CHAPTER XVIII
THE SECRET OF FRIAR'S PARK
Glancing into the bar-parlor as I entered, I observed that it wasempty. Martin sat behind the counter, and he seemed to be immersed inthe contents of a newspaper which was spread open before him. Going upto my room, I put on a pair of puttees--which, although useless andindeed injurious for general wear, are ideal for traversingbramble-land--took my thick stick, and further looked to the conditionand readiness of my pistol. Finally, slipping an electric torch intomy pocket, I set out.
The bar was closing when I came downstairs. Martin stared at me dully.
"I'm going for a moonlight ramble," I explained. "Will any one be upto let me in or should you prefer to give me the key of the sidedoor?"
"Never locked," was the laconic reply; "come in when you like."
To a town-dweller, such a piece of information must have soundedalarming, but knowing something of the ways of these countrycommunities, it did not greatly surprise me; and bidding the landlord"good night," I set out.
The false move made by Dr. Damar Greefe had advanced the inquiryfurther than any unaided endeavors of mine could well have done.Clearly enough, the Eurasian regarded my presence as inimical to hissafety. In admitting so much he had admitted guilt of some kind. Infact I felt assured that he was determined at all costs to prevent myvisiting Friar's Park.
Having failed in his unmistakable endeavor to remove me entirely--forso I construed the Nubian's instructions--he would undoubtedlyrecognize that the game was up. He was clearly a desperate man and Irecognized that the only hope I had of foiling him lay in acting withdespatch.
This was a perfect night with never a cloud to mar the blue serenityof the sky, but in spite of its beauty I was more than ever consciousof that sense of loneliness and desolateness which seemed to be themost marked characteristic of the country hereabouts. I met never asoul upon the highway, nor indeed did I encounter any evidence of lifewhatever, until, turning into a narrow lane which would bring me tothat road in the valley upon which stood the deserted lodge belongingto the Bell House, an owl hooted in the trees above my head.
Keenly alert to the possibility that my movements might be watched, Ipaused, wondering if the sound--which had proceeded from a low boughdirectly above me--had really been made by an owl or by a human mimic.For the hoot of an owl, being easy to imitate, is much favored forsignaling purposes. Taking my electric torch from my pocket, Idirected its ray upward into the close foliage of the oak tree;whereupon, with a ghostly fluttering of dark wings, an owl flew away.
I proceeded confidently down the sloping road amid a silence sointense that my steps seemed to create a positive clamor. Coming tothe corner, I looked along to the left where the lane, alternatepatches of silver and ebony, showed deserted as far as I could see.This was the direction of the gate of the Bell House, and the road,which sloped gently downwards on that side rose in a rather sharperactivity on my right. It was at this point that I had mistaken the wayon my first journey to Friar's Park.
Therefore I proceeded to the right, seeking the entrance, which I wasconvinced I should find somewhere within the next two hundred yards.The lane inclined gently leftward, and presently, as I hadanticipated, I came upon a lodge, overgrown with ivy and but partlyvisible beyond the gates which barred the end of the drive.
That this was the entrance to Friar's Park I felt assured, but I hadno intention of seeking admittance in the usual way. Pursuing a highwall, evidently of great age, which divided the grounds from the road,I walked on for fully three hundred yards. Here the wall, whichenclosed what had once been the kitchen garden of the monastery, gaveplace to a lofty hedge in which I presently discovered a gap wideenough to allow of my making my way through.
Entering, I found myself in a sort of parkland, boasting many majesticand venerable trees, elms for the most part. Where the parkland endedand the woods began it was impossible to make out, but away to myleft I could follow the high wall to where, clearly visible in themoonlight which at this point was unobstructed by trees, a gateappeared.
Towards this I made my way, keeping a sharp lookout for thoseman-traps of which I had heard, and equally on the alert for anyhidden human presence. Without meeting with any obstacle, however, Ireached the gate--only to find that it was closed and fastened with astout padlock.
There was a dry ditch bordering the wall, and I followed this backtowards the highroad, hoping that somewhere I might chance upon ameans of scaling the wall. I made slow progress, for presently I cameupon a quantity of undergrowth which I distrusted keenly as it wouldafford admirable cover for traps. In this way I had come nearly backto the hedge lining the road before I discovered what I was lookingfor.
Here a fir-tree grew sufficiently close to the ditch to serve mypurpose. Its lower branches were within easy reach whilst further up Iespied one which stretched out across the top of the wall. Loopingover my wrist the thong attached to my stick, I scrambled up into thetree and soon found myself astride the wall.
Beneath me was a neglected orchard and beyond to the right awilderness which once had been an extensive kitchen-garden. Directlybefore me lay the lodge, but the house was invisible from where I sat,being evidently situated somewhere beyond a dense coppice into whichI perceived the drive to lead, for patched here and there by themoonlight I could trace it running ribbon-like through the trees.
A vine grew upon the wall beneath me, its aged tendrils of thethickness of ropes, and it afforded a natural ladder whereby I made mydescent. Arrived in the miniature jungle which at some period had beena flower-bed, I set out towards the lodge, prompted to do so by thepresence of a light shining out from one of the windows through anetwork of leaves.
I knew not if I should look for man-traps within the place enclosed bythe wall, but nevertheless I neglected no precaution, picking my waythrough the forest of weeds which had supplanted the vegetables andsweet herbs to which doubtless this land had once been sacred.Observing even greater precaution as I neared the building, Ipresently found myself looking in at the lighted window, and onlyconcealed from the occupants of the room by the presence of a tangledbush which formed a sort of natural curtain.
The room into which I was peering presented a scene of great disorder.It was a poorly furnished apartment characteristic of the rusticworkman's dwelling, and was evidently the living room of thelodge-keeper. It was in process of being dismantled; cupboards andchests stood open and my acquaintance Hawkins was engaged in packingvarious belongings into a large wooden box set in the center of thefloor. Upon the bare wooden table stood the oil lamp whose light I hadseen shining out of the window, and bending over a number of papers,apparently engaged in making up some sort of an account, was agipsy-looking woman whom I took to be the wife of the game-keeper.
She had oily black hair and a very lowering and unpleasant cast ofcountenance; whilst the large earrings which she wore added to hergipsy appearance. An argument of some kind was in progress between thetwo, for ever and anon the woman would raise her eyes from her taskand dart venomous glances at the man, who knelt upon the floor packingthe big box. Fragments of the conversation reached me through thepartly open window, and although it was difficult to follow I gatheredthat the woman was reproaching her husband with some allegedindiscretion which had necessitated the departure for which they werepreparing. Hawkins retorted with a savage energy which displayed thedarker side of the man's character and the one which I had suspectedto lie beneath his rather sinister merriment.
Having satisfied myself that the pair were deeply occupied with theirpersonal affairs, I crept out upon the drive and began to approach thehouse. I had formed a rough idea of the distance at which it lay fromthe road and this was proved to have been about correct. The driveswung round in a wide semi-circle and presently, majestic in themoonlight, with some of its mediaeval charm restored by the magic ofnight, I saw Friar's Park before me.
It was a low, rambling building, bespeaking the monastery in some ofits severe outlines and showing a
succession of cloisteresque archeson the left, terminated by a chapel beyond which rose the ancienttower visible from the inn-window--a wonderful example of Saxonarchitecture, and closely resembling that at Earl's Barton. There wasno light in any of the windows, and indeed as I peered more closelyacross the wide space intervening between the end of the drive and themain entrance of the house, it seemed to me that the place was more ofa ruin than a habitable establishment.
Unaware of what eyes might be watching me from any one of the numerouswindows, I stepped into the shrubbery beneath the trees bordering thedrive, and set out to make a detour of the house without, if possible,revealing my presence to any one who might be watching from within.
In the prosecution of this plan, I met with not a little difficulty;several times, in fact, I had to show myself in the moonlight upon theedge of the unkempt lawns, but by this device and that, I finallyachieved my purpose and returned to the spot from whence I had setout, without having attracted any visible notice. Here I paused toconsider what I had learned.
The most notable thing was this: only one wing of Friar's Park--thatremote from the tower--exhibited any evidence of occupation, indeed ofbeing habitable at all. In other words, the greater part of thebuilding was no more than a majestic ruin. Eyeless windows there wereand crumbling arches, whilst the chapel which had looked sopicturesque from a distance proved on closer inspection to be a mereshell. A dense shrubbery grew right up to the walls of the east wing,that which was terminated by the tower, and I had been enabled to peerright in at the window of the chapel and out at a window at the otherside; for the place was roofless and its floor carpeted with weeds. Icould not help wondering how much of this decay dated from the days ofSir Burnham, for certainly I could not reconcile it with the characterof the man as depicted by the local people.
My inquiry then was considerably narrowed down, for of the habitableapartments of Friar's Park I had only been enabled to count seven oreight, although two of these appeared to be of great extent, one ofthem, I fancy, being the old refectory of the monastery. My nextdiscovery was this: that the likeliest point of entry to the house wasafforded by either one of two French windows which opened upon a smalllawn some twenty yards beyond the drive. But in order to approach themI should have to expose myself in the brilliant moonlight which bathedthat side of the house.
I stood there listening intently, and wondering if I dared attempt theventure. Not a sound could I detect, however, and the night was sostill that scarce a leaf stirred about me. I determined upon theplunge; and walking boldly forward, I approached the more easterly ofthe two windows.
Three stone steps led up to it and linen blinds were drawn downwithin, but strengthened by the memory of the inn door which was"never locked," and hoping that the same trustfulness prevailed inFriar's Park, I turned the handle whose brassy glitter I hadpreviously perceived from the corner of the shrubbery.
It operated smoothly, and upon giving a gentle push the window openedand I found myself standing upon a polished oak floor. I stoodstock-still, listening; but there was never a sound; and partlyreclosing the window, I pressed the button of my electric torch andlooked about me.
I stood in a long lofty room which I supposed to have been adrawing-room. It was empty, containing not a single item of furniture.From my pocket I took two pairs of thick woolen socks and drew themone over the other on to my boots to deaden my footfalls. The door ofthis empty and desolate room was open, and, stepping softly, I walkedout into a wide corridor, my mind filled with terrifying recollectionsof the Red House.
Three other rooms I explored, and although in two of them some itemsof massive furniture remained, covered with dust-sheets, no sign ofhabitation did I come upon. The whole of the ground floor proved to bevacant and a broad uncarpeted stair suggested that the floors abovewere also deserted by their occupants.
I mounted softly, but the stairs creaked in a horrible fashion, sothat I became hotly apprehensive before I gained the top. I hadnothing to fear, however, for again empty rooms alone rewarded mysearch. My most significant discovery in the upper part of the housewas that of a bedroom which was still almost completely furnished andin which even the bed-linen yet remained untidily strewn about thebed. But there were thick spiders' webs stretching from the coverletto the canopy, and a coating of dust lay everywhere.
When I finally returned to the empty drawing-room, I had convincedmyself of that which I had come to seek.
Friar's Park was uninhabited!