The Firm of Girdlestone

by Arthur Conan Doyle

  CHAPTER XXXV.

  A TALK ON THE LAWN.

  That same evening Rebecca came down from London. Her presence was acomfort to Kate, for though she had never liked or trusted the girl, yetthe mere fact of having some one of her own age near her, gave her asense of security and of companionship. Her room, too, had been alteredfor the better, and the maid was given the one next door, so that byknocking on the wall she could always communicate with her. This was anunspeakable consolation, for at night the old house was so full of thesudden crackings of warped timber and the scampering of rats that entireloneliness was unendurable.

  Apart from these uncanny sounds there were other circumstances whichgave the Priory a sinister reputation. The very aspect of the buildingwas enough to suggest weird impressions. Its high white walls wereblotched with patches of mildew, and in some parts there were longgreenish stains from roof to ground, like tear streaks on the crumblingplaster. Indoors there was a dank graveyard smell in the low corridorsand narrow stair-cases. Floors and ceilings were equally worm-eaten androtten. Broad flakes of plaster from the walls lay littered about inthe passages. The wind, too, penetrated the building through manycracks and crannies, so that there was a constant sighing and soughingin the big dreary rooms, which had a most eerie and melancholy effect.

  Kate soon learned, however, that, besides these vague terrors, allpredisposing the mind to alarm and exciting the imagination, there was ageneral belief that another more definite cause for fear existed in theold monastery. With cruel minuteness of detail her guardian had toldher the legend which haunted those gloomy corridors.

  It appears that in olden times the Priory had been inhabited byDominicans, and that in the course of years these monks had fallen awayfrom their original state of sanctity. They preserved a name for pietyamong the country folk by their austere demeanour, but in secret, withinthe walls of their own monastery, they practised every sort ofdissipation and crime.

  While the community was in this state of demoralization, each, from theabbot downwards, vying with the other in the number and enormity oftheir sins, there came a pious-minded youth from a neighbouring village,who begged that he might be permitted to join the order. He had beenattracted, he said, by the fame of their sanctity. He was receivedamongst them, and at first was not admitted to their revels, butgradually, as his conscience was supposed to become more hardened, hewas duly initiated into all their mysteries. Horrified by what he saw,the good youth concealed his indignation until he had mastered all theabominations of the establishment, and then, rising up on the altarsteps, he denounced them in fiery, scathing words. He would leave themthat night, he said, and he would tell his experiences through thelength and breadth of the country. Incensed and alarmed, the friarsheld a hasty meeting, and then, seizing the young novice, they draggedhim down the cellar steps and locked him up there. This same cellar hadlong been celebrated for the size and ferocity of the rats whichinhabited it which were so fierce and strong that even during the daythey had been known to attack those who entered. It is said that longinto the weary hours of the night, the fearful shrieks and terriblestruggles of the captive, as he fought with his innumerable assailants,resounded through the long corridors.

  "They do say that he walks about the house at times," Girdlestone said,in conclusion. "No one has ever been found who would live here verylong since then. But, of course, such a strong-minded young woman asyou, who cannot even obey your own guardian, would never be frightenedby such a childish idea as that."

  "I do not believe in ghosts, and I don't think I shall be frightened,"Kate answered; but, for all that, the horrible story stuck in her mind,and added another to the many terrors which surrounded her.

  Mr. Girdlestone's room was immediately above hers. On the second day ofher imprisonment she went up on to this landing, for, having nothing toread save the Bible, and no materials for writing, she had little to dobut to wander over the old house, and through the grounds. The door ofGirdlestone's room was ajar, and she could not help observing as shepassed that the apartment was most elegantly and comfortably furnished.So was the next room, the door of which was also open. The solidfurniture and rich carpet contrasted strangely with her own bare,whitewashed chamber. All this pointed to the fact that her removal tothe Priory had not been a sudden impulse on the part of the oldmerchant, but that he had planned and arranged every detail beforehand.Her refusal of Ezra was only the excuse for setting the machinery inmotion. What was the object, then, and what was to be the end of thissubtle scheming? That was the question which occurred to her everyhour of the day, and every hour the answer seemed more grim andmenacing.

  There was one link in the chain which was ever hidden from her. It hadnever occurred to the girl that her fortune could be of moment to thefirm. She had been so accustomed to hear Ezra and his father talkglibly of millions, that she depreciated her own little capital andfailed to realize how important it might be in a commercial crisis.Indeed, the possibility of such a crisis never entered her head, for oneof her earliest impressions was hearing her father talk of the greatresources of the firm and of its stability. That this firm was now inthe direst straits, and that her money was absolutely essential to itsexistence, were things which never for one instant entered her thoughts.

  Yet that necessity was becoming more pressing every day. Ezra, inLondon, was doing all that indomitable energy and extraordinary businesscapacity could do to prolong the struggle. As debts became due, hewould still stave off each creditor with such skill and plausibility asallayed every suspicion. Day by day, however, the work became moresevere, and he felt that he was propping up an edifice which was sorotten that it must, sooner or later, come crumbling about his ears.When he came down to the Priory upon the Saturday, the young man'shaggard and anxious face showed the severe ordeal which he hadundergone.

  Kate had already retired to her room when he arrived. She heard thesound of the trap, however, and guessed who it was, even before his deepbass voice sounded in the room beneath. Looking out of her window alittle later she saw him walking to and fro in the moonlight, talkingearnestly to his father. It was a bitter night, and she wondered whatthey could have to talk about which might not be said beside the warmfire in the dining-room. They flickered up and down among the shadowsfor more than an hour, and then the girl heard the door slam, andshortly afterwards the heavy tread of the two men passed her chamber,and ascended to the rooms above.

  It was a momentous conversation which she had witnessed. In it Ezra hadshown his father how impossible it was to keep up appearances, and howinfallible was their ruin unless help came speedily.

  "I don't think any of them smell a rat," he said. "Mortimer and Johnsonpressed for their bill in rather an ugly manner, but I talked them overcompletely. I took out my cheque-book. 'Look here, gentlemen,' said I,'if you wish I shall write a cheque for the amount. If I do, it will bethe last piece of business which we shall do together. A great houselike ours can't afford to be disturbed in the routine of theirbusiness.' They curled up at once, and said no more about it. It wasan anxious moment though, for if they had taken my offer, the wholemurder would have been out."

  The old man started at the word his son had used, and rubbed his handstogether as though a sudden chill had struck through him.

  "Don't you think, Ezra," he said, clutching his son's arm, "that is avery foolish saying about 'murder will out'? I remember Pilkington, thedetective, who was a member of our church when I used to worship atDurham Street, speaking on this subject. He said that it was hisopinion that people are being continually made away with, and that notmore than one in ten are ever accounted for. Nine chances to one, Ezra,and then those which are found out are very vulgar affairs. If a man ofintellect gave his mind to it, there would be little chance ofdetection. How very cold the night is!"

  "Yes," returned his son. "It is best to talk of such things in the openair, though. How has all gone since you have been down here?"

  "
Very well. She was restive the first day, and wanted to get toBedsworth. I think that she has given it up now as a bad job.Stevens, the gatekeeper, is a very worthy fellow."

  "What steps have you taken?" asked Ezra, striking a fusee and lighting acigar.

  "I have taken care that they should know that she is an invalid, both atBedsworth and at Claxton. They have all heard of the poor sick younglady at the Priory. I have let them know also that her mind is a littlestrange, which accounts, of course, for her being kept in solitude.When it happens--"

  "For God's sake, be quiet!" the young man cried, with a shudder."It's an awful job; it won't bear thinking of."

  "Yes, it is a sad business; but what else is there?"

  "And how would you do it?" Ezra asked, in a hoarse whisper."No violence, I hope."

  "It may come to that. I have other plans in my head, however, which maybe tried first. I think that I see one way out of it which wouldsimplify matters."

  "If there is no alternative I have a man who is ripe for any job of thesort."

  "Ah, who is that?"

  "A fellow who can hit a good downright blow, as I can testify to mycost. His name is Burt. He is the man who cut my head open in Africa.I met him in London the other day, and spotted him at once. He is ahalf-starved, poor devil, and as desperate as a man could be. He isjust in the key for any business of the sort. I've got the whip-hand ofhim now, and he knows it, so that I could put him up to anything.I believe that such a job would be a positive pleasure to him, for thefellow is more like a wild beast than a man."

  "Sad, sad!" Girdlestone exclaimed. "If a man once falls away, what isthere to separate him from the beasts? How can I find this man?"

  "Wire to me. Put 'Send a doctor;' that will do as well as anythingelse, and will sound well at the post-office. I'll see that he comesdown by the next train. You'd best meet him at the station, for thechances are that he will be drunk."

  "Bring him down," said Girdlestone. "You must be here yourself."

  "Surely you can do without me?"

  "No, no. We must stand or fall together."

  "I've a good mind to throw the thing over," said Ezra, stopping in hiswalk. "It sickens me."

  "What! Go back now!" the old man cried vehemently. "No, no, that wouldbe too craven. We have everything in our favour, and all that we wantis a stout heart. Oh, my boy, my boy, on the one side of you are ruin,dishonour, a sordid existence, and the scorn of your old companions; onthe other are success and riches and fame and all that can make lifepleasant. You know as well as I do that the girl's money would turn thescale, and that all would then be well. Your whole future depends uponher death. We have given her every chance. She laughed at your love.It is time now to show her your hate."

  "That is true enough," Ezra said, walking on. "There is no reason why Ishould pity her. I've put my hand to the plough, and I shall go on.I seem to be getting into your infernal knack of scripture quoting."

  "There is a brave, good lad," cried his father. "It would not do todraw back now."

  "You will find Rebecca useful," the young man said, "You may trust herentirely."

  "You did well to send her. Have they asked for me much?"

  "Yes. I have told them all the same story--nervous exhaustion, anddoctor's orders that you were not to be disturbed by any businessletters. The only man who seemed to smell a rat was that youngDimsdale."

  "Ah!" cried the old man, with a chuckle; "of course he would besurprised at our disappearance."

  "He looks like a madman; asked me where you had gone, and when Ianswered him as I had the others, stormed out that he had a right toknow, and that he would know. His blood was up, and there was nearlybeing a pretty scene before the clerks. He follows me home everyevening to Eccleston Square, and waits outside half the night through tosee that I do not leave the house."

  "Does he, though?"

  "Yes; he came after me to the station to-day. He had a cravat round hismouth and an ulster, but I could see that it was he. I took a ticketfor Colchester. He took one also, and made for the Colchester train.I gave him the slip, got the right ticket, and came on. I've no doubthe is at Colchester at this moment."

  "Remember, my boy," the merchant said, as they turned from the door,"this is the last of our trials. If we succeed in this, all is well forthe future."

  "We have tried diamonds, and we have tried marriage. The third time isthe charm," said Ezra, as he threw away his cigar and followed hisfather.