CHAPTER XXXVII. MR. MARX IS WANTED.
It was long past midnight before the last little knots of guests hadwished one another good night, and even then Lord Penraven and a fewchosen companions only adjourned to a smaller smoking-room in the backregions of the Castle. I knew that Mr. Ravenor was not with them,however, for I had seen him, after having outstayed all save this handfulof his guests, cross the hall and enter the library. In about half anhour I followed him.
I had expected to find him resting after the great strain which themultitude and importance of his guests must have imposed upon him duringthe day. But I found him very differently employed. He was bending lowover his writing-table, with a cup of tea by his side, and alreadyseveral sheets of closely-written foolscap were scattered about thetable. At the sound of my entrance he looked up at once and laid down hispen.
"Sit there," he said, pointing to an easy-chair opposite to him. "I wantto see your face while you are talking. Now, what is this tale which youhave to tell me?"
His manner was far from encouraging and his face wore a severeexpression. Altogether I felt a little nervous. But it had to be done, soI began.
First I told him all about Leonard de Cartienne, his bad influence overCecil, and his correspondence with Mr. Marx. He listened without remark.Then I paused to take breath.
"I don't know what you'll say about the rest of my story," I went on. "Iscarcely know what to think of it myself. But here it is. There is an innin Little Drayton kept by a man named Hart, and Cecil and de Cartienne gothere--sometimes. About a month before I went to Borden Tower the manHart disappeared. He left home on a journey, the nature of which he keptsecret even from his daughter, and has never returned or been heard of.All the information which his daughter can give is that he has left homebefore on a similar errand and invariably returned with money after threeor four days."
I paused and glanced at Mr. Ravenor. He was looking a little puzzled, butnot particularly interested.
"About a month before I left here for Borden Tower," I went on, "I metMr. Marx in Torchester and drove home with him late at night. On the moorwe were furiously attacked by a man who seemed to be mad and Mr. Marx wasslightly injured. Two days afterwards Mr. Marx was assaulted by the sameman in the park, and if I had not turned up he would probably have beenkilled. The man was a lunatic in every respect, save one. He recognizedMr. Marx as his enemy and made deliberate attempts upon his life."
Mr. Ravenor softly pulled down the green lampshade on the side nearest tohim, and in the subdued light I could scarcely see his face, but I feltthat his interest in my story was growing.
"Well, of course, when Cecil began talking about this man Hart'sdisappearance," I continued, "and I heard a good deal about it at LittleDrayton, I began to think about this lunatic whom no one knew anythingabout. I put down the exact dates, and I found that Hart must have leftLittle Drayton about a week before the first attack on Mr. Marx by theunknown madman. Of course, this by itself was scarcely worth thinkingabout, but the strangest part of it is to come. More out of curiositythan anything, I asked to see a photograph of Mr. Hart. His daughter tookus into the sitting-room to look at one and to her amazement found itgone. All search was unavailing. Someone had taken it away. Well, I foundout where it had been taken and went to order a copy. It was no use. Thenegative had been sold to the same person who alone could have enteredMiss Hart's sitting-room and abstracted the photograph. That person wasLeonard de Cartienne, and he has been in communication with Mr. Marx, theman whom the lunatic tried to murder. Can you make anything of that,sir?"
Apparently Mr. Ravenor had made something of it. He was leaning a littleforward in his chair and at the sight of his face a great fear came uponme.
A ghastly change had crept into it. His eyes were burning with a dry,fierce fire, and the pallor extended even to his lips.
He sat forward, with his long, wasted fingers, stretched out convulsivelybefore his face, like a man who sees a hideous vision pass before hissight and yet remains spellbound, powerless to speak, or move, or breakaway from the loathsome spectacle.
Sickly beads of perspiration stood out upon his clammy forehead and hisdry lips were moving, although no sound came from them.
I gazed at him in a speechless horror, and as I looked the room and allits contents seemed to swim around me. What could Mr. Ravenor have foundso awful in the story which I had told and how could it concern him?
Suddenly he rose from his seat and stood over me. I was more than everalarmed at his strange expression.
"There is a third connection," he said hoarsely. "Do you remember that aman called to see me, whom I declined to admit, on the night of yourfirst visit here? When I changed my mind he had disappeared."
I gave a little cry and felt my blood run cold.
"Mr. Marx had something to do with that," I faltered out. "I met himunder the trees in the avenue and he was horribly frightened to see me. Ihad heard a cry. I was listening."
Mr. Ravenor stretched out his hand to the bell and rang it violently. Wesat in silence, dreading almost to look at one another until it wasanswered.
"Go to Mr. Marx's room and bid him come here at once," Mr. Ravenorcommanded.
The man bowed and withdrew. When he reappeared he carried in his hand aletter.
"Mr. Marx left this on his desk for you, sir," he said.
"Left it! Where is he? Is he not in the Castle?" questioned Mr. Ravenorsharply.
"No, sir. He had a dog cart about half-past four to catch the Londonexpress at Mellborough."
Mr. Ravenor tore open the note and then threw it across to me. There wereonly a few words:
"Dear Mr. Ravenor,--Kindly excuse me for a day or two. Important businessof a private nature calls me hurriedly to London. If you are writing me,my address will be at the _Hotel Metropole_. M."
There was a silence between us. Then I looked into Mr. Ravenor'scolourless face.
"We must find that lunatic," I whispered.
Mr. Ravenor turned from me with a shudder.
"We must do nothing of the sort."
Mr. Marx's Secret Page 38