The Yellow Mistletoe

by Walter S. Masterman

  With a sweeping bow he sat beside Ronald, and with skill born of long practice attended to the wounded man. Diana fetched linen and bands of metal to serve as rough splints. Sinclair produced a large flask, and the fiery liquid revived the exhausted man.

  Desultory firing was heard outside. Sinclair had ordered his men to fire over the heads of the people to prevent them from regaining courage. They crowded to the barges, capsizing some in their eagerness to escape.

  Soon the sound died down; the lights were going out, but a red glow in the east flared and died down and flared again, as fresh trees caught fire. The sacred grove was burning, and to-morrow would be white ashes, leaving only the great oak standing in its clearing, and the headless thing which lay in the shade.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  THE SECRET REVEALED

  For weeks Ronald lay fighting death. The broken arm healed well, but there succeeded a fever, and but for his amazingly strong constitution things would have gone badly with him. They carried him into the open air, and made a canopy of curtains.

  Here Diana nursed him back to health amid the green trees behind the Temple, which had escaped the fire.

  The fury of the people had died down as quickly as it had arisen.

  With a decadent neurotic race this was to be expected. They went about their work in silent and sullen fashion. There were whisperings in the market place, and scared talk in unlighted houses, but it was mostly of what would happen now. The old world they knew had tottered. Strange wild men, who hitherto had only come to gather their greedy tribute, had invaded their sacred shrine. The Grove was a blackened scar on the hillside, and their Priest-King slain by a stranger, who, report said, was himself dying. They themselves had rent down the very curtains of their temple. There on the blackened mountain stood the great oak which none had ever seen save only in the orgies which accompanied the Festivals — now naked and bare, preserved from the fire only by the large clearing in which it stood. All round the trees of the forest lay strewn, a portent surely.

  Sinclair, now clad in clothes more suitable to his position, had organised his little force. There were guards along the lakeside, and patrols in the city, but there was no fight in the people.

  Radko, the old brigand, was in command of these forces, and went singing about his work, rejoicing in the sunshine and good fare after hard months in the mountains.

  Ralph was bored stiff — he wandered freely round the place and took a turn in sitting by the sick man when allowed to do so.

  Some of the priests had wandered back in a desultory way, shamefaced and only too anxious to propitiate the strangers.

  There was no effort made to re-establish the services in the temple, or of allowing any of the people of the city to cross the lake.

  Ronald lay in his green shelter with the free air of heave» blowing the vapours away, and Diana by his side, a gentle nurse. His great frame was wasted, and the arm, though skillfully set by Radok the brigand, was causing him trouble.

  And one sinister figure — Doctor Smart. After Sinclair’s dramatic accusation, nothing further had been mentioned about him. The state of Ronald’s health, and a dread of what they might hear had kept curiosity at a distance.

  Sinclair came up from the lake with a party of four people. Diana’s eyes, wandering idly round the beautiful scene, were caught by something familiar in one of the group, a man in English clothes, a tall and erect figure walking by Sinclair in eager conversation.

  “Ron — ” she said. “Look — surely that’s Dr. Simpson coming with Sir Arthur.”

  Ronald raised himself on his uninjured arm. “Yes — that’s Simpson right enough,” he said, and a whimsical smile played round his mouth.

  “If we had waited in England, we should have come with him and should have just arrived now.”

  She shuddered and an expression of horror crossed her face.

  “Who knows — perhaps it was just as well you did come,” she said. Simpson came up smiling and held out his hand.

  “Our friend Sinclair has told me all about your adventures. A patient, eh? Lucky I came, but what of Smart? Isn’t he looking after you?”

  Sinclair gave them a warning glance — evidently he had not told the doctor that part of the tale.

  “No,” he said hurriedly — “Smart isn’t looking after Ronald — he’s otherwise engaged — you shall hear all about that.”

  Ralph and Doris joined the party, and soon they were gathered in a group round the sick man’s couch. The weather was perfect and the nights divine. It was Ronald who made the suggestion — no doubt in reminiscence of the Decameron Nights. They should gather here for an evening meal and in turn tell their stories of all that had happened.

  It was agreed that they would take one story each night, since Ronald was still a sick man, but all were eagerly waiting for the final night to arrive when Sinclair would take up his narrative and reveal the whole truth.

  It was a wonderful evening. The moon was shining full on the lake and not a sound broke the stillness but the faint lapping of the water. The city was in darkness — not a light showed on the other side.

  The men were indulging in the luxury of a smoke as Simpson had brought an ample supply of tobacco from England.

  Diana was sitting by Ronald’s side, with Ralph and the doctor on the other side. Facing them Sinclair sat next to Doris, in semi- darkness.

  “I shall have to go back to the very beginning,” he said. “I was, as you know, paying a visit to my old friend and colleague Elliott at the Yard. Dr. Smart came in with the news of the death of Mr. Shepherd, with a constable. Now long experience has taught me that it is most unusual for a casual doctor — that is, one who has happened to be on the spot when an accident has occurred, to come to Scotland Yard until sent for — but it merely struck me as strange, nothing more. Then things were said which passed over Elliott’s head and, if I may say so, would not have been noticed by an untrained mind. Smart knew all about that letter — before he showed it to Elliott. He had, from the constable’s statement, pronounced the man dead on what must have been a very rapid and cursory examination.

  “He was on the spot at the time with no explanation of what he was doing there. I could not quite reconcile a healthy man falling down ten steps and being killed instantly without a broken neck or a fractured skull. That is so, isn’t it, Doctor?”

  “That’s what puzzled me at the time,” Simpson replied.

  “Well, you will understand this was all vague in my mind, there was nothing tangible. Then we examined the contents of the man’s bag. I had got rid of Smart. Why had he searched the man’s pockets instead of leaving it to the police? It is a curious fact that in many murder cases, the murderer seems drawn to follow up his crime — he will come to the funeral very often, or call on the relations and be loud in his sympathy. It is a psychological fact.

  “I discovered an old copy of Frazer’s Golden Bough marked with notes by Mr. Shepherd, especially with regard to the worship of Diana at Nemi.

  “Here was a Greek scholar evidently interested in mythology who had brought this book with him to Scotland Yard, and had written a letter saying he had a secret to reveal which affected his children. He was in grave danger. It was obviously to someone’s interest to prevent him from reaching the Yard.

  “It would be too much of a coincidence if Providence had intervened and caused his death at the very moment, but from the scanty evidence at my disposal it appeared impossible that any assailant had attacked him on those stairs.

  “I had nothing particular to do, and the problem interested me sufficiently to make me determined to go to Derbyshire. The face of Mr. Shepherd’s second wife intrigued me. It was obviously foreign and uncommon — I could not place the type.

  “You all know what happened there. I was struck with the utter dissimilarity of Ronald and his sister which even half-brother and sister would not account for, but it was only dim in my mind. Then the story of the mother’s death, the haunting
fear and the fact that Diana herself was frightened in the woods. The woods, mark you. Her mother’s name had been Diana Woods, a curious name for a foreigner.”

  “I thought so, too — in Italy,” Ronald interrupted.

  “There was that secret conversation with Mr. Shepherd. I thought of Smart — but as you now know it was Carstairs. Then came a shock. I found a sprig of yellow mistletoe lying in the study. Immediately my mind went back to the Golden Bough and what possible connection there could be between the old worship and modern English life. I went to the Athens Hotel to try and trace the sender of that telegram. Already I glimpsed that some people were trying to get Ronald away (either to get him out of the way, or for a more sinister purpose), to have Diana at their mercy.

  “Then I found another sprig in the Italian’s office. I summed the man up — he was a pitiable coward — a fawner on women — a low type who had neither the brains nor the courage for a bold stroke such as was indicated here. We had to probe deeper. Carstairs next took my attention. His striking likeness to Diana: his interview with Mr. Shepherd, which had been followed by that letter to the Yard, and the fact that he had recognised the golden mistletoe, all showed that whatever plot was afoot Ganzani and he were in it. But I learnt more.

  “In the first place I had access through the police to the telegram which was sent to you, Ronald, and I had Doctor Smart’s written statement. The writing was the same. Carstairs I found was nowhere near Leicester Square at the time of the ‘accident.’

  “Suspicion was growing of Smart. I found out his record — it was not a clean one. There was a nasty scandal which lost him his degree, and he had gone out of practice in consequence. He was down and out for a time, but suddenly became prosperous, and devoted his time to toxicology. His employment by the War Office was all a lie.

  “He had travelled abroad several times and each time had returned with money.

  “You may ask me why I did not go to the official police and lay the case before them. There were two reasons — one that I had nothing but suspicions to go upon, and I was convinced that if there was a stir and enquiries set on foot, Diana would be abducted. I had to get at the root of the whole thing. Then came the attempt to get her. Again Carstairs I knew was at Eastbourne. He was watching me, and I was watching him. Again I suspected Smart.

  “The piece of cloth helped me a lot. It was coarse unbleached stuff hand-made by a primitive people.

  “You remember at my tower I saw the likeness as I have told you between Diana and Carstairs, and the mother.

  “In a flash I recognised that they were brother and sister. Then why did he not declare himself? There must be a reason, and why did he employ Smart and Ganzani?

  “You know the rest. Your uncle’s strange death puzzled Simpson here.”

  “It did, and the specialist we called in.”

  “Smart had seen the uncle first, when he was taken ill. He had seen a document in Mr. Shepherd’s handwriting by the bedside which told him he was going to write out a full statement. That would be fatal. He injected his subtle poison — distilled from the flower of the mistletoe. You know that only too well, Diana.”

  She shuddered. “I nearly took it myself — in that awful moment in the temple.”

  “I know — we won’t dwell on that. Remember I have seen Smart and have got the story from him by telling it to him first.

  “I am only telling you how I arrived at the conclusions. I saw we must act at once. There was no danger to Diana’s life as her own brother evidently wanted her for some purpose. The amazing interview with Ganzani and your uncle and you, Ronald, threw a strong light on the whole thing. In the fact that a sum of money was offered in this strange way I saw we were dealing with something greater than a mere abduction or even than murder, and I took the trouble to study the whole question of the old worship.

  “You remember I said I must go abroad. The problem had to be tackled at this end. It was Carstairs who had provided me with the clue.

  “He told us that he had been skiing in Switzerland, and had a wonderful run across ice and up a mountain side.

  “I know the Alpine resorts pretty well and could not place such a run in any that I had ever heard of. I ascertained that he had not been in Switzerland, but had gone on the Orient Express.

  “The mountain lake he had described was certainly not Nemi in Italy, where there would be no ice for a five-mile run nor could the old worship have been carried on there without people knowing it.

  “It would weary you to tell of all my enquiries. I was watching Smart pretty closely by this time, and found that he would go at night to Ganzani’s place, doubtless to meet Carstairs.

  “Luck was my way. Many years ago when the war between Turkey and the Balkan Alliance was raging, I was on a secret mission to Bulgaria, and at a village called Pravista was able to do a service for a wounded Bulgar, named Radko. He was delirious for some days and raved about some mysterious valley. When he was well again I asked him casually about it, as I have a taste for strange tales. He denied any knowledge of any such place.

  “Now it all came back to me. I hunted up my friend Radko, whom you know, and by his aid was admitted as a first-class brigand and so made my way here.

  “Then I had to bribe the old priest and get into his confidence. Through him I learnt the whole story as far as he knew it, and got hold of that vellum made from the skin of a victim which alone could entitle the possessor to challenge the Priest-King.

  “I had some idea of tackling the brute myself, but as long as Diana was safe, there was no particular need.

  “As you know, I hurried back determined to see Carstairs and face him with the whole story. Either he would give up any idea of taking his sister or I would expose the whole thing, and put a stop to this barbarous worship — if you can call it so.

  “But Diana had gone — twenty-four hours would have done it, and it was absolutely necessary for me to hurry back to save her.”

  “And then — ”

  “And then we spoilt the whole caboodle,” Ralph said, knocking out the ash from his pipe.

  “You did that,” Sinclair said grimly. “The first thing I knew was that Smart had arrived with Miss Gorringe.”

  “Doris, please, among friends,” she said softly.

  “Well — Doris, then — that was worry enough, but worse came hard after. Ganzani came and told of your arrival in Italy, and how you had been fooled. He was afraid to stay in England or Italy, and I think Carstairs had determined on his death in the hideous manner you saw, before ever you came.

  “Smart was the evil genius. His medical skill and the hold he had over Carstairs made him formidable.

  “I wondered what on earth had happened to Ronald and Ralph, and feared the worst till Radko told me that in order to save your lives he had lured you both to the monastery, without Smart’s knowledge. So I went and fetched you both.

  “I don’t think there is much more to tell. Smart has confessed to me that he made up all that story at Nemi to get you both here, and that the meeting with Ganzani was pre-arranged. He had to pretend to have caught him. Of course he released him and sent him off to tell Carstairs.”

  “Then how was my father murdered?” Ronald asked.

  “There is little doubt about that, I am afraid. Smart, acting on urgent instructions from Carstairs not to allow your father to reach Scotland Yard, had been shadowing him all day.

  “In the crush at Leicester Square Tube Station he had got close to him, and injected this deadly poison into some exposed part — his hand or neck. The poor man was so confused that he would not have noticed the slight pain. This poison, as Diana knows, may act instantaneously or, if diluted, may take minutes or even days, as in the case of Mr. Reginald Shepherd. This was the same drug I gave Ralph in a very diluted form, and it puzzled Smart.

  “In any case there is no antidote. Smart had been working on it for months for his own purposes. He wished to become King of the Woods by this means.

&n
bsp; “He had hoped that your father would have gone down the lift in the ordinary way and would have fallen dead from so-called ‘heart failure.’ Is there anything else?”

  “Yes,” Ronald asked. “What about those odd coins which seemed to interest you in the sum Ganzani left?”

  Sinclair laughed in the dark.

  “It was a long job. I went to the British Museum. Finally I found the odd fifteen shillings brought the sum exactly to 100,000 drachmae in the old Greek coinage, the price for a Princess.

  “There is another point might interest you. I had followed Smart on the night when Ganzani interviewed you and your uncle.

  “He and Carstairs and Smart had all met at the Athens Hotel. I therefore took the course of bringing Carstairs round to defeat his own schemes. It must have caused them some anger when I used Carstairs to watch Smart. They had of course arranged to abduct Diana as soon as Ganzani had handed over the fee, and was holding your uncle in conversation.

  “I have a shrewd suspicion — though no proof — that Smart murdered that Bulgar with the same poison, to get you all to the valley. He had suspected that Radko was trying to save you personally. Once a poisoner — especially a doctor — has this dreadful weapon he will stop at nothing.

  “Snakes are not found on the mountains in a snowstorm.”

  “You think Smart was fooling me all the time?” Ronald asked.

  “He was simply playing with you. He undoubtedly stole the mistletoe from you — how would Ganzani know anything about it? And the meeting at Nemi was all arranged — he sent Ganzani forward to arrange things with Radko.

  “I think that is all.”

  There was a pause hard to break. Thoughts too deep for words were passing in the minds of each of the listeners.

  “I think,” Simpson said slowly at last, “I have never listened to such a modest account of a great deed done to save a woman from worse than death. Don’t you all realise that Sir Arthur had made light of all his sufferings, his dangers, and his amazing skill. He took his life in his hands every day. He says the details would not interest us! That’s because the details as he calls them are an epic of heroism.”