Who?

by Elizabeth Kent

  CHAPTER XV

  FINGER PRINTS IN THE DUST

  As Cyril sat toying with his dinner, it was little by little borne in onhim that the butler had something on his mind. How he got thisimpression he really did not know, for Douglas performed his duties asprecisely, as unobtrusively as ever. Yet long before the last course hadbeen reached, Cyril was morally certain that he had not been mistaken.He waited for the dessert to be placed on the table; then, havingmotioned the footmen to leave the room, he half turned to the butler,who was standing behind his chair.

  "Douglas."

  "Yes, my lord?" The man stepped forward, so as to face his master.

  "Is anything the matter?" asked Cyril, scrutinising the otherattentively.

  The abrupt question seemed neither to surprise nor to discompose thebutler; yet he hesitated before finally answering:

  "I--I don't quite know, my lord."

  "Nonsense!" exclaimed Cyril impatiently. "You must know whether or notsomething has happened to upset you."

  Douglas fidgeted uneasily.

  "Well, my lord--it's this way, my lord--Susan, the upper 'ousemaid, saysas how there has been somebody or--" here his voice sank to a whisperand he cast an apprehensive glance over his shoulder--"or something inthe library last night!"

  Cyril put down the glass of wine he was carrying to his lips untasted.

  "She thinks she saw a ghost in the library?"

  "No, my lord. She didn't see anything, but this morning she foundfinger-marks on the top of his Lordship's desk."

  "Pooh! What of that? One of the servants may have gone in there out ofcuriosity."

  "But what would anybody be doing there in the night, I should like toknow? And Susan says those marks could only 'ave been made last night,my lord."

  "Why?"

  "On account of the dust, my lord. It takes time for dust to settle and a'ousemaid, who knows 'er business, can tell, after she's been in a placea couple of months, just about 'ow long it's been since any particularpiece of furniture has been dusted. Aye, Susan knows, my lord. No young'ousemaid can pull the wool over 'er eyes, I can tell you."

  "Does every one know of Susan's suspicions?"

  "No, my lord. Susan's a sensible woman, and though she was frightenedsomething terrible, she only told Mrs. Eversley and Mrs. Eversley toldme and we three agreed we'd hold our tongues. Every one's that upset asit is, that they'd all 'ave 'ighstrikes if they knew that It waswalking."

  "Don't be a fool, Douglas. No one believes in ghosts nowadays. But evenif there were such things, an intangible spirit couldn't possibly leavefinger-marks behind it."

  "But, my lord, if you'll excuse me, my aunt's cousin--" began thebutler, but Cyril cut him short.

  "I have no time now to hear about your aunt's cousin, though no doubt itis a most interesting story. Send Susan to me at once."

  "Very good, my lord."

  Susan had, however, no further information to impart. She was positivethat the marks must have been made some time during the night.

  "And it's my belief they were made by a skeleton hand," she added. "Andas for going into that room again, indeed I just couldn't, not fornobody, meaning no disrespect to your Lordship; and as for the other'ousemaids, they'll not go near the place either and haven't been sincethe murder."

  "Very well, Susan, I shall not ask you to do so. Those rooms shall notbe opened again till this mystery is cleared up. I will go now and lockthem up myself."

  "Thank you, my lord."

  Striding rapidly across the hall, Cyril opened the door of the library.This part of the castle had been equipped with electric light and steamheat, and as he stepped into the darkness, the heavy-scented air almostmade him reel. Having found the switch, he noticed at once that the roomhad indefinably changed since he had been in it last. Notwithstandingthe heat, notwithstanding the flood of crimson light, which permeatedeven the farthest corners, it had already assumed the chill, gloomyaspect of an abandoned apartment.

  Stooping over the desk, he eagerly inspected the marks which had sostartled the housemaid. Yes, they were still quite visible, although adelicate film of dust had already begun to soften the precision of theiroutline--very strange! They certainly did look like the imprint ofskeleton fingers. He laid his own hand on the desk. His fingers left amark at least twice as wide as those of the mysterious visitant.

  For a long time he stood with bent head pondering deeply; then, throwingback his shoulders, as if he had arrived at some decision, he proceededto explore the entire suite. Having satisfied himself that no one wassecreted on the premises, he turned off the light, shut the door--but hedid not turn the key.

  Some hours later Cyril, in his great four-posted bed, lay watching, withwide-open eyes, the fantastic shadows thrown by the dancing firelight onthe panelled walls. To woo sleep was evidently not his intention, forfrom time to time he lighted a wax vesta and consulted the watch he heldin his hand. At last the hour seemed to satisfy him, for he got out ofbed and made a hasty toilet. Having accomplished this as best he couldin the semi-obscurity, he slipped a pistol into his pocket and left hisroom.

  Groping his way through the darkness, he descended the stairs andcautiously traversed the hall. Not a sound did he make. His stockingedfeet moved noiselessly over the heavy carpet. At the door of the libraryhe paused a moment and listened intently; then, pistol in hand, he threwopen the door. Darkness and silence alone confronted him. Closing thedoor behind him, he lighted a match and carefully inspected the desk.Having assured himself that no fresh marks had appeared on its polishedsurface, he blew out the match and ensconced himself as comfortably asthe limited space permitted behind the curtains of one of the windows.There he waited patiently for what seemed to him an eternity. He hadjust begun to fear that his vigil would prove fruitless, when his earwas gladdened by a slight sound. A moment later the light was switchedon. Hardly daring to breathe, Cyril peered through the curtains.Valdriguez! Cyril's heart gave a bound of exultation. Had he not guessedthat those marks could only have been made by her small, bony fingers?

  Clad like a nun in a loose, black garment, which fell in straight,austere folds to her feet; a black shawl, thrown over her head, castingstrange shadows on her pale, haggard face, she advanced slowly, almostmajestically, into the room. Cyril had to acknowledge that she lookedmore like a medieval saint than a midnight marauder.

  Evidently the woman had no fear of detection, for she never even castone suspicious glance around her; nor did she appear to feel that therewas any necessity for haste, for she lingered for some time near thewriting-table, gazing at it, as if it had a fascination for her; but,finally, she turned away with a hopeless sigh and directed her attentionto the bookcase. This she proceeded to examine in the most methodicalmanner. Book after book was taken down, shaken, and the bindingcarefully scrutinised. Having cleared a shelf, she drew a tape measurefrom her pocket and rapped and measured the back and sides of the caseitself.

  What on earth could she be looking for, wondered Cyril. Not a will,surely? For his cousin's will, executed at the date of his marriage, hadbeen found safely deposited with his solicitor. A later will, perhaps?One in which she hoped that her master had remembered her, as he hadprobably promised her that he would? Yes, that must be it.

  Well, there was no further need of concealment, he decided, so, partingthe curtains, he stepped into the room.

  "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

  His own voice startled him, it rang out so loud and harsh in the silenceof the night.

  Valdriguez knelt on the floor with her back to him, and it seemed as ifthe sudden shock had paralysed her, for she made no effort to move, andher hand, arrested in the act of replacing a book, remainedoutstretched, as if it had been turned to stone.

  "It is I, your master. What are you doing here?" he repeated.

  He saw her shudder convulsively, then slowly she raised her head, and asher great, tragic eyes met his, Cyril was conscious of a revulsion offeeling toward her. Never had he seen anything
so hopeless yet soundaunted as the look she gave him. It reminded him, curiously enough,of a look he had once seen in the eyes of a lioness, who, with a bulletthrough her heart, still fought to protect her young.

  Staggering a little as she rose, Valdriguez nevertheless managed to drawherself up to her full height.

  "I am here, my lord, to get what is mine--mine," she repeated almostfiercely.

  Cyril pulled himself together. It was absurd, he reasoned, to allowhimself to be impressed by her strange personality.

  "A likely story!" he exclaimed; and the very fact that he was more thanhalf-inclined to believe her, made him speak more roughly than he wouldotherwise have done.

  "Think what you like," she cried, shrugging her shoulderscontemptuously. "Have me arrested--have me hung--what do I care? Deathhas no terrors for me."

  "So you confess that it was you who murdered his Lordship? Ah, Isuspected it! Your sanctimonious airs didn't deceive me," exclaimedCyril triumphantly.

  "No, I did not murder him," she replied calmly, almost indifferently.

  "I think you will have some difficulty convincing the police of that.You have no alibi to prove that you were not in these rooms at the timeof the murder, and now when I tell them that I found you trying tosteal----"

  "I am no thief," she interrupted him with blazing eyes. "I tell you, Icame here to get what is mine by right."

  "Do you really expect me to believe that? Even if what you say weretrue, you would not have had to sneak in here in the middle of thenight. You know very well that I should have made no objections to yourclaiming your own."

  "So you say. But if I had gone to you and told you that a great lord hadrobbed me, a poor woman, of something which is dearer to me than lifeitself, would you have believed me? If I had said to you, 'I must lookthrough his Lordship's papers; I must be free to search everywhere,'would you have given me permission to do so? No, never. You think I fearyou? That it was because I was ashamed of my errand that I came here atthis hour? Bah! All I feared was that I should be prevented fromdiscovering the truth. The truth?" Valdriguez's voice suddenly droppedand she seemed to forget Cyril's presence. "It is here, somewhere." Shecontinued speaking as if to herself and her wild eyes swept feverishlyaround the room. "He told me it was here--and yet how can I be sure ofit? He may have lied to me about this as he did about everything else.How can I tell? Oh, this uncertainty is torture! I cannot bear it anylonger, oh, my God!" she cried, clasping her hands and lifting herstreaming eyes to heaven, "Thou knowest that I have striven all my lifeto do Thy will; I have borne the cross that Thou sawest fit to lay uponme without a murmur, nor have I once begged for mercy at Thy hands; butnow, now, oh, my Father, I beseech thee, give me to know the truthbefore I die----"

  Cyril watched the woman narrowly. He felt that he must try and maintaina judicial attitude toward her and not allow himself to be led astray byhis sympathies which, as he knew to his cost, were only too easilyaroused. After all, he reasoned, was it not more than likely that shewas delivering this melodramatic tirade for his benefit? On the otherhand, it was against his principles as well as against his inclinationsto deal harshly with a woman.

  "Calm yourself, Valdriguez," he said at last. "If you can convince methat his Lordship had in his possession something which rightfullybelonged to you, I promise that, if it can be found, it shall berestored to you. Tell me, what it is that you are looking for?"

  "Tell you--never! Are you not of his blood? You promise--so did he--thesmooth-tongued villain! All these years have I lived on promises! Neverwill I trust one of his race again."

  "You have got to trust me whether you want to or not. Your positioncould not be worse than it is, could it? Don't you see that your onlyhope lies in being able to persuade me that you are an honest woman?"

  For the first time Valdriguez looked at Cyril attentively. He felt as ifher great eyes were probing his very soul.

  "Indeed, you do not look cruel or deceitful. And, as you say, I ampowerless without you, so I must take the risk of your being what youseem. I will tell you the truth. But first, my lord, will you swear notto betray my secret to any living being?"

  "You have my word for it. That is--" he hastily added, "if it hasnothing to do with the murder."

  "Nothing, my lord."