CHAPTER XXXII
THE PATH NEAR THE CLIFFS
The mist had not lifted. Over the sea it hung heavy and dank like a hugesheet of gray thrown over things secret and unavowable. It was thickestdown in the bay lurking in the crevices of the chalk, in the greatcaverns and mighty architecture carved by the patient toil of thebillows in the solid mass of the cliffs.
Up above it was slightly less dense: allowing distinct peeps of therough carpet of coarse grass, of the downtrodden path winding towardsAcol, of the edge of the cliff, abrupt, precipitous, with a drop of someninety feet into that gray pall of mist to the sands below.
And higher up still, above the mist itself, a deep blue sky dotted withstars, and a full moon, pale and circled with luminous vapors. A gentlebreeze had risen about half an hour ago and was blowing the mist hitherand thither, striving to disperse it, but not yet succeeding inmastering it, for it only shifted restlessly to and fro, like the giantgarments of titanic ghosts, revealing now a distant peep of sea, anonthe interior of a colonnaded cavern, abode of mysterious ghouls, oragain a nest of gulls in a deep crevice of the chalk: revealing andhiding again:--a shroud dragged listlessly over monstrous dead things.
Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse had some difficulty in keeping to the footpathwhich leads from the woods of Acol straight toward the cliffs. UnlikeAdam Lambert, his eyes were unaccustomed to pierce the moist pall whichhid the distance from his view.
Strangely enough he had not cast aside the fantastic accouterments ofthe French prince, and though these must have been as singularlyuncomfortable, as they were inappropriate, for a midnight walk,nevertheless, he still wore the heavy perruque, the dark mustache,broad-brimmed hat, and black shade which were so characteristic of themysterious personage.
He had heard the church clock at Acol village strike half an hour aftereleven and knew that the smith would already be waiting for him.
The acrid smell of seaweed struck forcibly now upon his nostrils. Thegrass beneath his feet had become more sparse and more coarse. Themoisture which clung to his face had a taste of salt in it. Obviously hewas quite close to the edge of the cliffs.
The next moment and without any warning a black outline appeared in themoon-illumined density. It was Adam Lambert pacing up and down with theimpatience of an imprisoned beast of prey.
A second or two later the febrile hand of the smith had gripped SirMarmaduke's shoulder.
"You have brought those proofs?" he queried hoarsely.
His face was wet with the mist, and he had apparently oft wiped it withhis hand or sleeve, for great streaks of dirt marked his cheeks andforehead, giving him a curious satanic expression, whilst his short lankhair obviously roughed up by impatient fingers, bristled above hissquare-built head like the coat of a shaggy dog.
In absolute contrast to him, Sir Marmaduke looked wonderfully calm andtidy. In answer to the other man's eager look of inquiry, he madepretense of fumbling in his pockets, as he said quietly:
"Yes! all of them!"
As if idly musing, he continued to walk along the path, whilst the smithfirst stooped to pick up a small lantern which he had obviously broughtwith him in order to examine the papers by its light, and then strode inthe wake of Sir Marmaduke.
The breeze was getting a bother hold on the mist, and was tossing itabout from sea to cliff and upwards with more persistence and morevigor.
The pale, cold moon glistened visibly on the moist atmosphere, and farbelow and far beyond weird streaks of shimmering silver edged thesurface of the sea. The breeze itself had scarcely stirred the water;or,--the soft sound of tiny billows lapping the outstanding boulders waswafted upwards as the tide drew in.
The two men had reached the edge of the cliff. With a slight laugh,indicative of nervousness, Sir Marmaduke had quickly stepped back apace or two.
"I have brought the proofs," he said, as if wishing to conciliate adangerous enemy, "we need not stand so near the edge, need we?"
But Adam Lambert shrugged his shoulders in token of contempt at theother's cowardice.
"I'll not harm thee," he said, "an thou hast not lied to me...."
He deposited his lantern by the side of a heap of white chalk, whichhad, no doubt, been collected at some time or other by idle or childishhands, and stood close to the edge of the cliff. Sir Marmaduke now tookhis stand beside it, one foot placed higher than the other. Close to himAdam in a frenzy of restlessness had thrown himself down on the heap;below them a drop of ninety feet to the seaweed covered beach.
"Let me see the papers," quoth Adam impatiently.
"Gently, gently, kind sir," said de Chavasse lightly. "Did you thinkthat you could dictate your own terms quite so easily?"
"What dost thou mean?" queried the other.
"I mean that I am about to place in your hands the proof that you areheir to a title and fifteen thousand pounds a year, but at the same timeI wish to assure myself that you will be pleasant over certain matterswhich concern me."
"Have I not said that I would hold my tongue."
"Of a truth you did say so my friend, and therefore, I am convincedthat you will not refuse to give me a written promise to that effect."
"I cannot write," said Adam moodily.
"Oh! just your signature!" said de Chavasse pleasantly. "You can writeyour name?"
"Not well."
"The initials A. and L. They would satisfy me,"
"Why dost thou want written promises," objected the smith, looking upwith sullen wrath at Sir Marmaduke. "Is not the word of an honest mansufficient for thee?"
"Quite sufficient," rejoined de Chavasse blandly, "those initials are amere matter of form. You cannot object if your intentions are honest."
"I do not object. Hast brought ink or paper?"
"Yes, and the form to which you only need to affix your initials."
Sir Marmaduke now drew a packet of papers from the inner lining of hisdoublet.
"These are the proofs of your parentage," he said lightly.
Then he took out another single sheet of paper from his pocket, unfoldedit and handed it to Lambert. "Can you read it?" he asked.
He stooped and picked up the lantern, whilst handing the paper to Adam.The smith took the document from him, and Sir Marmaduke held the lanternso that he might read.
Adam Lambert was no scholar. The reading of printed matter was oft adifficulty to him, written characters were a vast deal more trouble,but suspicion lurked in the smith's mind, and though his very sinewsached with the desire to handle the proofs, he would not put hisinitials to any writing which he did not fully comprehend.
It was all done in a moment. Adam was absorbed in deciphering thecontents of the paper. De Chavasse held the lantern up with one hand,but at such an angle that Lambert was obliged to step back in order toget its full light.
Then with the other hand, the right, Sir Marmaduke drew a double-edgedItalian knife from his girdle, and with a rapid and vigorous gesture,drove it straight between the smith's shoulder blades.
Adam uttered a groan:
"My God ... I am ..."
Then he staggered and fell.
Fell backwards down the edge of the cliff into the mist-enveloped abyssbelow.
Sir Marmaduke had fallen on one knee and his trembling fingers clutchedat the thick short grass, sharp as the blade of a knife, to stop himselffrom swooning--from falling backwards in the wake of Adam the smith.
A gust of wind wafted the mist upwards, covering him with its humidembrace. But he remained quite still, crouching on his stomach now, hishands clutching the grass for support, whilst great drops ofperspiration mingled with the moisture of the mist on his face.
Anon he raised his head a little and turned to look at the edge of thecliff. On hands and knees, like a gigantic reptile, he crawled, then layflat on the ground, on the extreme edge, his eyes peering down intothose depths wherein floating vapors lolled and stirred, with subtlemovements like spirits in unrest.
As far as the murderer's eye could reach an
d could penetrate the densityof the fog, white crag succeeded white crag, with innumerableprojections which should have helped to toss a falling and inert mass aseasily as if it had been an air bubble.
Sir Marmaduke tried to penetrate the secrets which the gray and shiftingveil still hid from his view. Beside him lay the Italian knife, itssteely surface shimmering in the vaporous light, there where a dull andruddy stain had not dimmed its brilliant polish. The murderer gazed athis tool and shuddered feebly. But he picked up the knife andmechanically wiped it in the grass, before he restored it to his belt.
Then he gazed downwards again, straining his eyes to pierce the mist,his ears to hear a sound.
But nothing came upwards from that mighty abyss save the now moredistinct lapping of the billows round the boulders, for the tide wasrapidly setting in.
Down the white sides of the cliff the projections seemed ready to afforda foothold bearing somewhat toward the right, the descent was not soabrupt as it was immediately in front. The chalk of a truth looked slimyand green, and might cause the unwary to trip, but there was that tosee down below and that to do, which would make any danger of a fallwell worth the risking.
Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse slowly rose to his feet. His knees were stillshaking under him, and there was a nervous tremor in his jaw and in hiswrists which he tried vainly to conquer.
Nevertheless he managed to readjust his clothes, his perruque, hisbroad-brimmed hat. The papers he slipped back into his pocket togetherwith the black silk shade and false mustache, then, with the lantern inhis left hand he took the first steps towards the perilous descent.
There was something down below that he must see, something that hewished to do.
He walked sidewise at times, bent nearly double, looking like somegigantic and unwieldy crab, as the feeble rays of the mist-hidden mooncaught his rounded back in its cloth doublet of a dull reddish hue. Atother times he was forced to sit, and to work his way downwards with hishands and heels, tearing his clothes, bruising his elbows and hisshoulders against the projections of the titanic masonry. Lumps of chalkdetached themselves from beneath and around him and slipped down theprecipitous sides in advance of him, with a dull reverberating soundwhich seemed to rouse the echoes of this silent night.
The descent seemed interminable. His flesh ached, his sinews creaked,his senses reeled with the pain, the mind-agony, the horror of it all.
At last he caught a glimmer of the wet sand, less than ten feet below.He had just landed on a bit of white tableland wantonly carved in thenaked cliff. The rough gradients which up to now had guided him in hisdescent ceased abruptly. Behind him the cliff rose upwards, in frontand, to his right, and left a concave wall, straight down to the beach.
Exhausted and half-paralyzed, de Chavasse perforce had to throw himselfdown these last ten feet, hardly pausing to think whether his head wouldor would not come in violent contact with one of the chalk boulderswhich stand out here and there in the flat sandy beach.
He threw down the lantern first, which was extinguished as it fell. Thenhe took the final jump, and soon lay half-unconscious, numbed and achingin every limb in the wet sand.
Anon he tried to move. His limbs were painful, his shoulders ached, andhe had some difficulty in struggling to his feet. An unusually largeboulder close by afforded a resting place. He reached it and sat down.His head was still swimming but his limbs were apparently sound. He satquietly for a while, recouping his strength, gathering his wanderingsenses. The lantern lay close to his feet, extinguished but not broken.
He groped for his tinder-box, and having found it, proceeded to relightthe tiny tallow dip. It was a difficult proceeding for the tinder wasdamp, and the breeze, though very slight in this hollow portion of thecliffs, nevertheless was an enemy to a trembling little flame.
But Sir Marmaduke noted with satisfaction that his nerves were alreadyunder his control. He succeeded in relighting the lantern, which hecould not have done if his hands had been as unsteady as they wereawhile ago.
He rose once more to his feet, stamped them against the boulders,stretched out his arms, giving his elbows and shoulders full play.Mayhap he had spent a quarter of an hour thus resting since that finaljump, mayhap it had been an hour or two; he could not say for time hadceased to be.
But the mist had penetrated to his very bones and he did not rememberever having felt quite so cold.
Now he seized his lantern and began his search, trying to ascertain theexact position of the portion of the cliff's edge where he and Lambertthe smith had been standing a while ago.
It was not a difficult matter, nor was the search a long one. Soon hesaw a huddled mass lying in the sand.
He went up to it and placed the lantern down upon a boulder.
Horror had entirely left him. The crisis of terror at his own fell deedhad been terrible but brief. His was not a nature to shrink fromunpleasant sights, nor at such times do men have cause to recoil fromcontact with the dead.
In the murderer's heart there was no real remorse for the crime whichhe had committed.
"Bah! why did the fool get in my way?" was the first mental commentwhich he made when he caught sight of Lambert's body.
Then with a final shrug of the shoulders he dismissed pity, horror orremorse, entirely from his thoughts.
What he now did was to raise the smith's body from the ground and tostrip it of its clothing. 'Twas a grim task, on which his chroniclershave never cared to dwell. His purpose was fixed. He had planned andthought it all out minutely, and he was surely not the man to flinch atthe execution of a project once he had conceived it.
The death of Adam Lambert should serve a double purpose: the silencingof an avowed enemy and the wiping out of the personality of Prince Ameded'Orleans.
The latter was as important as the first. It would facilitate therealizing of the fortune and, above all, clear the way for SirMarmaduke's future life.
Therefore, however gruesome the task, which was necessary in order toattain that great goal, the schemer accomplished it, with set teeth andan unwavering hand.
What he did do on that lonely fog-ridden beach and in the silence ofthat dank and misty night, was to dress up the body of Adam Lambert, thesmith, in the fantastic clothing of Prince Amede d'Orleans: the redcloth doublet, the lace collars and cuffs, the bunches of ribbon at kneeand waist, and the black silk shade over the left eye. All he omittedwere the perruque and the false mustache.
Having accomplished this work, he himself donned the clothes of AdamLambert.
This part of his task being done, he had to rest for a while. 'Tis noeasy matter to undress and redress an inert mass.
The smith, dressed in the elaborate accouterments of the mysteriousFrench prince, now lay face upwards on the sand.
The tide was rapidly setting in. In less than half an hour it wouldreach this portion of the beach.
Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse, however, had not yet accomplished all that hemeant to do. He knew that the sea-waves had a habit of returning thatwhich they took away. Therefore, his purpose was not fully accomplishedwhen he had dressed the dead smith in the clothes of the Orleans prince.Else had he wished it, he could have consigned his victim to the tide.
But Adam--dead--had now to play a part in the grim comedy which SirMarmaduke de Chavasse had designed for his own safety, and the moreassured success of all his frauds and plans.
Therefore, after a brief rest, the murderer set to work again. A moregrim task yet! one from which of a truth more than one evil-doer wouldrecoil.
Not so this bold schemer, this mad worshiper of money and of self.Everything! anything for the safety of Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse, forthe peaceful possession of L500,000.
Everything! Even the desecration of the dead!
The murderer was powerful, and there is a strength which madness gives.Heavy boulders pushed by vigorous arms had to help in the monstrousdeed!
Heavy boulders thrown and rolled over the face of the dead, so as toobliterate all identity!
&nb
sp; Nay! had a sound now disturbed the silence of this awesome night, surelyit had been the laughter of demons aghast at such a deed!
The moon indeed hid her face, retreating once more behind the veils ofmist. The breeze itself was lulled and the fog gathered itself togetherand wrapped the unavowable horrors of the night in a gray and ghoul-likeshroud.
Madness lurked in the eyes of the sacrilegious murderer. Madness whichhelped him not only to carry his grim task to the end, but, havingaccomplished it, to see that it was well done.
And his hand did not tremble, as he raised the lantern and looked downon _that_ which had once been Adam Lambert, the smith.
Nay, had those laughing demons looked on it, they would have veiledtheir faces in awe!
The gentle wavelets of the torpid tide were creeping round that thing inred doublet and breeches, in high top boots, lace cuffs and collar.
Sir Marmaduke looked down calmly upon his work, and did not even shudderwith horror.
Madness had been upon him and had numbed his brain.
But the elemental instinct of self-preservation whispered to him thathis work was well done.
When the sea gave up the dead, only the clothes, the doublet, theribands, the lace, the black shade, mayhap, would reveal his identity,as the mysterious French prince who for a brief while had lodged in acottage at Acol.
But the face was unrecognizable.
PART IV
The Nest of the Sparrowhawk: A Romance of the XVIIth Century Page 32