CHAPTER VIII
THROUGH THE DARK
The night had gathered swiftly behind a curtain of rain. Garth, glancingout the window of the train, saw that darkness was already close upon asomber and resentful world. Pines, hemlocks, and birches stretchedlimitlessly. The rain clung to their drooping branches like tears, sothat they expressed an attitude of mourning which their color clothedconvincingly. The roaring of the train was subdued, as if it hesitatedto disturb the oppressive silence through which it passed.
The car, nearly empty, was insufficiently lighted. Garth answered to thegrowing depression of his surroundings. His paper, alreadywell-explored, no longer held him. He continued to gaze from the window,speculating on the goal towards which he was hurrying through this bleakdesolation. The inspector's phrase was suddenly informed with meaning.He was, in every sense, advancing through the dark. The realization lefthim with a troublesome restlessness, a desire to be actively at work.
The last streak of gray had long faded when the train drew up atDeacon's Bay station--a small building with a shed like an exaggeratedcollar about its throat. At this hour there was no operator on duty.Only one or two oil lamps maintained an indifferent resistance to themist. Garth saw a horse and carriage at the rear. He walked to it.
"Could you drive me to Mr. Andrew Alden's place?" he asked.
From the depths of the carriage a native's voice replied:
"Probably you're the party I'm looking for. If you're Mr. Garth from NewYork, step in."
Garth obeyed, and they drove off along a road for the most part flankedby thick woods.
Without warning, through an open space, Garth saw a flame spring upward,tearing the mist and splashing the sky with wanton scarlet.
"What's that?" he asked sharply.
The glare diminished and died. The native clucked to his horse.
"Mr. Alden's furnaces," he answered.
Garth stirred.
"I see. Iron. Steel. And now it works night and day?"
"On war orders," the native answered. "Now you wouldn't think we'd everhave got in the war, would you? There's a whole town--board shacks--totake care of the men--more'n fifteen hundred of them."
Garth nodded thoughtfully. Here at the start was a condition that mightmake the presence of a detective comforting to his host.
As they penetrated deeper into the woods the driver exhibited anincreasing desire to talk, and from time to time, Garth remarked, heglanced over his shoulder.
"None of my business," the man said, "but it's funny Mr. Alden's havingcompany now."
Garth smiled. He was certainly on the threshold of a case he had beenasked to enter wholly unprepared.
"Maybe you'll tell me why," he encouraged.
"Because," the driver answered, "although Mr. Alden stands to make apile of money, he's paying for it in some ways. You didn't hear abouthis yacht?"
Garth shook his head.
"Maybe some of these rough workmen he's got up from the city, or maybesomebody wanted to pay him out. Took it out of his boat-house a fewnights ago, started on a joy-ride, I suppose, and ran it on the rocks."
"Much loss?" Garth asked.
"Total, except for the furnishings."
"Are you one of Mr. Alden's servants?"
The driver's laugh was uncomfortable.
"That's what I meant about his having company. There aren't any servantsexcept the old butler. A woman from the village goes to get breakfastand lunch for them, but she won't stay after dark."
Garth grinned, recalling the inspector's comment about spooks.
"Why did the servants quit?"
The driver glanced over his shoulder again. He hurried his horse.
"Laughing's cheap," he said, "but you can judge for yourself how lonelyit is, and Mr. Alden's right on the ocean--only house for two miles. Yousee he owns a big piece of this coast--woods right down to the water.They've always told about a lot of soldiers being killed in those woodsduring the Revolution. All my life I've heard talk about seeing thingsthere. Servants got talking a few days ago--said they saw shadows ingrave clothes going through the woods. I laughed at that, too. But Ididn't laugh when they found Mr. Alden's valet yesterday morning, deadas a door nail."
Garth whistled.
"Violence?"
"Not a sign. Coroner says apoplexy, but that doesn't convince anybodythat doesn't want to be."
"Curious," Garth mused.
For some time a confused murmuring had increased in his ears--thepersistent fury of water turned back by a rocky coast.
They turned through a gateway, and, across a broad lawn, he caught aglimpse of lights, dim, unreal, as one might picture will-o-the-wisps.But the night and the mist could not hide from Garth the size of thehouse, significant of wealth and a habit of comfort. That such anestablishment should be practically bereft of service was sufficientproof that there was, indeed, something here to combat. Yet from thedriver he could draw nothing more ponderable than the fancied return ofthe dead to their battlefield, and a distrust, natural enough in anative, of the horde of new men gathered for the furnaces.
When he had stepped from the carriage he saw that the lights wereconfined to the lower hall and one room to the left. The rest of thegreat house stretched away with an air of decay and abandonment.
In response to his ring he heard a step drag across the floor, but thedoor was not opened at once. Instead a quavering voice demanded hisidentity.
With some impatience Garth grasped the knob, and as he heard thecarriage retreat towards the town, called out:
"My name is Garth. I'm expected."
The door was swung back almost eagerly, and Garth stepped across thethreshold of the lonely house.
An old man faced him, white-haired, bent at the shoulders, unkempt andso out of key with the neat hard-wood floor, the hangings, and thewainscot of the hall--a witness to an abrupt relaxation of discipline.
"Thank heavens you've come, sir," the old man said.
"Then you know," Garth answered. "What's wrong here?"
But before the other could reply a man's voice, uncertain, barelyaudible, came from the lighted room to the left.
"Who is that? If it is Mr. Garth bring him to me at once."
Garth became aware of the rustling of skirts. He stepped into the room,and, scarcely within the doorway, met a young woman whose unquestionablebeauty impressed him less than the trouble which, to an extent,distorted it. Her greeting, too, almost identical with the oldservant's, disturbed him more than his. It was reminiscent of thedesolate landscape he had seen from the train, of the forest lonelinessthrough which he had just driven, of the gaping scarlet that had tornacross the cloud-filled sky.
"I'm glad you've come. I--I was afraid you mightn't make it."
Garth's glance appraised the room. It was a huge apartment, running thewidth of the house. Casement windows rose from the floor to the ceiling.An oak door in the farther wall, towards the rear, was closed. Therewere many book-cases. A fire burned drowsily in a deep hearth. Before itstood a writing-table with an inefficient lamp, and at its side--thepoint where Garth's eyes halted--a man sat--huddled.
The man wore a dressing gown and slippers. His hair was untidy. From hiscadaverous face eyes gleamed as if with a newly-born hope. He put hishands on the chair arms and started to rise, then, with a sigh, he sankback again.
"You'll excuse me," he said. "I've not been myself lately. It is aneffort for me to get up, but I am glad to see you, Mr. Garth--veryglad."
Garth understood now why the voice had barely carried to the hall. Itlacked body. It left the throat reluctantly. It crowded the room with ascarcely vibrating atmosphere of dismay. Garth asked himself hotly if hehad been summoned as an antidote to the airy delusions of an invalid.
A stifled sound behind him caused him to turn swiftly. He was in time tosee the distortion of the woman's features increase, to watch theresistless tears sparkle in her eyes and fall, to be shamed by thelaborious sobs which, after she had covered her face,
shook her infreeing themselves.
He advanced, at a loss, shocked by this unforeseen breakdown. He tookAlden's hand, but the other appeared to have forgotten his presence.
"Don't, Cora," he mumbled. "You mustn't do that any more. We are nolonger--alone."
Garth glanced from one to the other, answering to the atmosphere ofdismay, which moment by moment became more unavoidable. Yet what couldthere be here beyond loneliness, and, perhaps, threats from thoseagainst whose cherished principles Alden's furnaces were busy night andday? The loneliness, Garth acknowledged even then, could account for alot, but, he decided, a doctor was needed here as much as a detective.
At last Mrs. Alden resumed her control. She faced Garth apologetically.
"It's because I can't get him away," she said wistfully. "And he's sick.Anybody can see that."
"A week or two more," Alden said, "until the works are running right.Then we'll go back to New York. I've had trouble replacingunsatisfactory workmen, and I can't make the government wait."
"New York!" the woman echoed.
"You've a doctor?" Garth asked.
"From the village," Alden answered. "I'm afraid he doesn't understandme."
"Then," Garth said firmly, "I should let the works go to blazes untilI'd looked after myself."
Alden moved his hand vaguely.
"It's nothing--cold, maybe a touch of the gout. I sometimes suffer, andmy nerves are a little under. Too much involved here, Mr. Garth. Youcouldn't afford to take chances with that."
Garth glanced at the room's luxurious furnishing.
"I couldn't," he answered captiously. "I'm not so sure about you."
It annoyed him that the lamp on the table failed to drive the shadowsfrom the corners.
Mrs. Alden approached him timidly.
"You'll forgive our welcome? You'll try to understand? You may havenoticed something about the fall in a remote place. It is verydepressing here. If only you could persuade him to leave. You see we'veno servants but old John. Shall I tell him to get you something--awhiskey and soda?"
Garth shook his head.
"I never drink when I'm at work."
"But you are our guest," she said.
"Our guest," came in her husband's difficult voice.
In neither of their faces could Garth read the reproof their tones hadsuggested. What point could there be in this abnormal masquerade?
He glanced at his watch. Mrs. Alden caught the gesture. She walked to acabinet and measured her husband's medicine.
"It's time," she said as she gave it to him, "that we all were in bed.Shall I ring for John?"
"I'll ring," Garth answered, "a little later. I should be glad of a wordwith your husband."
When Mrs. Alden had gone he tried to talk sanely to the sick andmelancholy man, urging him to seek more cheerful surroundings. Aldenmerely shook his head.
"See here," Garth exploded at last. "There's no point in your closingyour confidence to me. It only makes matters a thousand times moredifficult. You're afraid. Of what?"
The other answered with a difficulty that was not wholly physical. Hehad hit upon this incomprehensible plan and he would carry it through.
"Then it's only fair to tell you," Garth said, "that the man who droveme out talked a little. I've heard about your boat, of why your servantsran, of the strange men with whom you've crowded the village. Tell meone thing. Have you had threatening letters about your contracts?"
"Several."
The deep lines in Alden's face tightened.
"Don't think," he managed to get out, "that I'm a coward. I'll stay. Mycontracts will be carried through."
"No," Garth answered, "you're not that kind of a coward, but there'ssomething else. Don't deny, Mr. Alden. You're more than sick. You'reafraid. What is it?"
Alden shuddered.
"A--a coward."
The words stumbled out of his mouth.
"But I don't know what it is. You're to tell me, Mr. Garth, if it'sanything."
"This rot about the woods and the spirits of dead soldiers?" Garthasked.
Alden stirred. He nodded in the direction of the rear casement windows.
"Just across the lawn."
"You haven't seen?" Garth asked sharply.
"But," Alden said, "the servants--"
This, then, Garth decided, must be the source of the fear the other'sappearance recorded.
"Nonsense, Mr. Alden. That's one of the commonest superstitions theworld over, that soldiers come back to the battlefields where they havedied, and in time of war--"
"If there's nothing in it," Alden whispered, "why is it so common? Whydid my servants swear they had seen? And the fog! We've had too muchfog lately--every night for a week. My man died in the fog."
Garth whistled.
"Could they have mistaken him for you?"
"There were no marks on the body."
Alden looked up. His voice thickened.
"We are talking too much. I--I want you to stay and judge for yourself."
Garth arose and walked to the rear window, but he could see nothing forthe mist. He stood there, nevertheless, for some time, puzzled and halfangry. The mental and physical condition of his host, Mrs. Alden'sshattered nerves, the extreme loneliness, impressed on him a sense ofuncharted adventuring.
"Why," he asked himself, "won't these people talk? What do they expectme to find in this house?"
When he turned back he saw that Alden's eyes were closed. The regularrising and falling of his chest warned Garth to quietness. He would notdisturb the worn-out man. So he pressed the electric bell and walked tothe hall. He met John there.
"Please show me to my room," he said. "Mr. Alden's asleep. Perhaps you'dbetter speak to his wife before you disturb him."
John bowed and led him upstairs.
"Good-night, sir," he said, opening the door. "May you sleep well. It'sa little hard here lately."
He hesitated. He cleared his throat.
"You couldn't persuade him to send his wife away?" he went on at last."She's not strong, sir. It's pitiful."
"See here, John," Garth said impulsively. "I know it's against therules, but tell me what's wrong here. What are you all afraid of?"
The old man's lips moved. His eyes sought Garth's urgently. With avisible effort he backed out of the room. His glance left Garth. When heopened his lips all he said was:
"Good-night, sir."
Garth closed the door, shrugging his shoulders. Of what a delicacy thethreat must be to require such scrupulous handling! "If there isanything," Alden had said. Garth brought his hands together.
"There is something," he muttered, "something as dangerous as the deathAlden is manufacturing back there."
He went to bed, but the restlessness of the train returned to him.Reviewing Alden's exhaustion and the old servant's significant comment,he wondered half seriously if sleep refused to enter this house. Theplace, even for his splendidly controlled emotions, possessed acharacter, depressive, unhealthy, calmly malevolent.
He had lost account of time. He had been, perhaps, on the frontier ofsleep, for, as he sprang upright, he could not be all at once sure whathad aroused him. A man's groan, he thought. Suddenly, tearing throughthe darkness, came the affirmation--a feminine scream, full of terror,abruptly ended.
He threw on his clothes, grasped his revolver, dashed down the stairs,and burst into the living-room. There was no light now beyond the wanglow of the fire, but it was still sufficient to show him Alden, huddledmore than ever in the chair, and the terror that had quivered throughthe cry, persisted now in Alden's face.
His wife, in a dressing gown, knelt at his side, her arm around hisknees. At Garth's entrance she sprang erect, facing him.
"It came," she gasped. "Oh, I knew it would. All along I've known."
"Tell me what's happened," Garth commanded.
The woman's voice was scarcely intelligible.
"I let him sleep here. Just now he groaned. I ran in.Somebody--something had attacked hi
m. I ran in. I--I saw it."
"Where?"
She pointed to the rear window.
"I saw it going out there. It was foggy. It went in the fog. Icouldn't--"
Garth sprang to the window. It was, in fact, half open. Before he couldget through Mrs. Alden had caught his arm.
"Don't follow. It isn't safe out there."
"I want that man," he said.
She leaned weakly against the casement.
"But out there," she whispered, "they are not men."
Again she caught his arm.
"Don't leave me alone now that they can come in."
She pointed at her husband.
"Look at him. He saw it in the fog that came through the window. It isall fog out there. Don't leave me alone."
He thrust the revolver impatiently in her hand.
"Then take this. Not much use outside on such a night."
He jumped to the lawn and started swiftly across. Since the intruder hadfled this way he might hear him in the woods, might grapple with him. Heregretted the loss of his revolver, although he realized it would beuseless to-night except at close quarters, and for that he possessed acleverly-devised reserve, which he had arranged on first joining theforce--a folding knife, hidden in his belt, sharp, well-tested, deadly.
At the edge of the woods he paused, straining his ears, trying to gethis bearings, for he was on unfamiliar ground and the fog was very densehere. It lowered a white, translucent shroud over the nocturnallandscape. Beneath its folds he could make out only one or two treetrunks and a few drooping branches. These, as he stared, gave him theillusion of moving surreptitiously.
The moon, he knew, was at the full, but its golden rotundity was heavilyveiled to-night, so that it had the forlorn, the sorrowful appearance ofa lamp, once brilliant, whose flame has gradually diminished and isabout to expire.
Garth could hear nothing, but he waited breathlessly, still straininghis ears. This, he mused, was the place where many soldiers had died inbattle, the setting for ghostly legends, the spot where the servants hadfancied a terrifying and bodiless re-animation, the death-bed of Alden'svalet.
Now that he had time to weigh it, Mrs. Alden's manner puzzled him. Shehad said _it_ had been in the house, that now _they_ could come in, andthat out here _they_ were not men. Had the loneliness imposed upon herintelligence such a repulsive credulity?
He had to admit that imagination in such a medium could precipitateshameful and deceptive fancies.
Then, without realizing at first why, Garth knew he had been unjust. Hefound his eyes striving to penetrate the night to the left. Surely itwas not the old illusion of moving trees and branches that had set thefog in lazy motion over there. He stepped cautiously behind a pine tree.The chill increased. A charnal atmosphere had crept into the woods. Ashe shivered he realized that this sepulchral place had filled withplausible inhabitants--shapes as restless and unsubstantial as if sprungsolely from a morbid somnambulism.