The Plague, Pestilence & Apocalypse MEGAPACK™

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The Plague, Pestilence & Apocalypse MEGAPACK™ Page 46

by Robert Reed

“It is I,” said her husband’s voice . “Open the door . Are you hurt?”

  She plunged her hands into a jug of water that stood on the wash-

  stand, and passed them over her face . The touch of the chilly water

  revived her . She dabbed her face with a towel with one hand as she

  opened the door with the other .

  “What is it?” she asked .

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  She was steadying herself . She had heard the shot, and she was

  prepared for the worst .

  Sir Ralph was in his dressing-gown .

  “Where was the firing?” he asked.

  “I heard no firing,” she said, steadily.

  “Somebody fired a pistol in the garden,” said Sir Ralph.

  She heard Hilary’s voice in the passage .

  “Are you all right, Lady Morte-Mannery?” said his voice .

  “I am quite all right,” she replied . “What is wrong?”

  Her voice was shaky and high-pitched, but in a dull way she

  knew that her agitation would be excusable . There had been shots in

  the garden, somebody had been shot—who? At that moment there

  came to her a quick pang of fear .

  “Somebody is shot?” she asked, tensely . “Who is shot?”

  “There was a man in the garden, trying to enter the house,” said

  Hilary’s voice . “Possibly he was detected .”

  Sir Ralph crossed the room, and, opening the shutters, went out

  on to the balcony . Two men were already on the lawn below .

  “Have you found anything?” he called . He was addressing the

  two hastily-aroused servants who were conducting the search out-

  side .

  Vera listened; her heart almost stopped beating, when the groom’s

  voice replied—

  “There’s a man shot in the shrubbery, Sir Ralph . He looks like a

  foreigner .”

  She clenched her hands and waited—rigid —expressionless .

  “What sort of man?” asked Sir Ralph, testily . “What do you mean

  by a foreigner, Philip?”

  “Well, he’s a clean-shaven gentleman,” said the servant . “I don’t

  think he’s badly hurt . A tall man .”

  A great joy surged over the woman .

  It was not he; whoever it was, whether this wounded man lived

  or died—it was not Festini .

  She listened . There was a new voice .

  “It’s all right, Sir Ralph,” it said .

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  She recognized it, and set her teeth . Part of the conversation came

  to her in little gusts .

  “It was just a little clip of a bullet across the temple…that is the

  second time they have missed me .… I’m afraid you’ve lost some-

  thing .…”

  It was the voice of Tillizini .

  In the big hall they assembled, a dishevelled assembly, hastily

  garmented .

  Tillizini’s wound was a superficial one. The bullet had struck

  behind his ear, glancing over the parietal bone and temporarily stun-

  ning him . He was very cheerful .

  “I only came down to-night by car,” he said, “because I received

  information which led me to believe that the attempt would be made

  upon you . Now,” he said, “I am ready .”

  He stood up .

  “I want to examine your little museum,” he said, “and discover

  what is lost .”

  “Oh, I couldn’t have lost anything from there,” said Sir Ralph,

  confidently. “There are alarms in every window, and almost every

  pane .”

  “There are no alarms on the door, are there?” asked Tillizini .

  Sir Ralph looked surprised .

  “They are not necessary,” he said .

  He led the way, and the others followed .

  He opened the treasure house, and they flocked in behind him.

  He was a little in advance of Tillizini, and he turned in the doorway

  to switch on the light .

  At that moment Vera saw the evidence of her criminal folly . On

  the top of one of the shuttered cases was the little jewelled electric

  lamp which Sir Ralph had in a fit of unusual generosity given her.

  Tillizini saw it too . He was as quick as she, and quicker to move .

  With one step he stood between the tell-tale lamp and the gaze of the

  half-awake people in the doorway . His hand went out and covered it .

  When Sir Ralph turned the lamp had disappeared .

  There was a quick inspection .

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  “It’s gone!” cried the knight . “They have taken the Leonardo!”

  “I thought they had,” said Tillizini calmly, “and I thought I should

  be able to restore it—but, for the moment, that pleasure is denied

  me .”

  “But is it possible?” said Sir Ralph, bewildered . “Nobody could

  have got in here without my knowing!”

  He was almost tearful in his grief .

  “It was invaluable,” he said . “It cannot be replaced . It is the only

  one of the kind in the world . What does it mean—what does it mean,

  Tillizini? You must tell me everything! I insist upon knowing! I

  won’t be kept in the dark!”

  He raved and stormed as though Tillizini had been responsible

  for the theft . It was some time before he became calmer, and then

  the Italian was by no means informative .

  Vera, silent and watchful, waited . Whatever happened, Festini

  was safe! By now he would be far on his way to London . He had the

  parcel, that was enough: she had served him, she asked for no more .

  From the moment that Tillizini had put out his hand and covered

  the lamp she knew that he had guessed her secret . Would he betray

  her? To her surprise and relief he made no reference to what he must

  have seen and known .

  Yet he was distressed and worried—she saw that—but it was with

  the greater issue, with the danger which confronted civilization .

  He walked up and down the hall—a remarkable figure, with the

  white bandage encircling his head, his hands thrust deep into his

  pockets, his chin blue and unshaven, his eyes tired, with an infinite

  weariness .

  He took no part in the fruitless discussion as to how the thief

  effected an entry . He had all the information he required on that

  subject . He paused in his walk and took from his pocket a shining

  object—laid it in the palm of his hand and examined it .

  Sir Ralph, attracted by the glow of dull gold in his hand, stepped

  forward with a startled cry .

  “Why, that is the locket!” he cried .

  Tillizini shook his head .

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  “It is one very much like it,” he said, “but it is not the one . It is the

  famous locket that was stolen from the Dublin collection, and which

  is at the present moment supposed to be at the bottom of the North

  Sea . It was given to a fellow-passenger on that boat to guard and to

  return to me . You remember I was charged with the investigation of

  its disappearance?”

  He walked to the fireplace.

  There were two overhanging gas-brackets which gave a clear

  light .

  He held the medallion with both hands, using only two fingers of

  each . He
gave it a sharp twist and it fell in two .

  Sir Ralph uttered an exclamation .

  “Why, I did not know that these things opened!” he said wonder-

  ingly .

  “I could most devoutly wish that they did not,” said Tillizini

  grimly .

  He damped his finger a little, and drew forth from the locket’s

  interior what looked like four discs of paper, as indeed they were .

  They were covered with fine writing—so fine that it was almost im-

  possible to read them without the aid of a reading glass .

  “Do you understand Italian?” asked Tillizini .

  “A little,” said Sir Ralph, “but not enough to read this .”

  “Take a good look at it,” said the other; “it is from the hand of

  the greatest genius that ever lived since Jerusalem was a vassal state

  of Rome .”

  He spoke reverently—almost adoringly—of his famous compa-

  triot .

  “That is the hand of Leonardo da Vinci,” he said in a hushed

  voice .

  “And what is it all about?” asked Frank, “and isn’t it written

  backwards?”

  He had been examining the microscopic writing with his keen

  eyes .

  Tillizini smiled .

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  “The master wrote with his left hand invariably—always work-

  ing back to the left . This will help you .”

  He drew from his pocket a tiny mirror in a leather case .

  “Read,” said Tillizini .

  Frank carried the little discs nearer to the light, and brought them

  with the mirror closer to his eyes . Marjorie, watching him, saw his

  lips move as he read the Italian, saw his brows pucker in a puzzled

  frown, then her lover looked up suddenly .

  “Why,” he said, “this is all about a plague .” Tillizini nodded .

  “The Great Plague,” he said, “or, as modern scientists call it, the

  Fourth Plague, which broke out simultaneously in Italy and Ireland

  in the same year . It was the one plague which our modern doctors

  are unable to understand or fathom . As a matter of fact, the only man

  who understood it was Leonardo da Vinci . He was, as you know

  well, Sir Ralph, more than a painter. He had the scientific mind

  perfectly developed. He was the first to foresee the coming of the

  aeroplane and the armoured ship . He was an engineer, a sculptor, a

  chemist, and—”

  He spread out his hands .

  “What is the use? I cannot enumerate his qualities,” he said . “He

  was so above the heads of his contemporaries that they were unable

  to realize what kind of genius was in their midst . Even posterity can

  hardly do him justice . He alone understood the Fourth Plague—its

  meaning and its cause .

  “That plague came into existence by the cultivation of a germ,

  though this, of course, he did not know because the microscope

  was denied him, but he guessed it—with that wonderful, God-like

  intuition of his, he guessed it,” said Tillizini, his face glowing with

  enthusiasm and pride .

  “The conditions under which the plague came into being, condi-

  tions which were undreamed of, even by those who saw them under

  their eyes, were revealed to Leonardo da Vinci . Ordinarily,” he went

  on, “they would in this year of grace be produced .”

  “What do you mean by that?” asked Sir Ralph .

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  “Under the modern system,” said Tillizini, “that plague could

  never appear again. But there are six drugs which you might find in

  the British Pharmacopoeia,” he continued, “which, if you were to

  mix them, would produce a gas .”

  He spoke impressively, and with the assurance of the practical

  scientist .

  “That gas, passed through a filter of vegetable matter, would set

  up conditions which made the plague of 1500 possible .”

  “Good God!” said Frank . “Do you mean to say that you can pro-

  duce a plague synthetically?”

  Tillizini nodded .

  “That is exactly what Leonardo da Vinci discovered . This is the

  secret .”

  He held the flimsy discs in his hands.

  “There is no doubt that Leonardo did produce a plague syntheti-

  cally, two years after . At any rate, some such outbreak occurred in

  the town where his laboratory was situated . It is believed that, as a

  result of that plague, Mona Lisa Gioconda lost her life .”

  “Oh, that is the woman in the picture,” said Marjorie .

  “That is the woman in the picture,” repeated Tillizini, “the one

  woman in the world whom Leonardo ever loved . The one great

  softening influence that ever came into his life. His investigations

  into the cause of the plague he set forth, concisely, on these little

  filaments. The lockets he fashioned himself. One, as you know—”

  “I know the history,” said Sir Ralph . “I was telling Mr . Gallinford

  only the other day . How extraordinary it is that that old-world story

  should be revived .”

  “But why do the ‘Red Hand’ want these lockets?”

  “They only want one . Either one will do,” said Tillizini . “Don’t

  you realize? To-morrow, with the aid of a man with even the most

  elementary knowledge of chemistry, they could devastate London—

  and not only London, but the whole of England, or, if it please them,

  the whole of Europe, working from different centres .”

  As the little party stood stricken to silence, the full horror of the

  danger dawning upon them, Tillizini heard a long-drawn sigh .

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  Vera had stumbled forward in a dead faint, and Frank had just

  time to catch her before she fell .

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE ABDUCTION OF MARJORIE

  It was a week after the burglary at Highlawns that a perfectly

  happy man went whistling to his work . He walked with a brisk step,

  carrying his lunch in a gaily-coloured handkerchief, with a tin can

  full of tea for his breakfast . George Mansingham raised his eyes to

  the sky, which was just turning grey, in thankfulness at his freedom .

  Work had been found for him through the medium of Hilary

  George, at a little farm outside the town . He and his wife had been

  installed in a tiny cottage on Sir Ralph’s estate . To give Sir Ralph

  his due, he had freely admitted the injustice of the sentence he had

  passed; if not to the man, at least to himself, which was something;

  and it needed little pleading on the part of Hilary George, who had

  taken an interest in the case, to induce him to let his untenanted cot-

  tage to the man he had wronged .

  Early as the hour was, he found his employer and his son up and

  about . There is much work to be done before the sun comes up over

  the edge of the world . There are horses to be fed and groomed, sheep

  and cattle that require attention, cows to be milked, and milk to be

  carried .

  The sky grew lighter, the sun came up, it seemed to him with

  a rush, but he was too busy to notice the progress of the time . At

  half-past eight nature called him to breakfast . He sat
down to his fru-

  gal meal, first placing two nosebags on the heads of the horses, for

  he was now engaged in ploughing the ten-acre lot Farmer Wensell

  farmed . His meal quickly disposed of, he pulled a bulky book from

  the inside of his jacket pocket and began to read . He had a passion

  for self-education, and at the moment Merejowski’s Forerunner,

  which Marjorie had lent him, had a special significance, not only for

  him, but for the whole of England . He was so intent upon the pages

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  of this wonderful romance that he did not notice the girl who was

  crossing the field with such free strides.

  He heard his name called and looked up; then he sprang to his

  feet, hat in hand .

  “You’re very absorbed, Mansingham,” smiled Marjorie .

  “Yes, miss,” said the other, “it’s a wonderful book, and he’s a

  wonderful man . I’m not surprised all the world’s talking about him

  just now .”

  “It’s not because of his genius that they are speaking of him,”

  said the girl, gravely .

  She carried a paper under her arm; in fact she had been down to

  Burboro’ Station to get the journal .

  “It’s a terrible business, miss,” said the man . He put the book

  down . “It doesn’t seem possible, in a civilized age, and in a country

  like England . Is there any fresh news this morning, miss?”

  She nodded gravely .

  “The ‘Red Hand’ have addressed the Premier,” she said, “and

  they have demanded ten million pounds, an act of indemnity passed

  by the House of Commons, and freedom to leave the country .”

  The man looked incredulous .

  “Why, they’ll never get that, will they, miss?” he asked . “It’s

  against all reason, a demand like that! Suppose it’s not true, suppose

  they haven’t discovered this plague—”

  She shook her head .

  “There’s no doubt about it, Mansingham,” she said . “Mr . Gallin-

  ford knows it to be true . He has been investigating, looking up old

  documents relating to the plague of 1500 . These men have it in their

  power to decimate the whole of England .”

  The subject they were discussing filled the minds of men

  throughout Great Britain that day; nay, throughout Europe . Wher-

  ever civilized people foregathered, the cable and the telegraph had

  carried the news of the threat which overhung the country . It was the

  final demand of the “Red Hand,” a demand which at first had been

 

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