never mind, my dear old chap," I said, as I noticed a slight quiver ofthe under lip, "directly we've unearthed him and got him safely baggedI'll come and tell you what he looks like and all about him. You see,your father doesn't want to run unnecessary risk--you're the only boyhe's got, and this man may be armed. You would be annoyed if the fellowwere to make holes in you, and I should be vexed too; greatly vexed."
Dick laughed at that, and when, a minute later, we left him, he washappier in his mind.
No sound was audible as we stood above the priests' hole, listeningintently. This hiding-place was oddly situated, and ingeniouslyconstructed. In an angle formed by two walls with old oak wainscotingwas a sliding floor--in reality it was a single board, but it was madeto resemble so exactly several boards set parallel and horizontally thatnone could believe it to be a single board unless they were shown.Immediately beneath was a room, or closet, not much bigger than a verylarge cupboard, which could accommodate three men standing, or twoseated. In olden days this sliding board was covered with tapestry, andbeing made in such a way that, when stamped upon or struck, no hollowsound was emitted, it formed a safe place of concealment for anyoutlawed person for wh
om the emissaries of the law might be in search.To this day the board slides away into the wall as "sweetly" as it didin the days of the Reformation; but Sir Roland, owing to an accidenthaving once occurred through someone leaving the hole uncovered, hadaffixed a small bolt to the board and given orders that this bolt shouldalways be kept pushed into its socket.
When we had all stood listening for fully a minute, Sir Roland saidsuddenly:
"Charles, draw the bolt and slide back the board--get back, James!" heexclaimed sharply to the butler, who in his anxiety to see what would berevealed was bending forward.
"D'you want to be shot? Whoever the man may be he is pretty sure to bearmed."
An instant later the board had vanished into the wall, and Sir Rolandstood peering down exactly as he had warned his butler not to do.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed.
Casting prudence aside, we all pressed forward and looked down into thehole. Huddled in a heap at the bottom was a man in hunting kit--whitebreeches, top boots and "pink" coat. Sitting along the floor, he wasbent almost double, so that we could not see his face.
"Hello!" Sir Roland called out, "who are you? What are you doing there?"
But the figure didn't move.
At one end of the hiding-hole a ladder was nailed vertically. The feetof the man touched its lowest rung. Turning, Sir Roland began carefullyto descend.
"Let me, sir!" the butler exclaimed excitedly, "let me--it's notsafe--he may attack you, sir!"
Without answering Sir Roland continued to clamber down. Now he stoodupon the floor of the hiding-hole, at the foot of the figure. We saw himstoop, raise the man's head, and bend the body upward until the backrested against the other end of the hole.
An exclamation escaped us simultaneously. The face was that of a man oftwenty-seven or so, though the stubbly beard and moustache, apparently aweek's growth or more, at first gave the idea that he was much older.The eyes were closed and sunken. The mouth gaped. The face was deathlypale and terribly emaciated.
"By Gad!" gasped Sir Roland, as he took hold of the wrist and felt forthe pulse. "My Gad, I think he's dead!"
The Four Faces: A Mystery Page 9