*CHAPTER VI*
*THE LAMP IS LIGHTED*
Beatrice emerged from a throng of chattering people presently andWilfrid followed her into the hall.
"I hope you don't mind," she said, "but I should like you to see mymaid. It may be nothing but a passing fit of hysteria, but I never sawher so nervous before. She went to the village on an errand thisafternoon, and when she came back she told me she had been frightened bytwo large monkeys in the pine wood behind the house. She said that theyvanished in a most extraordinary way. I should have put the whole thingdown to sheer imagination if I had not known that some animals haveescaped recently from the circus at Castlebridge."
"It is possible the girl spoke the truth," said Wilfrid, with a coolnesshe was far from feeling, "but I will see her with pleasure. I daresayif I prescribe something soothing you can send into Oldborough and getit made up."
Wilfrid returned by and by with the information that there was nothingthe matter with the maid and that her story seemed clear and coherent.There was no time for further discussion, as Flower came forward andenlisted Wilfrid to make up a hand at bridge. The house was looking atits best and brightest now. All the brilliantly lighted rooms werefilled with a stream of gaily dressed guests. The click of the ballscame from the billiard-room. It seemed hard to associate a scene likethis, the richest flower of the _joie de vivre_, with the shadow ofimpending tragedy, and yet it lurked in every corner and was evenshouting its warning aloud in Wilfrid's ears. And only a few shorthours ago everything was smooth, humdrum, monotonous.
"I hope you are not in any hurry to leave," Flower murmured as hepiloted Wilfrid to the card table. "Most of these chattering idiotswill be gone by eleven, and there is something that I have to say toyou."
"I shall be at your service," Wilfrid said. "I will stay as long as youplease. In any case I should like to have another look at your handbefore I go."
Flower turned away apparently satisfied and made his way back to thebilliard-room. For a couple of hours and more the guests stayedenjoying themselves until, at length, they began to dribble away, andwith one solitary exception the card tables were broken up. Wilfridlingered in the hall as if admiring the pictures, until it seemed thathe was the last guest. It was a little awkward, for Flower haddisappeared and Beatrice was not to be seen. She came presently andheld out her hand.
"I am very tired," she said. "My uncle wants to see you before you goand I know you will excuse me. But I hope we shall not lose sight ofone another again. I hope you will be a visitor at the Grange. Pleasetell your mother for me that I will come and call upon her in a day ortwo."
"Is it worth while?" Wilfrid asked somewhat sadly. "We are poor andstruggling, you know, so poor that this display of luxury and wealthalmost stifles me."
"We have always been such good friends," Beatrice murmured.
"I hope we always shall be," Wilfrid replied. "I think you know what myfeelings are. But this is neither the time nor place to speak of them."
He turned away afraid to say more. Perhaps Beatrice understood, for apleasant smile lighted up her face and the colour deepened in hercheeks. At the same moment Flower came out of the library. He glancedsuspiciously from one to the other. Little escaped those keen eyes.
"You had better go to bed, Beatrice," he said abruptly. "I have somebusiness with Mr. Mercer. Let us talk it over in the billiard-room. Ican't ask you in the library because my man Cotter will be busy therefor the next half-hour."
In spite of his curtness it was evident that Flower was restless and illat ease. His hand shook as he poured out the whisky and soda, and hisfingers twitched as he passed the cigarettes.
"I am going to ask you a question," he said. "You recollect what youtold us this afternoon about that Borneo incident--about the man whomyou found dead in such extraordinary circumstances. I couldn't put itto you more plainly this afternoon before my niece, but it struck methat you knew more than you cared to say. Did you tell us everything?"
"Really, I assure you there is no more to be said," Wilfrid exclaimed."The victim was practically a stranger to me, and I should have knownnothing about it if I had not been fetched. I am as puzzled now as I wasthen."
Flower's brows knitted with disappointment.
"I am sorry to hear that," he said. "I thought perhaps you had formedsome clue or theory that might account for the man's death."
"I assure you, nothing," Wilfrid said. "I made a most carefulexamination of the body; in fact, I went so far as to make a_post-mortem_. I could find nothing wrong except a certain amount ofcongestion of the brain which I attributed then and do still to thevictim's dissipated habits. Every organ of the body was sound. Allthings considered, the poor fellow's blood was in a remarkably healthystate. I spared no pains."
"Then he might have died a natural death?"
"No," Wilfrid said firmly. "I am sure he didn't. I am convinced thatthe man was murdered in some way, though I don't believe that anysurgeon could have put his hand upon the instrument used or haveindicated the vital spot which was affected. I admit that I should haveallowed the matter to pass if I had not found that strange piece ofstring knotted round the brows. It would be absurd to argue that thestring was the cause of death, but I fancy that it was a symbol or awarning of much the same sort that the conspirators in the olden daysused when they pinned rough drawings of a skull and crossbones to thebreasts of their victims."
Flower was listening with his whole mind concentrated upon the speaker'swords. He seemed as if he were about to ask some further question, whenhe changed his mind. From the breast-pocket of his dress-coat heproduced a letter, and from it extracted a piece of knotted string.
"Of course you recognize this?" he asked.
"I do," Wilfrid said. "It is the piece which Miss Galloway picked upthis afternoon."
"Well, then it isn't," Flower said with a snarl. "This is another piecealtogether. I hold in my hand, as you see, a letter. This letter wassent me from Borneo by one of my agents. It is connected with a highlycomplicated and delicate piece of business, the secret of which is knownonly to my agent, to my secretary and myself. The letter is written incypher in my agent's own handwriting. I know that from the time it waswritten to the time it was posted it was never out of his hand. Itreached me with every seal intact, and yet, neatly coiled up inside, wasthe identical piece of string which you are looking at now. I shouldlike to know, Dr. Mercer, how you account for that."
"I couldn't," said Wilfrid. "Nobody could explain such an extraordinaryoccurrence. Of course, there is a chance that your agent himselfmight----"
"Nothing of the kind," Flower put in. "He is not that sort of man.Besides, if he had been, there must have been some explanation in theletter, whereas the thing is not alluded to at all. Frankly, I amdisappointed that you can give me no further information. But I willnot detain you longer."
"One moment," Wilfrid said. "I must have a look at your hand before Igo. It is as well to be on the safe side."
"One moment," Flower said. "I'll see if my man Cotter has finished,then I will come back to you."
Wilfrid was not sorry to be alone, for this was fresh material for hisalready bewildered thoughts. There was danger pressing here, but fromwhat quarter, and why, it was impossible to determine. Yet he wasconvinced the hand of tragedy was upon the house, and that all Flower'swealth, all his costly possessions, would never save him from the shadowof the coming trouble. This pomp and ostentation, these beautifulchairs and tables and carpets and pictures, were no more than a hollowmockery.
Time was creeping on and yet Flower did not return. The hands of theclock over the billiard-room mantelpiece moved onwards till the hour oftwelve struck, and still Flower made no sign. It seemed to Wilfrid thatthe subtle odours of the blooms which lined the hall and overflowed intothe billiard-room were changing their scent, that the clear light thrownby the electrics was merging to a misty blue. He fel
t as if a greatdesire to sleep had overtaken him. He closed his eyes and lay back.Where had he smelt that perfume?
He jumped to his feet with a start. With a throbbing head he darted forthe window. He knew now what it was--the same pungent, acrid smellthose men were making in their fire under the trees. Was it deadly? Amoment's delay might prove fatal.