The House on the Borderland and Other Mysterious Places

by William Hope Hodgson; Jeremy Lassen

  Mr. Jock Danplank stood a moment, and looked down at the little old gardener. Then he laughed a little, very quietly, and held out his hand.

  “Mr. Biggle,” he said, “I respect your attitude in the matter, and I give you my word that I have not walked over your flower-beds, and should never dream of doing such a stupid thing. You may be interested to know that there has been some stranger in the garden during the night; for the study has been broken into, and some of the furniture disturbed. I hope you’ve not cleaned up all the footmarks, as I want to take a pattern of one or two, Mr. Biggle.”

  Mr. Biggle, now thoroughly restored to his normal temperature, hastened to stop the work of repair; but it was too late. Not a single footprint had been left untreated, much to his as well as to Mr. Jock Danplank’s annoyance; for he was grimly desirous of getting even with the desecrator.

  “It’d make old Sir Gerald turn in ’is grave; it would that!” he kept repeating vehemently in his shrill, husky voice. “Not as I ever thought the old gennelman would rest comfortable nohow,” he concluded. “Never still a moment, as you might say, Mr. Danplank, sir, day or night. All night I’ve known ’im walkin’ round this ’ere garding. All night, Mr. Danplank, sir.”

  “You don’t mean to suggest, Mr. Biggle, that it is my uncle who’s been tramping over your flower-beds, I hope?” said Jock Danplank.

  “Wot? Old Sir Gerald hisself!” said Mr. Biggle, very seriously. “Why, Mr. Danplank, sir, ’ee’d as soon think of walkin’ on ’is own face; not as I say ’ee could do it, mind you!”

  The following morning there was fresh trouble, for Mr. Biggle insisted on calling Jock Danplank at six o’clock in the morning to come out and look at something he had discovered in the garden. This was nothing less than an immense hole which had been dug bang in the centre of his largest flower-bed. The hole was fully six feet deep and about ten across, and roughly circular. All round it the earth had been trampled by more than one pair of feet; and, as for the flower-bed itself, it was completely smothered out of existence beneath the pile of earth which had been thrown up out of the great hole.

  Mr.Biggle’s state of mind had passed beyond any hope of easement from words. At times mechanically, at half-minute intervals, he assured Mr. Danplank that old Sir Gerald would turn in his grave; but his imagination got no further, for he seemed temporarily stunned with the excess of his stupefied rage.

  Jock Danplank himself was more than a little angry, but he was also more than a little excited. Evidently someone—Cousin Billy, he named that someone to himself—had certain reasons for supposing that the treasure was buried somewhere in the garden. In that case, there might be real hopes of Jock Danplank finding it for himself; unless those who had dug that great hole had actually discovered and removed the money during the night. Somehow, Mr. Jock Danplank had an inward conviction that nothing had come out of that hole, except the earth that lay piled around. Yet he could not be sure, of course, and felt proportionately anxious.

  After considerable cogitation, he decided to see the whole business through himself, and make no complaint to the police; and, with this intention, he arranged with Mr. Biggle that a watch should be kept in the garden at nights by Mr. Biggle and his three men, assisted by himself.

  In furtherance of this idea, he went up to town next day, and invested in two bull-terriers, who were tied up each night near to the French windows opening into the rose garden. And so the watch of the garden began. Mr. Jock Danplank assigned to himself the first watch, which extended from dark to midnight, and which was invariably shared by his diminutive but plucky wife. They kept their watch from a little shelter erected temporarily among the flower-beds, and cunningly screened by a number of newly planted rose bushes.

  Yet it seemed that it was going to prove truly a case of locking the stable door after the horse is stolen; for a week passed without the least sign of anything suspicious.

  “Oh, J.D., I’m sure they’ve found it!” said Mrs. Danplank more than once, towards the close of that week. “How shall we ever be able to prove it. They’ve got it, and we may just as well stop watching now.”

  Yet the very next night something happened; for about two in the morning, Mr. Jock Danplank was awakened by his wife shaking him furiously.

  “J.D.! J.D.! J.D.!” she was whispering shrilly in his ear. “Wake up! Wake up! There’s something happening in the garden! The dogs have just gone mad. Hark!”

  Jock Danplank did listen, and surely the dogs were filling the night with their crazy barking; then there was the sound of a man shouting; and in a moment big Jock Danplank was out of bed, and into his slippers and dressing-gown.

  He dashed into the study, slipped the catch of the French windows, and raced into the garden, shouting to Mr. Biggle, whose watch it was.

  “ ’Ere, sir, ’ere!” he heard the old gardener shouting in the distance, and he raced towards the call, cutting across rose-beds ruthlessly. He found old Biggle sitting, moaning a little, in one of the smaller circles of olden turf which lay between the rose bushes on the farther side of the garden.

  “Tripped on summat, Mr. Danplank, sir, an’ wrenched my ankle somethin’ horful,” the old man explained, gritting out the words with pain. “Take care wot you’re doin’ sir, there’s a rope stretched across ’ere, somewheres, that’s wot caught my foot, sir. I thought I saw someone runnin’ when the dogs started; an’ I did a sprint after ’em, but I fouled summat with my foot. Strike a light, Mr. Danplank, sir.”

  He struck a light, as the old man requested, and looked around him.

  “Why, Biggle,” he said suddenly, “there’s a surveyor’s broken tape or something here. Th— Why, look, man, the turf’s all lifted here!”

  And so it was; and in the centre of the little grass circle there was stuck a large wooden peg, to which one end of the measuring-tape was attached; the other end he discovered eventually was fastened to the bronze “Fighting Gladiator” which stood, as has been mentioned, in the centre of the rose garden. This, however, later.In the meanwhile, Jock Danplank had unhitched one of the dogs, and, taking him by the chain, followed his tracings of the intruders’ footsteps. These led across the garden, cutting ruthlessly across beds, eventually to the outer surrounding hedge, through which a gap had been burst. This led out on to a ten-acre meadow, beyond which was the high road; so that Jock, knowing the man or men had a good start, wasted no more time, but hurried back to old Biggle, whom he found now surrounded by the two under-gardeners and Mrs. Danplank.

  “We’ll carry him into the house, and then get spades and see what’s underground here,” said Mr. Jock Danplank. But old Biggle refused to be moved. He sent his two underlings for spades and pickaxes, also for a couple of hurricane lamps. When these were brought he insisted on holding one, whilst the other he gave to Mrs. Danplank to hold.

  Then the digging commenced, and for two hours went forward breathlessly, in every sense of the word. Yet nothing was unearthed, though by that time the hole stretched almost across the little opening, and was fully as deep as the men’s shoulders. Another two hours of digging followed; and then the delving was abandoned, for it was obvious that there was no treasure there; and that Cousin Billy—for so Jock Danplank named the intruder to himself—was once more very distinctly off the mark; for this second attempt made it plain that the first had been unsuccessful.

  With this knowledge came the comforting realisation that the treasure was still unmoved; and for the next week Jock Danplank and his wife took the hint that the measuring-tape had given them, and tried every imaginable measurement about the gardens, and even had a narrow hole sunk diagonally under the statue of the “Fighting Gladiator,” to make sure that warlike gentleman was not standing guard over their gold; but everything led to nothing. Finally, in a moment of inspiration, Mrs. Dunplank suggested excitedly that they should measure seventy-seven feet due east through the French windows from the gigantic writing-table.

  At this suggestion, Jock Danplank grew almost as excite
d as his wife, for it seemed to explain the reason for the special mention of the table in his uncle’s will. The measurement was made from the centre rose of the inlay of the table-top, and the bearing taken by compass. Where the end of the tape came out on the smooth-grown grass, Mr. Jock Danplank thrust in his pocket-knife. Then, with the aid of old Biggle—whose ankle was now recovered—and the two under-gardeners, a huge circle of turf, some fifteen feet across, was removed, and digging operations commenced.

  This was in the early forenoon. By late evening the hole had been sunk ten feet deep, and the attempt was then abandoned; for it was plain that treasure was a stranger to that place.

  It took old Biggle a week to get that turf replaced to his liking, and all levelled up; and after that it seemed just useless to search the garden any further. Yet, because of what had already happened, and because, likewise, of a certain pugnacious determination in Jock Danplank, the night watches were not discontinued, but kept up as usual.

  In this fashion a month passed, without incident; two months, and finally the half of a third; so that Mr. Jock Danplank began to think that no further attempts would be made in the line of midnight excavations among his flower-beds.And then something happened.

  Mr. Danplank had ceased himself to participate in the watching, leaving it to Biggle and his two under-gardeners, who arranged it between them, and took off so many hours each day to make up for the extra time put in.

  Thus it happened that instead of crouching out in the gardens, Mr. Danplank and his diminutive wife passed their evenings in the cosy study; and because of this, they happened to notice something that otherwise they might not have noticed.

  “The dogs are very quiet to-night, J.D.,” remarked his wife, as she sat smoking cigarettes and reading.

  “Yes,” said her husband. And relapsed again into reading.

  Said his wife some half-hour later:

  “J.D., I’m sure there’s something funny about the dogs to-night. I’ve not heard a sound from them all evening. I’m going out to have a look at them.”

  “Hey?” said her big husband, lowering his newspaper, and stretching himself. “What’s that, dear?”

  “It’s the dogs,” she said rising. “I don’t know. I’ve a feeling there’s something wrong. I’m going to see.”

  She walked across to the French windows, opened one of them, and called to the dogs, who had their kennels one on each side of the windows, only a few yards away. But instead of a frenzy of answering barks, only a perfect silence greeted her.

  Jock Danplank dropped his paper, and crossed to the window.

  “Funny!” he muttered, as the silence remained constant. He stepped outside, and walked to the left-hand kennel, calling the dog by name. He reached the kennel, and stooped.

  “Mary,” he said quietly, “bring that electric-torch off the mantelpiece.”

  His wife ran quickly, and was back in a moment with the torch. He took it from her, switching on the light, and shone it down at the ground before the kennel. Bella, the bull-terrier bitch, lay stiff, with a piece of half-eaten meat still between her clenched jaws.

  “Um!” said Jock Danplank, speaking even more quietly than before. He walked across to the other kennel, and held the light. The dog, Jerry, lay half in and half out of his kennel, and he was just as still and rigid as his wife Bella.

  “This,” said the big man, straightening up, “grows interesting. I fancy, Mog, with the blessing of Fate, we may have a little fun ahead of us to-night. But I’m sorry for the dogs. Go inside, dear, and shut the window. I shall be back in a few minutes.”

  His wife obeyed, for she was able to diagnose those times when her husband had, as it were, taken the helm. In a short time he returned.

  “Now, dear,” he said, “ draw the curtains over the windows while we make a few arrangements in here. I’ve had a word with Biggle, and he’s got his two men with him in the shelter; also, you’ll be interested to hear that he appreciates a suggestion I made concerning the water-hose. You’ll remember that the hydrant comes up near the shelter. Now, we’ll pull this couch out a bit, and shove some cushions and a rug down on the floor at the back. You run upstairs and put a light in our bedroom, as if we were going to bed. Bring my camera down with you; it’s got fresh plates in. You might also bring that snap-flashlight of mine. Oh, yes, and my stick out of the hall, as you come back. I’ll be ready by then.”

  When little Mrs. Danplank returned, she found the study in darkness and the curtains drawn back, once more exposing the windows.

  “Here, Mog,” said her husband’s voice. And in a moment his hands took the camera, stick, and flashlight from her, and guided her down on to cushions at the back of the drawn-out couch.

  “Now, my little lady,” he said, “you take charge of the flashlight, and when I nudge you let there be light. I’ll attend to the rest of the photography. I’ve what you might call a suspicion that we shall have a visitor right here in this room before long, and I guess we’ll take his picture free of charge. But if I’m mistaken, and he sticks to his old bad habit of digging holes in the garden, why, then old Biggle’ll slip round and give us word, and we’ll go picture-makin’ outside. I’ll run up now and turn out the bedroom light, then Mr. Cousin Billy—for I’ve quite a notion that will be the name of our visitor—will think we’ve gone nicely to by-by, bless him, and he’ll have a comfy feeling that he can go ahead. You see, I’ll bet he’s watching even now from some corner or other.”

  When Mr. Jock Danplank returned, he ensconced himself comfortably with his wife at the back of the couch; and so their watch began. For two hours they remained silent save for occasional whispers, their gaze fixed upon the windows. Another half-hour passed, and the clock in the room struck two, musically, in the darkness. A minute later little Mrs. Danplank gripped her husband’s arm sharply, for suddenly a man’s head had become silhouetted against the lesser darkness of the outside night.

  “Cousin Billy!” said Jock Danplank, in a low voice. “He’s trying to lift the drop-latch with a knife, or something.”

  “Ssh!” whispered his wife anxiously; and after that they were absolutely silent. A minute passed, and then another. Twice they heard the latch jingle a little as the knife half lifted it out of its snick, then suddenly the window opened, for the latch had been lifted clear; and the next instant the intruder was standing motionless in the opening, evidently listening.

  For a few moments he stood thus, and they could interpret the tenseness of his attitude. Then he came right into the room, closed the window very quietly, and began to fumble with the curtains. These he managed eventually to draw, and the next instant a little beam of light darted here and there about the room; he was evidently using some kind of electric-torch or lamp.

  He walked across the room, and from where they lay behind the couch they heard the key turned very quietly in the lock. He had locked the door to prevent any surprise in the rear, as might be said.

  The man went swiftly then to the big writing-table, lifted off a litter of papers that were on it, and deposited them noiselessly upon the floor. Then for fully ten minutes he examined the surface of the table, as the two watchers were able to see by raising their heads above the back of the couch. The man appeared to be pressing with his thumb here and there upon the top of the table, giving little, almost noiseless grunts each time; and both Jock Danplank and his wife grew excited with the thought that perhaps they were about to learn the hiding-place of some paper that should tell them where their money had been put away.

  Suddenly there was a little grunt that plainly marked pleased surprise and excitement upon the part of the intruder. He appeared to be pressing hard upon the table with the tips of the fingers of his right hand, and at the same time attempting to rotate his arm, as though trying to unscrew something. A moment later the rapid movement of his elbow denoted that he was actually unscrewing something that squeaked faintly. And suddenly he gave out a gasp, and lifted some object from the table, which he examin
ed by the light of his electric lamp.

  Jock rose boldly from behind the couch to stare, and saw that the man held one of the inlay-roses in his hand—the rose evidently screwed out of the table-top like a plug. As the man turned it over, Jock saw that there was a thin cord attached to the underside; and instantly it was plain to him that his cousin—for such he knew the intruder to be—had at last solved the whereabouts of the treasure…. “Seventy-seven feet due east….”

  Jock saw it all now. Seventy-seven feet due east of the spot touched by that rose, when the rose was laid due east out on the grass outside at full stretch of that thin cord which evidently connected it with the recess in the table from which it had been unscrewed. What a cunning notion!

  Evidently his Cousin Billy had knowledge how to use the rose; for he switched off his lamp, and, drawing the curtains, he opened the window. He stepped out noiselessly into the garden, and proceeded across the grass, drawing the cord after him. In a minute he returned, and examined the surface of the table; then, switching off the light again, he went out once more, and appeared to make some adjustment of the position of the rose upon the grass.

  Half a dozen times, perhaps, he came back, and switched on the light to examine the table, and each time Mr. Jock Danplank and his wife dived out of sight again behind the sofa. And each time that he returned noiselessly to the garden, Jock and Mrs. Danplank rose and stared after him through the darkness. Suddenly Jock Danplank comprehended.

  “Mog,” he whispered, “the inlay of roses on the table is a sort of fancy compass. What fools we were never to twig! He’s laying the direction by the branch of roses that points east through the window. That must be why my uncle was so particular about fixing the table exactly. See?”