The Grey Room

by Eden Phillpotts

  CHAPTER III. AT THE ORIEL

  Chadlands sprang into existence when the manor houses of England--savefor the persistence of occasional embattled parapets and otherwarlike survivals of unrestful days now past--had obeyed the laws ofarchitectural evolution, and begun to approach a future of cleanlinessand comfort, rising to luxury hitherto unknown. The development of thisancient mass was displayed in plan as much as in elevation, and, at itsdate, the great mansion had stood for the last word of perfection, whenmen thought on large lines and the conditions of labour made possibleachievements now seldom within the power of a private purse. Much hadsince been done, but the main architectural features were preserved,though the interior of the great house was transformed.

  The manor of Chadlands extended to some fifty thousand acres lying in ariver valley between the heights of Haldon on the east and the frontiersof Dartmoor westerly. The little township was connected by a branch withthe Great Western Railway, and the station lay five miles from the manorhouse. No more perfect parklands, albeit on a modest scale, existed inSouth Devon, and the views of the surrounding heights and great valeopening from the estate caused pleasure alike to those contented withobvious beauty and the small number of spectators who understood thesignificance of what constitutes really distinguished landscape.

  Eastward, long slopes of herbage and drifts of azaleas--a gloriousharmony of gold, scarlet, and orange in June--sloped upwards to larchwoods; while the gardens of pleasure, watered by a little trout stream,spread beneath the manor house, and behind it rose hot-houses and theglass and walled gardens of fruit and vegetables. To the south and westopened park and vale, where receded forest and fallow lands, until thegrey ramparts of the moor ascending beyond them hemmed in the picture.

  Sir Walter Lennox had devoted himself to the sporting side of the estateand had made it famous in this respect. His father, less interested inshooting and hunting, had devoted time and means to the flower gardens,and rendered them as rich as was possible in his day; while earlier yet,Sir Walter's grandfather had been more concerned for the interior, andhad done much to enrich and beautify it.

  A great terrace stretched between the south front and a balustrade ofgranite, that separated it from the gardens spreading at a lower level.Here walked Henry Lennox and sought Tom May. It was now past eighto'clock on Sunday morning, and he found himself alone. The sun, breakingthrough heaviness of morning clouds, had risen clear of Haldon Hillsand cast a radiance, still dimmed by vapour, over the glow of the autumntrees. Subdued sounds of birds came from the glades below, and fardistant, from the scrub at the edge of the woods, pheasants werecrowing. The morning sparkled, and, in a scene so fair, Henry found hisspirits rise. Already the interview with Mary's husband on the precedingnight seemed remote and unreal. He was, however, conscious that he hadmade an ass of himself, but he did not much mind, for it could not besaid that May had shone, either.

  He called him, and, for reply, an old spaniel emerged from beneath,climbed a flight of broad steps that ascended to the terrace, andpaddled up to Henry, wagging his tail. He was a very ancient hero, whoserecord among the wild duck still remained a worthy memory and won himhonour in his declining days. The age of "Prince" remained doubtful,but he was decrepit now--gone in the hams and suffering from cataract ofboth eyes--a disease to which it is impossible to minister in a dog.But his life was good to him; he still got about, slept in the sun, andshared the best his master's dish could offer. Sir Walter adoredhim, and immediately felt uneasy if the creature did not appear whensummoned. Often, had he been invisible too long, his master would wanderwhistling round his haunts. Then he would find him, or be himself found,and feel easy again.

  "Prince" went in to the open window of the breakfast-room, while Henry,moved by a thought, walked round the eastern angle of the house andlooked up at the oriel window of the Grey Room, where it hung alofton the side of the wall, like a brilliant bubble, and flashed with thesunshine that now irradiated the casement. To his surprise he saw thewindow was thrown open and that May, still in his pyjamas, knelt on thecushioned recess within and looked out at the morning.

  "Good lord, old chap!" he cried, "Needn't ask you if you have slept.It's nearly nine o'clock."

  But the other made no response whatever. He continued to gaze far awayover Henry's head at the sunrise, while the morning breeze moved hisdark hair.

  "Tom! Wake up!" shouted Lennox again; but still the other did not movea muscle. Then Henry noticed that he was unusually pale, and somethingabout his unwinking eyes also seemed foreign to an intelligentexpression. They were set, and no movement of light played upon them. Itseemed that the watcher was in a trance. Henry felt his heart jump,and a sensation of alarm sharpened his thought. For him the morning wassuddenly transformed, and fearing an evil thing had indeed befallen theother, he turned to the terrace and entered the breakfast-room from it.The time was now five minutes to nine, and as unfailing punctuality hadever been a foible of Sir Walter, his guests usually respected it. Mostof them were already assembled, and Mary May, who was just stepping intothe garden, asked Henry if he had seen her husband.

  "He's always the first to get up and the last to go to bed," she said.

  Bidding her good-morning, but not answering her question, the young manhastened through the room and ascended to the corridor. Beneath, ErnestTravers, a being of fussy temperament with a heart of gold, spoketo Colonel Vane. Travers was clad in Sunday black, for he respectedtradition.

  "Forgive me, won't you, but this is your first visit, and you don't lookmuch like church."

  "Must we go to church, too?" asked the colonel blankly. He was still ayear under forty, but had achieved distinction in the war. "There isno 'must' about it, but Sir Walter would appreciate the effort on yourpart. He likes his guests to go. He is one of those men who are a lightto this generation--an ancient light, if you like, but a shining one.He loves sound maxims. You may say he runs his life on sound maxims. Helives charitably with all men and it puzzles him, as it puzzles me, tounderstand the growing doubt, the class prejudice--nay, class hatredthe failure of trust and the increasing tension and uneasiness betweenemployer and employed. He and I are agreed that the tribulations ofthe present time can be traced to two disasters only--the lack ofgoodwill--as shown in the proletariat, whose leaders teach them torespect nobody, and the weakening hold of religion as also revealed inthe proletariat. Now, to combat these things and set a good example isour duty--nay, our privilege. Don't you think so?"

  Such a lecture on an empty stomach depressed the colonel. He lookeduneasy and anxious.

  "I'll come, of course, if he'd like it; but I'm afraid I shared my men'sdread of church parade, though our padre was a merciful being on thewhole and fairly sensible."

  Overhead, Henry had tried the door of the Grey Room, and found itlocked. As he did so, the gong sounded for breakfast. Masters alwaysperformed upon it. First he woke a preliminary whisper of the greatbronze disc, then deepened the note to a genial and mellow roar, andfinally calmed it down again until it faded gently into silence. Hespoke of the gong as a musical instrument, and declared the art ofsounding it was a gift that few men could acquire.

  Neither movement nor response rewarded the summons of Lennox, and now ingenuine alarm, he went below again, stopped Fred Caunter, the footman,and asked him to call out Sir Walter.

  Fred waited until his master had said a brief grace before meat; then hestepped to his side and explained, that his nephew desired to see him.

  "Good patience! What's the matter?" asked the old man as he rose andjoined Henry in the hall.

  Then his nephew spoke, and indicated his alarm. He stammered a little,but strove to keep calm and state facts clearly.

  "It's like this. I'm afraid you'll be rather savage, but I can't talknow. Tom and I had a yarn when you'd gone to bed, and he was awfullykeen to spend the night in the Grey Room."

  "I did not wish it."

  "I know--we were wrong--but we were both death on it, and we tossed up,and he won."
<
br />   "Where is he?"

  "Up there now, looking out of the window. I've called him and made a rowat the door, but he doesn't answer. He's locked himself in, apparently."

  "What have you done, Henry? We must get to him instantly. TellCaunter--no, I will. Don't breathe a syllable of this to anybody unlessnecessity arises. Don't tell Mary."

  Sir Walter beckoned the footman, bade him get some tools and ascendquickly to the Grey Room. He then went up beside his nephew, while Fred,bristling with excitement, hastened to the toolroom. He was a handy man,had been at sea during the war, and now returned to his old employment.His slow brain moved backwards, and he remembered that this was a taskhe had already performed ten or more years before. Then the ill-omenedchamber had revealed a dead woman. Who was in it now? Caunter guessedreadily enough.

  Lennox spoke to his uncle as they approached the locked door.

  "It was only a lark, just to clear the room of its bad characterand have a laugh at your expense this morning. But I'm afraid he'sill--fainted or something. He turned in about one o'clock. I was ratherbothered, and couldn't explain to myself why, but--"

  "Don't chatter!" answered the other. "You have both done a very wrongthing and should have respected my wishes."

  At the door he called loudly.

  "Let us in at once, Tom, please! I am much annoyed! If this is a jest,it has gone far enough--and too far! I blame you severely!"

  But none replied. Absolute silence held the Grey Room.

  Then came the footman with a frail of tools. The task could not beperformed in a moment, and Sir Walter, desirous above all things tocreate no uneasiness at the breakfast-table, determined to go downagain. But he was too late, for his daughter had already suspectedsomething. She was not anxious but puzzled that her husband tarried. Shecame up the stairs with a letter.

  "I'm going to find Tom," she said. "It's not like him to be so lazy.Here's a letter from the ship, and I'm awfully afraid he may have to goback."

  "Mary," said her father, "come here a moment."

  He drew her under a great window which threw light into the corridor.

  "You must summon your nerve and pluck, my girl! I'm very much afraidthat something has gone amiss with Tom. I know nothing yet, but lastnight, it seems, after we had gone to bed, he and Henry determined thatone of them should sleep in the Grey Room."

  "Father! Was he there, and I so near him--sleeping in the very nextroom?"

  "He was there--and is there. He is not well. Henry saw him looking outof the window five minutes ago, but he was, I fear, unconscious."

  "Let me go to him," she said.

  "I will do so first. It will be wiser. Run down and ask Ernest to joinme. Do not be alarmed; I dare say it is nothing at all."

  Her habit of obedience prompted her to do as he desired instantly, butshe descended like lightning, called Travers, and returned with him.

  "I will ask you to come in with me, Ernest," explained Sir Walter. "Myson-in-law slept in the Grey Room last night, and he does not respond toour calls this morning. The door is locked and we are breaking it open."

  "But you expressly refused him permission to do so, Walter."

  "I did--you heard me. Let sleeping dogs lie is a very good motto, butyoung men will be young men. I hope, however, nothing serious--"

  He stopped, for Caunter had forced the door and burst it inward witha crash. During the moment's silence that followed they heard the keyspring into the room and strike the wainscot. The place was flooded withsunshine, and seemed to welcome them with genial light and attractiveart. The furniture revealed its rich grain and beautiful modelling;the cherubs carved on the great chairs seemed to dance where the lightflashed on their little, rounded limbs. The silvery walls were bright,and the huge roses that tumbled over them appeared to revive and displaytheir original color at the touch of the sun.

  On a chair beside the bed stood an extinguished candle, Tom's watch, andHenry's revolver. The sailor's dressing-gown was still folded where hehad placed it; his rug was at the foot of the bed. He himself kneltin the recess at the open window upon the settee that ran beneath. Hisposition was natural; one arm held the window-ledge and steadied him,and his back was turned to Sir Walter and Travers, who first entered theroom.

  Henry held Mary back and implored her to wait a moment, but she shookoff his hand and followed her father.

  Sir Walter it was who approached Tom and grasped his arm. In so doing hedisturbed the balance of the body, which fell back and was caught by thetwo men. Its weight bore Ernest Travers to the ground, but Henry was intime to save both the quick and the dead. For Tom May had expired manyhours before. His face was of an ivory whiteness, his mouth closed. Nosign of fear, but rather a profound astonishment sat upon his features.His eyes were opened and dim. In them, too, was frozen a sort ofspeechless amazement. How long he had been dead they knew not, but nonewere in doubt of the fact. His wife, too, perceived it. She went towhere he now lay, put her arms around his neck, and fainted.

  Others were moving outside, and the murmur of voices reached the GreyRoom. It was one of those tragic situations when everybody desires to beof service, and when well-meaning and small-minded people are often hurtunintentionally and never forget it, putting fancied affronts before theincidents that caused them.

  The man lay dead and his wife unconscious upon his body.

  Sir Walter rose to the occasion as best he might, issued orders, andbegged all who heard him to obey without question. He and his friendTravers lifted Mary and carried her to her room. It was her nursery ofold. Here they put her on her bed, and sent Caunter for Mrs. Travers andMary's old servant, Jane Bond. She had recovered consciousness beforethe women reached her. Then they returned to the dead, and the master ofChadlands urged those standing on the stairs and in the corridor to goback to their breakfast and their duties.

  "You can do no good," he said. "I will only ask Vane to help us."

  Fayre-Michell spoke, while the colonel came forward.

  "Forgive me, Sir Walter, but if it is anything psychical, I ask, as amember--"

  "For Heaven's sake do as I wish," returned the other. "My son-in-lawis dead. What more there is to know, you'll hear later. I want Vane,because he is a powerful man and can help Henry and my butler. We haveto carry--"

  He broke off.

  "Dead!" gasped the visitor.

  Then he hastened downstairs. Presently they lifted the sailor amongthem, and got him to his own room. They could not dispose him in acomely position--a fact that specially troubled Sir Walter--and Mastersdoubted not that the doctor would be able to do it.

  Henry Lennox started as swiftly as possible for the house of thephysician, four miles off. He took a small motor-car, did the journeyalong empty roads in twelve minutes, and was back again with Dr.Mannering in less than half an hour.

  The people, whose visit of pleasure was thus painfully brought to aclose, moved about whispering on the terrace. They had as yet heard nodetails, and were considering whether it would be possible to get off atonce, or necessary to wait until the morrow.

  Their natural desire was to depart, since they could not be of anyservice to the stricken household; but no facilities existed on Sunday.They walked about in little groups. One or two, desiring to smoke butfeeling that to do so would appear callous, descended into the seclusionof the garden. Then Ernest Travers joined them. He was important, butcould only tell them that May had disobeyed his father-in-law, slept inthe Grey Room, and died there. He gave them details and declared that inhis opinion it would be unseemly to attempt to leave until the followingday.

  "Sir Walter would feel it," he said. "He is bearing up well. He willlunch with us. My wife tells me that Mary, Mrs. May, is very sadly. Thatis natural--an awful blow. I find myself incapable of grasping it. Tothink of so much boyish good spirits and such vitality extinguished inthis way."

  "Can we do anything on earth for them?" asked Millicent Fayre-Michell.

  "Nothing--nothing. If I may advise, I think we had a
ll better go tochurch. By so doing we get out of the way for a time and please dear SirWalter. I shall certainly go."

  They greeted the suggestion--indeed, clutched at it. Their bewilderedminds welcomed action. They were hushed and perturbed. Death, crashingin upon them thus, left them more than uncomfortable. Some, at thebottom of their souls, felt almost indignant that an event so horribleshould have disturbed the level tenor of their lives. They shared themost profound sympathy for the sufferers as well as for themselves.Some discovered that their own physical bodies were upset, too, and feltsurprised at the depth of their emotions.

  "It isn't as if it were natural," Felix Fayre-Michell persisted. "Don'timagine that for a moment."

  "It's too creepy--I can't believe it," declared his niece. She wasincapable of suffering much for anybody, and her excitement had aflavour not wholly bitter. She saw herself describing these events atother house parties. It would be unfair to say that she was enjoyingherself; still she knew nobody at Chadlands very well, it was her firstvisit, and adventures are, after all, adventures. Her uncle discussedthe psychic significance of the tragedy, and gave instances of similarevents. One or two listened to him for lack of anything better to do.There was a general sensation of blankness. They were all thrown. Lifehad let them down. Under the circumstances, to most of them it seemed anexcellent idea to go to church. Vane joined them presently. He was ableto give them many details and excite their interest. They crowded roundhim, and he spoke nakedly. Death was nothing to him--he had seen somuch. They heard the motor return with Dr. Mannering.

  "We're so out of it," said Mr. Miles Handford, a stout man fromYorkshire--a wealthy landowner and sportsman.

  He was unaccustomed to be out of anything in his environment, and heshowed actual irritation.

  "Thank Heaven we are, I should think!" answered another; and the firstspeaker frowned at him.

  Ernest Travers joined them presently. He had put on a black tie and woreblack gloves and a silk hat.

  "If you accompany me," he said, "I can show you the short way by afield path. It cuts off half a mile. I have told Sir Walter we all go tochurch, and he asked me if we would like the motors; but I felt, the daybeing fine, you would agree with me that we might walk. He is terriblycrushed, but taking it like the man he is."

  Miles Handford and Fayre-Michell followed the church party in the rear,and relieved their minds by criticizing Mr. Travers.

  "Officious ass!" said the stout man. "A typical touch that black tie! Adecent-minded person would have felt this appalling tragedy far too muchto think of such a trifle. I hope I shall never see the brute again."

  "It seems too grotesque marching to church like a lot of children,because he tells us to do so," murmured Fayre-Michell.

  "I don't want to go. I only want distraction. In fact, I don't think Ishall go," added Mr. Handford. But a woman urged him to do so.

  "Sir Walter would like it," she said.

  "It's all very sad and very exasperating indeed," declared theYorkshireman; "and it shows, if that wanted showing, that there's far,far less consideration among young men for their elders than there usedto be in my young days. If my father-in-law had told me not to do athing, the very wish to do it would have disappeared at once."

  "Sir Walter was as clear as need be," added Felix. "We all heard him.Then the young fool--Heaven forgive him--behind everybody's back goesand plays with fire in this insane way."

  "The selfishness! Just look at the inconvenience--the upset--thesuffering to his relations and the worry for all of us. All our plansmust be altered--everything upset, life for the moment turned upsidedown--a woman's heart broken very likely--and all for a piece ofdisobedient folly. Such things make one out of tune with Providence.They oughtn't to happen. They don't happen in Yorkshire. Devonshireappears to be a slacker's county. It's the air, I shouldn't wonder."

  "Education, and law and order, and the discipline inculcated in the Navyought to have prevented this," continued Fayre-Michell. "Who ever heardof a sailor disobeying--except Nelson?"

  "He's paid, poor fellow," said his niece, who walked beside him.

  "We have all paid," declared the north countryman. "We have all paid theprice; and the price has been a great deal of suffering and discomfortand stress of mind that we ought not have been called upon to endure.One resents such things in a stable world."

  "Well, I'm not going to church, anyway. I must smoke for my nerves.I'm a psychic myself, and I react to a thing of this sort," repliedFayre-Michell.

  From a distant stile between two fields Mr. Travers, some hundred yardsahead, was waving directions and pointing to the left.

  "Go to Jericho!" snapped Mr. Handford, but not loud enough for ErnestTravers to hear him.

  A little ring of bells throbbed thin music. It rose and fell on theeasterly breeze and a squat grey tower, over which floated a whiteensign on a flagstaff, appeared upon a little knoll of trees in themidst of the village of Chadlands.

  Presently the bells stopped, and the flag was brought down to half-mast.Mr. Travers had reached the church.

  "A maddening sort of man," said Miles Handford, who marked thesephenomena. "Be sure Sir Walter never told him to do anything of thatsort. He has taken it upon himself--a theatrical mind. If I were thevicar--"

  Elsewhere Dr. Mannering heard what Henry Lennox could tell him as theyreturned to the manor house together. He displayed very deep concerncombined with professional interest. He recalled the story that SirWalter had related on the previous night.

  "Not a shadow of evidence--a perfectly healthy little woman; and it willbe the same here as sure as I'm alive," he said. "To think--we shot sideby side yesterday, and I remarked his fine physique and wonderful highspirits--a big, tough fellow. How's poor Mary?"

  "She is pretty bad, but keeping her nerve, as she would be sure to do,"declared the other.

  Sir Walter was with his daughter when Mannering arrived. The doctor hadbeen a crony of the elder for many years. He was about the average ofa country physician--a hard-bitten, practical man who loved hisprofession, loved sport, and professed conservative principles.Experience stood in place of high qualifications, but he kept in touchwith medical progress, to the extent of reading about it and availinghimself of improved methods and preparations when opportunity offered.He examined the dead man very carefully, indicated how his posture mightbe rendered more normal, and satisfied himself that human power wasincapable of restoring the vanished life. He could discover no visibleindication of violence and no apparent excuse for Tom May's sudden end.He listened with attention to the little that Henry Lennox could tellhim, and then went to see Mary May and her father.

  The young wife had grown more collected, but she was dazed rather thanreconciled to her fate; her mind had not yet absorbed the full extent ofher sorrow. She talked incessantly and dwelt on trivialities, as peoplewill under a weight of events too large to measure or discuss.

  "I am going to write to Tom's father," she said. "This will be an awfulblow to him. He was wrapped up in Tom. And to think that I was troublingabout his letter! He will never see the sea he loved so much again. Healways hated that verse in the Bible that says there will be no moresea. I was asleep so near him last night. Yet I never heard him cry outor anything."

  Mannering talked gently to her.

  "Be sure he did not cry out. He felt no pain, no shock--I am sure ofthat. To die is no hardship to the dead, remember. He is at peace, Mary.You must come and see him presently. Your father will call you soon.There is just a look of wonder in his face--no fear, no suffering. Keepthat in mind."

  "He could not have felt fear. He knew of nothing that a brave man mightfear, except doing wrong. Nobody knows how good he was but me. Hisfather loved him fiercely, passionately; but he never knew how good hewas, because Tom did not think quite like old Mr. May. I must write andsay that Tom is dangerously ill, and cannot recover. That will break itto him. Tom was the only earthly affection he had. It will be terriblewhen he comes."

  They left h
er, and, after they had gone, she rose, fell on her knees,and so remained, motionless and tearless, for a long time. Through herown desolation, as yet unrealized, there still persisted the thoughtof her husband's father. It seemed that her mind could dwell on hisisolation, while powerless to present the truth of her husband's deathto her. By some strange mental operation, not unbeneficent, she saw hisgrief more vividly than as yet she felt her own. She rose presently,quick-eared to wait the call, and went to her desk in the window. Thenshe wrote a letter to her father-in-law, and pictured his ministering atthat moment to his church. Her inclination was to soften the blow, yetshe knew that could only be a cruel kindness. She told him, therefore,that his son must die. Then she remembered that he was so near. Atelegram must go rather than a letter, and he would be at Chadlandsbefore nightfall. She destroyed her letter and set about a telegram.Jane Bond came in, and she asked her to dispatch the telegram as quicklyas possible. Her old nurse, an elderly spinster, to whom Mary was thefirst consideration in existence, had brought her a cup of soup and sometoast. It had seemed to Jane the right thing to do.

  Mary thanked her and drank a little. She passed through a mental phaseas of dreaming--a sensation familiar in sleep; but she knew that thiswas not a sleeping but a waking experience. She waited for her father,yet dreaded to hear him return. She thought of human footsteps and thedifference between them. She remembered that she would never hear Tom'slong stride again.

  It often broke into a run, she remembered, as he approached her; andshe would often run toward him, too--to banish the space that separatedthem. She blamed herself bitterly that she had decreed to sleep in herold nursery. She had loved it so, and the small bed that had held herfrom childhood; yet, if she had slept with him, this might not havehappened.

  "To think that only a wall separated us!" she kept saying to herself."And I sleeping and dreaming of him, and he dying only a few yardsaway."

  Death was no disaster for Tom, so the doctor had said. What worthlesswisdom! And perhaps not even wisdom. Who knows what a disaster deathmay be? And who would ever know what he had felt at the end, or what hismind had suffered if time had been given him to understand that he wasgoing to die? She worked herself into agony, lost self-control at lastand wept, with Jane Bond's arms round her.

  "And I was so troubled, because I thought he had been called back to hisship!" she said.

  "He's called to a better place than a ship, dear love," sobbed Jane.

  After they left her, Sir Walter and Dr. Mannering had entered the GreyRoom for a moment and, standing there, spoke together.

  "I have a strange consciousness that I am living over the past again,"declared the physician. "Things were just so when that poor woman, NurseForrester--you remember."

  "Yes. I felt the same when Caunter was breaking open the door. I facedthe worst from the beginning, for the moment I heard what he had done,I somehow knew that my unfortunate son-in-law was dead. I directlynegatived his suggestion last night, and never dreamed that he wouldhave gone on with it when he knew my wish."

  "Doubtless he did not realize how much in earnest you were on thesubject. This may well prove as impossible to understand as the nurse'sdeath. I do not say it will; but I suspect it will. A perfectly healthycreature cut off in a moment and nothing to show us why--absolutelynothing."

  "A death without a cause--a negation of science surely?"

  "There is a cause, but I do not think this dreadful tragedy will revealit," answered the doctor. "I pray it may, however, for all our sakes,"he continued. "It is impossible to say how deeply I feel this forher, but also for you, and myself, too. He was one of the best, a goodsportsman and a good man."

  "And a great loss to the Service," added Sir Walter. "I have notconsidered all this means yet. My thoughts are centred on Mary."

  "You must let me spare you all I can, my friend. There will be aninquest, of course, and an inquiry. Also a post-mortem. Shall Icommunicate with Dr. Mordred to-day, or would you prefer that somebodyelse--"

  "Somebody else. The most famous man you know. From no disrespect to Dr.Mordred, or to you, Mannering. You understand that. But I should likean independent examination by some great authority, some one who knewnothing of the former case. This is an appalling thing to happen. Idon't know where to begin thinking."

  "Do not put too great a strain upon yourself. Leave it to those who willcome to the matter with all their wits and without your personal sorrow.An independent inquirer is certainly best, one who, as you say, knowsnothing about the former case."

  "I don't know where to begin thinking," repeated the other. "Such athing upsets one's preconceived opinions. I had always regarded myaversion to this room as a human weakness--a thing to be conquered. Lookround you. Would it be possible to imagine an apartment with less ofevil suggestion?"

  The other made a perfunctory examination, went into every corner, tappedthe walls and stared at the ceiling. The clean morning light showed itsintricate pattern of interwoven circles converging from the walls tothe centre, and so creating a sense of a lofty dome instead of a flatsurface. In the centre was a boss of a conventional lily flower openingits petals.

  "The room should not be touched till after the inquest, I think. Indeed,if I may advise, you will do well to leave it just as it is for thepolice to see."

  "They will want to see it, I imagine?"

  "Unless you communicate direct with Scotland Yard, ask for a specialinquiry, and beg that the local men are not employed. There is reason inthat, for it is quite certain that nobody here would be of any greateruse to you than they were before."

  "Act for me then, please. Explain that money is no object, and ask themto send the most accomplished and experienced men in the service. Butthey are only concerned with crime. This may be outside their scope."

  "We cannot say as to that. We cannot even assert that this is not acrime. We know nothing."

  "A crime needs a criminal, Mannering."

  "That is so; but what would be criminal, if human agency wereresponsible for it, might, nevertheless, be the work of forces to whichthe word criminal cannot be applied."

  Sir Walter stared at him.

  "Is it possible you suggest a supernatural cause for this?"

  The doctor shook his head.

  "Emphatically not, though I am not a materialist, as you are aware. Mygeneration of practitioners has little difficulty in reconciling ourcreed with our cult, though few of the younger men are able to do so,I admit. But science is science, and not for a moment do I imagineanything supernatural here. I think, however, there are unconsciousforces at work, and those responsible for setting those forces in actionwould be criminals without a doubt, if they knew what they were doing.The man who fires a rifle at an animal, if he hits and kills it, is thedestroyer, though he may operate from half a mile away. On the otherhand, the agents may be unconscious of what they are doing."

  "There is no human being in this house for whom I would not answer."

  "I know it. We beat the wind. It will be time enough to considerpresently. Indeed, I should rather that you strove to relieve your mindof the problem. You have enough to do without that. Leave it to thoseprofessionally trained in such mysteries. If a man is responsible forthis atrocious thing, then it should be within the reach of man's witsto find him. We failed before; but this time no casual examination ofthis place, or the antecedents of your son-in-law's life, will serve thepurpose. We must go to the bottom, or, rather, skilled minds, trainedto do so, must go to the bottom. They will approach the subject from adifferent angle. They will come unprejudiced and unperturbed. Ifthere has been foul play, they will find it out. In my opinion it isincredible that they will be baffled."

  "The best men engaged in such work must come to help us. I cannot bringmyself to believe the room is haunted, and that this is the operationof an evil force outside Nature, yet permitted by the Creator to destroyhuman life. The idea is too horrible--it revolts me, Mannering."

  "Well, it may do so. Banish any such irrational tho
ught from your mind.It is not worthy of you. I must go now. I will telegraph to London--toSir Howard Fellowes--also, I think to the State authorities on forensicmedicine. A Government analyst must do his part. Shall I communicatewith Scotland Yard to-day?"

  "Leave that until the evening. You will come again to see Mary, please."

  "Most certainly I shall. At three o'clock I should have a reply to mymessages. I will go into Newton Abbot and telephone from there."

  "I thank you, Mannering. I wish it were possible to do more myself. Mymind is cruelly shaken. This awful experience has made an old man ofme."

  "Don't say that. It is awful enough, I admit. But life is full of awfulthings. Would that you might have escaped them!"

  "Henry will help you, if it is in his power. It would be well if wecould give him something to do. He feels guilty in a way. I have littletime to observe other people; but--"

  "He's all right. He can run into Newton with me now. It looks to me asthough his own life had hung on the pitch of a coin. They tossed up!After that--so he tells me--he tried to dissuade your son-in-law, butfailed. Lennox is rather cowed and dismayed--naturally. The young,however, survive mental and physical disasters and recover in the mostamazing manner. Their mental recuperation is on a par with their bodilypowers of recovery. Nature is on their side. Let me urge you to go downand take food. If you can even lunch with your party I should. It willdistract your mind."

  Sir Walter declared that he had intended to do so.

  "I am an old soldier," he said. "It shall not be thought I evade myobligations for personal sorrow. As for this room, it is accursed and Iam in a mind to destroy it utterly."

  "Wait--wait. We shall see what our fellow-men can find out for us. Donot think, because I am practical and business-like, I am not feelingthis. Seldom have I had such a shock in nearly forty years' work. Youknow, without my telling you, how deep and heartfelt is my sympathy. Ifeel for you both from my soul."

  "I am sure of that. I will try and forget myself for the present. Imust go to my guests. I am very sorry for them also. It is a fearfulexperience to crash upon their party of pleasure."

  "I hope Travers may stay. He is a comfort to you, is he not?"

  "Nobody can be a comfort just now. I shall not ask him to stay.Fortunately Henry is here. He will stop for the present. Mary is allthat matters. I shall take her away as quickly as possible and devote myevery thought to her."

  "I'm sure you will. It is a sad duty, but may prove a very necessaryone. Their devotion was absolute. It must go hard with her when sherealizes the whole meaning of this."

  He went his way, and Sir Walter returned to his child again. With herhe visited the dead, when told that he could do so. She was now veryself-controlled. She stopped a little while only beside her husband.

  "How beautiful and happy he looks," she said. "But what I loved is gone;and, going, it has changed all the rest. This is not Tom--only the leastpart of him."

  Her father bowed his head.

  "I felt so when your mother died, my dearest child."

  Then she knelt down and put her hand on the hand of the dead man andprayed. Her father knelt beside her, and it was he, not the young widow,who wept.

  She rose presently.

  "I can think of him better away from him now," she said. "I will not seehim again."

  They returned to her old nursery, and he told her that he was going toface life and take the head of his table at luncheon.

  "How brave of you, dear father," she said. Sir Walter waited for thegong to sound, but it did not, and he rebuked himself for thinkingthat it would sound. Masters had a more correct sense of the fitness ofthings than he. He thought curiously upon this incident, and suspectedthat he must be unhinged a little. Then he remembered a thing that hehad desired to say to Mary and returned to her.

  "I do not wish you to sleep in this room to-night, my darling," he said.

  "Jane has begged me not to. I am going to sleep with her," she answered.