Mr. Marx's Secret

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  CHAPTER VIII. AN ABODE OF MYSTERY.

  For the first time in my life I was on my way to Ravenor Castle, summonedthere by a brief, imperious note from Mr. Ravenor. Often had I lookedlongingly from the distant hills of the park upon its grey, rugged towersand mighty battlements; but I had never dared to clamber over the highwall into the inner grounds, nor even to make my way up the servants'drive to win a closer acquaintance with it.

  One reason why I had abstained from doing what, on the face of it, wouldseem a very natural thing to do, was a solemn promise to my mother,extracted from me almost as soon as I was able to get about by myself,never to pass within that great boundary-wall which completely encircledthe inner grounds and wardens of the castle. But, apart from that, thething would have been impossible for me, in any case.

  I have already said that Mr. Ravenor bore the character of being aremarkably eccentric man. Perhaps one of the most striking manifestationsof this eccentricity lay in the rigid seclusion in which he chose to livewhile at the Castle, and the extraordinary precautions which he had takento prevent all intruders and visitors of every sort from obtaining accessto him.

  From the outer part there was indeed no attempt to exclude anyonebelonging to the neighbourhood who chose to ramble about there, and inMr. Ravenor's absence visitors who had obtained permission from thesteward were occasionally permitted to drive through; but to the groundsand the Castle itself access was simply an impossibility. Had RavenorCastle been the abode of a sovereign, and the country around inpossession of a hostile people, the precautions could scarcely have beenmore rigorous.

  The high stone wall, which encircled the Castle and gardens for a circuitof three-quarters of a mile, effectually shut them off from the outsideworld. The postern-gates with which it was pierced were of solid iron,and the locks which secured them were said to have been fashioned by aHindoo whom Mr. Ravenor had once brought home with him from India, and tobe perfectly unique in their design and workmanship. The two maincarriage entrances, about half a mile apart, were remarkable for nothingbut the fine proportions of the towering iron gates; but they were alwayskept jealously locked and barred, and the fate of the uninvited guest whopresented himself there was inevitable. There was no admittance.

  The afternoon was drawing towards a close when I turned the last cornerof the winding avenue and approached the entrance. It had been a wild,blustering day; but just before I started from home the wind had droppedand a watery sun, feebly piercing the masses of heavy clouds with whichthe sky was strewn, was shining down, with a wan, unnatural glow, uponthe clumps of fir-trees on either side of the way and the massive,frowning towers of the Castle close above me.

  Under foot and around me everything was wet. With the faintest stir ofthe dying breeze showers of raindrops fell from shrubs and trees, and atevery step my feet sank into the soft, soaked gravel, or sent themoisture bubbling up from the layers of rotten leaves and twigs which themorning's gale had scattered along the road.

  It was an afternoon to damp anyone's spirits; and it was perhaps to theinfluence of the weather that I owed the sudden sinking of heart andcourage which came over me as I slackened my pace before the grim-lookinglodges and barred gate. I had started from home, notwithstanding mymother's white face and nervous, trembling manner, in a state ofpleasurable excitement.

  I was about to penetrate into a mystery which had been the curiosity ofmy boyhood; I was to become one of those favoured few who had beenpermitted to pass within the portals of Ravenor Castle; and, more thanthat, I was about to visit there as the guest of a man whose marvellousreputation, personality, and career had kindled within me an almostpassionate reverence--a man who had long been the object of my devoted,although boyish and unreasonable, hero-worship. Yet, though it would seemthat I had everything to gain and nothing to fear or lose from the cominginterview, no sooner had I arrived within sight of my destination than myspirits sank to zero.

  A woman would have called it a presentiment and have accepted it withmute despair. To me it seemed only an unreasonable reaction from myprevious state of suppressed excitement--a feeling to be crushed at anycost, lest I should stand, with gloomy, unthankful face, before the manin whose power it lay to raise me from my present distasteful positionand prospects. So I threw my head back and quickened my steps, keepingresolutely before me in my thoughts all that I had ventured to hope frommy forthcoming interview; and by the time I stood before the great irongates and stretched out my hand to ring the bell, the depression hadalmost passed away, and the eagerness which I felt was, no doubt, fullyreflected m my countenance.

  I had no need to ring. My last quick footstep had fallen upon a hardersubstance than the gravel upon which I had been walking, and the contactof my feet with it made my presence known in a manner which surprised menot a little. There was a shrill ringing from the lodge door on my right,and almost simultaneously it opened and a servant came out in the darkRavenor livery.

  "Will you be so good, sir, as to step off the planking?" he said.

  I moved a yard or two backwards, and the bell--it was an electric bell,of course--instantly ceased. It was my first experience of any such meansof communication, and I stood for a moment looking down in somebewilderment.

  "Your name and business, sir?" the man inquired respectfully. "Did youwish to see Mr. Clemson?" Mr. Clemson was the steward.

  "My name is Morton, and my business is with Mr. Ravenor," I answered. "Iwant to see him."

  "I am afraid that Mr. Ravenor will not be able to see you, sir," he said."Have you an appointment?"

  "Yes; for five o'clock," I answered. And the words had scarcely left mylips before the first stroke of the hour boomed out from the great Castleclock. Perhaps, more than anything else could have done, that soundbrought home to me the realisation of where I was. Hour after hour, allthrough my life, from the depths of Rothland Wood, from the home meadows,or in my long rambles over the far-away Barnwood Hills, I had heard thosedeep, throbbing chimes; sometimes faint and low, when the wind bore thesound away from me, sometimes harsh and piercing in the storm, and oftenas dear and distinct as though only a sheet of water stretched betweenus. And now I stood almost within a stone's throw of them, and marvelledno longer that the deep, resounding notes should travel so far over hilland moor that I had never yet been able to wander out of hearing of them.

  The man accepted my explanation after a moment's hesitation, and,standing aside from the doorway out of which he had issued, motioned meto enter. I did so and received a fresh surprise. Instead of findingmyself in the home of one of the servants of the estate, which would haveseemed the natural thing, I found myself in a most luxuriously furnishedwaiting-room, hung with mirrors and oak-framed paintings upon a darkpanelled wall. My feet sank into a thick carpet, and I subsided, a littledazed, into a low, crimson velvet chair, and found beside me a tablecovered with magazines.

  The man followed me into the room, and, as he passed on his way to itsupper end, he wheeled towards me a smaller table on which were decantersand glasses and a long box of cigarettes. Scarcely glancing at them, Iwatched him unlock a tall cupboard and half vanish inside it.

  He remained there for a space of almost five minutes. Then he steppedout, carefully locked it and advanced towards me. I fancied that therewas a shade more respect in his manner and certainly some surprise.

  "Mr. Ravenor's servant will be here in a few minutes, sir, to show youthe way to the Castle."

  I thought that I could have found it very well by myself, but, of course,I could not say so. I occupied myself by examining the contents of theroom, and struggled for a few moments between a feeling of strongcuriosity and a natural disinclination to ask questions of a servant,especially one whose manner seemed so little to invite them. Finally theformer conquered.

  "How did you find that out without leaving this room?" I asked.

  He pointed to the cupboard.

  "We have a telephone there in connection with the Castle
, sir," heexplained. Then he busied himself arranging some papers on a table at theother end of the apartment, with the obvious air of not desiring to bequestioned further.

  The explanation was so simple that I smiled. I began to realise the veryinsufficient causes which had given rise to the stories which were alwaysfloating about concerning the mystery in which the master of RavenorCastle chose to dwell. What more natural than that a man of liberaleducation, with a passion for absolute solitude, should seek to insure itby some such means as these, by the application of very simple scientificdevices, common enough in a city, but unheard of in our quiet countryneighbourhood?

  I was kept waiting for about a quarter of an hour. Then the door wasopened noiselessly from without and a tall, dark man, clean-shaven anddressed in black, relieved by an immaculate white tie, entered and lookedat me. I rose to my feet and threw down the magazine which I had beenpretending to read.

  "You are Mr. Morton?" he inquired, in a subdued tone, glancing steadilyat me the while with somewhat puzzled, criticising gaze, which, perhapsunreasonably, annoyed me extremely. It was an annoyance which I tookpains not to show, however, for something about the personality of theman impressed me. His manner, though studiously respectful, was notwithout a certain quiet dignity, and his thin oval face--thin almost toemaciation--had in it more than a suspicion of refinement. My firstglance, whilst I was undergoing his brief scrutiny, assured me that thiswas no ordinary servant.

  "That is my name," I answered. "You have come to take me to Mr. Ravenor?"

  "If you will be so good as to follow me, sir."

  I took up my cap and did so, taking long, swinging strides up the steepascent, hoping thereby to gain his side and ask him a few questions aboutthe place. But he prevented this by hurrying on when I was close behindhim; so, after the third attempt I gave it up, and contented myself bylooking around me as much as I could, and making the most of the shortwalk.

  On one side of the drive--I had been along few highways as wide--was atall yew hedge, which shut out little from my view, for the thick blackpine-wood which overtopped and formed so striking a background to thegrand old Castle had never been thinned in this direction, and stretchedaway in a wide, irregular belt, skirting the long line of out-buildingsto the hills and beyond. But on the right hand only a low ring-fenceseparated us from the grounds immediately in front of the Castle, which asudden bend in the sharply winding road brought into full view.

  My absolute ignorance of architecture forbids my attempting to describeit, save in its general effect. I remember even now what that effect wasupon me when I stood for the first time almost at its foot. At a distanceits frowning battlements and worn grey turrets had a majestic appearance;but, standing as I did then, within a few hundred yards of its vast,imposing front, and almost under the shadow of its walls and towers, itseffect was nothing short of awe-inspiring.

  I almost held my breath as I gazed upon it and the terrace lawns, slopingaway below, smooth-shaven, velvetty, the very perfection of English turf.Not that I had much time to look about me. On the contrary, my conductornever once slackened his pace, and when I involuntarily paused for amoment, with eyes riveted upon the magnificent pile before me, he lookedround sharply and beckoned me impatiently to proceed.

  "Mr. Ravenor is not used to be kept waiting, sir," he remarked, "and willbe expecting us."

  I pulled myself together with an effort and followed him more closely. Wepassed under a bridge of solid masonry, moss-encrusted, and indented withthe storms of ages and the ruder marks of battering-ram and cannon,across a wide, circular courtyard protected by massive iron gates, whichrolled slowly open before us with many ponderous creakings and gratings,as though reluctant to admit a stranger, into a great, white, stone-pavedhall, dimly lighted, yet sufficiently so to enable me to perceive thelong rows of armoured warriors which lined the walls, and the lances andspears and shields which flashed above their heads.

  We passed straight across it, our footsteps awakening clattering echoesas they fell on the polished flags, through a door on the opposite side,into a room which nearly took my breath away. From the high, vaultedceiling to the floor, on every side of the apartment, were books--nothingbut books.

  Two men--one old, the other of about my own age--looked up from a tableas we entered and paused in their work, which seemed to be cataloguing;but my guide passed them without remark or notice, and walked straightacross the room to where a crimson curtain, hanging down in thick folds,concealed a black oak door. Here he knocked, and I waited by his sideuntil the answer came in that clear, low tone, which, though I had heardit but once or twice before, I could have recognised in a thousand. Thenmy guide turned the handle and, silently motioning me to enter, left me.