August Derleth - The Solar Pons Omnibus Volume 1

by August Derleth

  "But he does. I have always been given to understand that Hugh's family is among the best in Northumberland, and therefore my uncle's opposition to him is most astonishing; he offers me no reason for his stand."

  Pons's interest quickened. He leaned forward. "Ah, perhaps your uncle offers a substitute?"

  "Yes, and that is the most puzzling feature of the matter, Mr. Pons. He does offer a substitute."

  "Do not keep us in suspense, Miss Melham."

  "It is Robert Bayne—Jasper Bayne's son."

  "Capital! Capital!" exclaimed Pons, smiling. "And young Bayne? What does he say of the matter?"

  Miss Melham was briefly taken aback, not understanding that Pons's enthusiasm was prompted by his delight at this perplexing ramification. "As for Robert—he is a very sensible and well- educated young man. He does not relish the idea any more than I do, and he cannot understand why my uncle, who, though always fond of Robert, has never before given any indication that he would like him as a member of the family, should suddenly come out with such an idea. We have always been friendly, but there has never been any thought of marriage between us. Finally, though neither his father nor my uncle knows it, Robert is already secretly married."

  "It would appear then very much like an understanding between your uncle and Jasper Bayne."

  "Very much so, Mr. Pons. And that is all the more reason why I cannot understand it. Why Mr. Bayne should presume to think I would marry his son, and why my uncle does nothing to prevent Bayne from such presumption, actually going so far as to oppose my engagement to Hugh, are questions I cannot answer."

  Pons smiled. "Ah, well, perhaps my poor talents may discover the answer for you."

  "I would appreciate it very much if you could, Mr. Pons."

  "But at the moment I am far more interested in the apparition of the limping man of whom you spoke."

  "Yes, it was really about him that I came to see you. You have heard the legends, I suppose?"

  Pons nodded. "It would be well, however, to review the entire matter. Let us begin with the first occurrence you can remember."

  "That was last August. I woke up one night and I heard a faint tapping, as if someone were walking about with a cane. I listened. It seemed to come from the long hall on the ground floor."

  "You investigated?"

  "Not then. The noise did not disturb me at first. I wondered who could be about so late —it was after one in the morning. Two nights later, I heard the same sound at about the same time. That time I got up and went into the hall on the first floor, where I sleep. But as soon as I opened my door, all sound ceased. On the following night, I heard similar sounds again, and after that, heard them regularly.

  "I could not help beginning to analyze the sounds. It seemed clear that whoever it was walked with a stick. The more accustomed to it I became, the more I began to notice that the faint footfalls accompanying the taps of the cane were characterized by the peculiar irregularity of a man with one game leg." Our visitor's voice sank lower, and she leaned forward a little. "It was then, Mr. Pons, that I first thought of my father —since then, I cannot think of anything else!"

  "Indeed! I was not aware that your father was in any way crippled."

  "Oh, but he was, Mr. Pons. A month before we left London he fell and severely hurt his leg; since that time and up to the point of his disappearance, he habitually used a stick. The limping sound I heard during the night was one peculiar to him." She hesitated.

  "Pray continue."

  "I was afraid, Mr. Pons. I don't know why, but you are aware, of course, that I know nothing of what happened to my father, and for a while I thought that he was coming back —back from —the other side. I have always believed him dead."

  "And you thought his restless spirit walked?"

  "I did, Mr. Pons. It was foolish, I suppose; but I could not help it. I saw nothing all that time, I just heard those dreadfully suggestive sounds; what was there left for me to think? For, each time I mentioned it, no one else had heard it, and I was looked at askance, as if I had taken leave of my senses."

  "And then?"

  "Then, Mr. Pons, on the night of September seventeenth, I woke up and heard the sounds approaching, as always, along the first-floor hall. The tapping of the cane and the dragging footsteps paused outside my door, and it seemed to me that someone fumbled at the knob; then the sounds passed on. I got up cautiously and opened the door. There was no one —nothing in the hall.

  "I was naturally much disturbed, and next morning I spoke to my uncle. He was also troubled, and immediately recalled the old family superstition —that whenever bad fortune comes upon our house, the spectre of the last member of the family to die appears to give warning by his presence."

  Something in her manner bespoke her spirit. "You were not convinced, Miss Melham?"

  "Certainly not. On the contrary," answered the young lady with considerable heat, "I began to think someone had got into the house with the deliberate intention of planning mischief."

  "Is that not a curious change in your point of view?"

  "Not as curious as it might seem," she answered readily. "My uncle's heart is not strong; it has never been strong since his initial attack. Any untoward event might bring on a fatal seizure."

  "But surely you would benefit?"

  "Not solely. There are several large bequests —to Bayne, to the widow of an old friend and neighbour, and so on."

  "Go on, Miss Melham."

  "Then for a time nothing happened. In the interval —on the twentieth, to be exact — I proposed that Hugh call on Uncle Andrew to suggest our engagement. Up to this time, you see, I had no suspicion that Uncle would oppose Hugh. But the suggestion that I made threw Uncle Andrew into a frightening fury; I could not understand it, and believed at first that he thought me guilty of a secret affair with Hugh. Naturally, this hurt me very much."

  "That is most interesting," commented Pons. "Up to that time you had no reason to complain of your uncle's treatment?"

  "None."

  "You found him trying honestly to take your father's place?"

  "Mr. Pons, almost from the day of my father's disappearance, Uncle Andrew has done everything in his power to keep me happy and satisfied here."

  "Ah, and before then?"

  "Well, before then, I think there was something of that old coldness about my mother that influenced him; he was kind, but reserved, somewhat aloof. As soon, however, as the full responsibility for me fell to him, Uncle Andrew thawed out and became very considerate and kind. That was all the more reason why I could not understand his abrupt rage."

  "And what did you do?"

  "At first I refused to consider what he had to say, but when I saw that he was genuinely upset and distressed, I promised to think the matter over if he would give me a month. He made some small objection, but finally consented. His attitude made me feel very awkward and strange; it seemed so different from his previous treatment of me."

  "Yes, I daresay it did. And about the limping man?"

  "I heard him again on the night of the twenty-first, on the first floor. And that night, when I threw open my door, I saw him, too.

  He stood at one end of the hall, and as I looked at him, he seemed to disappear. I don't know what happened; it was just as if he disintegrated, Mr. Pons. But above everything else, I noticed one horrible, frightening thing. Though I had only a momentary glimpse of him, dressed in a long white gown of some kind, with a darker gown over that, and carrying a heavy cane —Mr. Pons, I could have taken an oath that he was the image of my father!"

  "You were fully awake?"

  "Fully. I made no mistake. Even the posture was familiar."

  "You have considered the possibility of hallucination?" persisted Pons. "And the known fact that very often in such cases one sees what one expects to see rather than what is actually there to be

  seen?"

  "I thought of all that, Mr. Pons."

  "You made no attempt to ascertain how the fig
ure you saw vanished?"

  "None. I cried out, and directly thereafter, my uncle called to me from his room. I ran there, which was only a few doors away from my own, and told him what I had just seen."

  "Ah, and he?"

  "He was not surprised. He seemed, in fact, to be expecting it. He fell back upon that old superstition and intimated that his own death was presaged in this apparition."

  "He did not doubt that it was a spectre?"

  "Not for a moment. He was insistent. He admitted, too, that he had not been feeling well, but he would not hear of getting the doctor when I suggested it, as I did, of course, immediately. After all, whatever differences there are between us, Uncle Andrew is all I have left."

  "Did it occur to you to ascertain whether Jasper Bayne had seen the ghost?"

  "It did. Mr. Pons, he not only had seen the ghost, but ventured to go so far as to tell me I was the cause of its appearance!"

  "Ah, Mr. Bayne is exercising the fancied prerogatives of all servants who have become part of the household. What had your uncle to say of this?"

  "He reprimanded Bayne, of course."

  "And no doubt he was thereafter twice as uncivil to you?"

  "Yes."

  "And the apparition?"

  "Continued to appear, though at longer intervals." "Thus far you have not given any explanation of your impression that you are in physical danger, Miss Melham."

  "Our lodge-keeper warned me one day that Jasper Bayne meant mischief, and since then I have continually carried this heavy stick."

  "Has Bayne given you cause to believe the lodge-keeper's warning?"

  "Not apart from his hostility. He does not seem to like me. But then —I have been aware of being watched from time to time; I have never seen anyone, but I know someone watches me."

  "Inside or outside?"

  "Both, Mr. Pons."

  "Ah. And what is it you expect of me, Miss Melham?"

  "I would like you to discover who it is walking about at night — phantom or man —and why."

  Pons looked at her with a certain commiseration. "Does it not seem to you that there may be unpleasant aspects beneath the surface in this matter, Miss Melham? It is altogether probable that I may unearth facts which, to put it bluntly, may be most objectionable."

  "That makes no difference in my attitude, Mr. Pons. Will you or will you not help me?"

  "I will."

  "Very good. Thank you. Then I must warn you against Uncle Andrew. I know he would be furious if he discovered I had enlisted any outside aid in laying our ghost. If you visit Melham Old Place, as you undoubtedly must, please come in secret, and preferably by night; Uncle Andrew is suspicious of strangers, and he has always been highly sensitive about his partial paralysis."

  "I understand."

  "If possible, I would like you to come to the house tomorrow night —at or near ten o'clock. If you will go to the south wall, you will find the French windows left partly open. I will be waiting for you in that room."

  She rose to go, and I got up to show her out.

  "You may expect me, Miss Melham," said Pons, as our attractive visitor moved toward the door in my wake.

  "I rely on you. Good-night, Mr. Pons."

  I came back into the study and found Pons bent over his notes.

  "Does it not seem to you that the nightjars have become suddenly active?" he asked, a smile at his thin lips.

  From outside came the weird call of a nightjar, and immediately after, another and yet another; then came three short harsh calls. "The region is infested with the birds," I said.

  "Ah, but such regularity! I fancy the cries are a signal for lovers' meetings. Now, then, come here, attend me, Parker." He thrust a paper toward me, and then, as I bent toward it to see that the paper he tendered me bore no writing whatever, he spoke again in a scarcely audible voice. "Raise your eyes very slowly. There is a man looking in through the window opposite."

  Though I started slightly, I did as he suggested and saw, framed in the darkness of the window, faintly glowing from the light within the room, the pale white of a man's face. It vanished even as I looked, but not before I had seen two high black lines of Mephistophelian eyebrows and eyes regarding us with burning hatred!

  Instantly Pons was up and out of the house, leaving me in some agitation and concern lest he had entered into danger, and unable to forget that malefic face at the window. When Pons at last returned, my relief knew no bounds.

  "Thank heaven, you are safe!" I said. "Who was he?"

  "Jasper Bayne. He followed Miss Melham here, and followed her back. I followed him. I cannot believe he means her harm, for his actions were rather protective than otherwise. She met young Bet- terton, but Bayne did not interfere, only keeping well out of sight. He watched her into the house, and it was not until her window showed a light that Bayne himself went into the house. I continued to stand watch, and observed shortly after Bayne's entrance a dimmed light make its appearance on the first floor, perhaps three windows —and three rooms — removed from Miss Melham's."

  "But surely Bayne does not sleep on the first floor?" I cried, somewhat surprised that a gentleman who had given so much evidence of being class-conscious as Sir Andrew, should tolerate a servant's sleeping on the same floor as the members of his own family.

  "Dear me, no! Certainly not. I submit he went up to report what he had seen of Miss Melham to Sir Andrew."

  "The two have an agreement, then?"

  "Of some kind, undoubtedly, I fancy. But what do you make of the affair, Parker?"

  I had been giving the matter considerable thought. "It seems very simple at the outset, but you have so often warned me about coming to hurried conclusions that I hardly know whether I should say what I think or not."

  Pons laughed. "If you have so little confidence in it, it must assuredly be a faulty theory."

  "Well, it strikes me that Bayne has a hold of some sort on Sir Andrew Melham, and that, as a price for his secrecy, he demands that Sir Andrew's niece marry his son Robert, which would give the estate to his own line, since Miss Maureen is the only heir."

  "And the spectre with the limp?"

  "Surely it is Bayne in disguise?" I ventured. "For that might frighten Miss Melham into submission to the plan."

  "Ingenious, Parker, if a little obvious. I congratulate you. But you seem to have forgotten that the central mystery is not that of the arrangement between Bayne and Sir Andrew; we must assume that such an arrangement exists, for whatever reasons. But there remains the fact that the limping man made his appearance before there was any suspicion that there was an understanding between Miss Melham and Hugh Betterton. It is always possible that Bayne may be the apparition, but in view of this circumstance, his motive must be questioned."

  "What do you make of it, Pons?"

  "I fancy it is a little early to formulate an opinion." He shook his head. "But I much fear that the matter is far from as simple as it seems to be. Miss Melham is stirring far more deeply than she dreams."

  "You have a theory, then?"

  "Yes. It should be obvious, Parker. You have all the facts; you know my methods. Apply them."

  With that I had to be content.

  It was almost two o'clock the next morning when Pons appeared, following his rendezvous with Miss Melham. The expression of annoyance on his face apprised me that his expedition to Melham Old Place had produced anything but satisfactory results.

  "A most disappointing affair," he said bitterly, moving his notes to one side. He struck a match and held it to his pipe; then he leaned back and regarded me for a moment in thoughtful silence.

  "The spectre did not appear then?"

  "On the contrary, he came on schedule. But my own plans were subject to events over which I had no control. Miss Melham did me the unexpected honour of having her young man present —for help, if necessary, as she explained. Despite several pointed hints from me, he stayed. Since no amount of suggestion on my part was likely to send him away, I resign
ed myself, with results which were well- nigh disastrous.

  "The room in which I met Miss Melham and Mr. Betterton is a kind of study, opening off the drawing-room, and looking out upon one end of the great hall on the ground floor of Melham Old Place. At the other end of the hall, a double stair leads up to the first floor, or rather, to a landing halfway up, and from there on it becomes a single stairway. Next the foot of this stair, on the far side of the house, are the servants' quarters and, adjoining them, precisely opposite the drawing-room, are Jasper Bayne's rooms. All the other rooms on the ground floor are unoccupied. We stationed ourselves in the drawing-room, prepared to watch the hall for the appearance of Miss Melham's spectral man, and there we sat quietly until midnight.

  "At that hour, matters quickly came to a head. The spectre duly appeared —but on the far side of the double stair. He was descending slowly, moving along the wall toward us, and came steadily down into the hall itself. I need hardly say there was no suggestion of the supernatural about him, save that his face was not very visible, because it was sunk into the folds of a dressing-gown about his neck. He came on, limping and tapping his cane much as Miss Melham had described him. He came, in fact, almost opposite us, when the futility of my plans became evident.

  "Young Betterton, doubtless carried away by the sight of what Miss Melham had so often talked about, darted past me with a cry and lunged for the limping man. The spectre raised his cane and swung at him with telling effect. Betterton fell, but before I could dash to his aid, Miss Melham was inconsiderate enough to faint in my arms. As a result, the spectre vanished in the melee, and on top of this ridiculous spectacle, the door of Jasper Bayne's room opened and he himself strode out into the hall, holding a lamp high in one hand, and fiercely grasping a stick in the other. He took in the tableau at a glance.

  " 'Mr. Solar Pons, I believe,' he said coldly.

  "I nodded to him, and began to retreat to the drawing-room with Miss Melham, when she came to and struggled upright.

  " 'I do not think you are welcome here, Mr. Solar Pons,' said Bayne with ill-concealed anger. 'Nor is he,' he added, pointing to Betterton.

  "Miss Melham dismissed Bayne rather sharply, and we turned our attention to Betterton, who, for his pains, had received an unpleasant clout on the head, which, I'll wager, he will not soon forget, and which, with any luck, will incline him less to impulsive action. As far as the identity of the spectre is concerned, the entire evening was wasted. Besides accomplishing nothing, the household is now on guard, and we can expect nothing of any moment for some time to come."