The Riddle of Ragstaff
I
"Well, Harry, my boy, and what's the latest news from Venice?"
Harry Lorian stretched his long legs and lay back in his chair.
"I had a letter from the governor this morning, Colonel. He appearsto be filling his portfolio with studies of windows and doorways andstair-rails and the other domestic necessities dear to his architecturalsoul!"
Colonel Reynor laughed in his short, gruff way, as my friend, Lorian,gazing sleepily about the quaint old hall in which we sat, but alwaysbringing his gaze to one point--a certain door--blew rings of smokestraightly upward.
"I suppose," said our host, the Colonel, "most of the material will beused for the forthcoming book?"
"I suppose so," drawled Lorian, glancing for the twentieth time atthe yet vacant doorway by the stair-foot. "The idea of architects andartists and other constitutionally languid people, having to writebooks, fills my soul with black horror."
"He had a glorious time with our old panelling, Harry," laughed theColonel, waving his cigar vaguely toward the panelled walls and nookswhich gradually were receding into the twilight.
"Yes," said my friend. "He was here quite an unconscionable time--evenfor an old school chum of the proprietor. I hope you counted the spoonswhen he left!"
Lorian's disrespectful references to Sir Julius, his father, werecharacteristic; for he reverences that famous artist with the doublelove of a son and a pupil.
"Of course we did," chuckled Reynor. "Nothing missing, my boy!"
"That's funny," drawled Lorian. "Because if he didn't steal it from hereI can't imagine from where he stole it!"
"Stole what, Harry?"
"Whatever some chap broke into his studio for last night!"
"Eh!" cried the Colonel, sitting suddenly very upright. "Into yourfather's studio? Burglars?"
"Suppose so," was the reply. "They took nothing that I was aware to bein his possession, though the place was ransacked. I naturally concludedthat they had taken something that I was _unaware_ to be in his----Ah!"
Sybil Reynor entered by the door which, for the past twenty minutes,had been the focus of Lorian's gaze. The gathering dusk precluded thepossibility of my seeing with certainty, but I think her face flushed asher dark eyes rested upon my friend. Her beauty is not of the kind whichneeds deceptive half-lights to perfect it, but there in the dimness, asshe came towards us, she looked very lovely and divinely graceful. I didnot envy Lorian his good fortune; but I suppressed a sigh when I saw howmy existence had escaped the girl's notice and how the world in hereyes, contained only a Henry Lorian, R.I.
Her mother entered shortly afterwards and a general conversation arose,which continued until the arrival of Ralph Edie and his sister. Theywere accompanied by Felix Hulme; and their advent completed the smallparty expected at Ragstaff Park.
"You late arrivals," said Lorian, "have only just time to dress, unlessyou want to miss everything but the nuts!"
"Oh, Harry!" said Mrs. Reynor, "you are as bad as your father!"
"Worse," said Lorian promptly. "I am altogether more rude and have abigger appetite!"
With such seeming trivialities, then, opened the drama of Ragstaff, thedrama in which Fate had cast four of us for leading roles.
II
Following dinner, the men--or, as my friend has it, "thegunners"--drifted into the hall. The hall at Ragstaff Park is fittedas a smoking lounge. It dates back to Tudor days and affords somemagnificent examples of mediaeval panelling. At every point the eye meetsthe device of a man with a ragged staff--from which the place derivesits name, and which is the crest of the Reynors.
A conversation took place to which, at the time, I attached smallimportance, but which, later, assumed a certain significance.
"Extraordinary business," said Felix Hulme--"that attempted burglary atSir Julius's studio last night."
"Yes," replied Lorian. "Who told you?"
Hulme appeared to be confused by the abrupt question.
"Oh," he replied, "I heard of it from Baxter, who has the next studio,you know."
"When did you see Baxter?" asked Lorian casually.
"This morning."
"I suppose," said Colonel Reynor to my friend, "a number of yourfather's drawings are there?"
"Yes," answered Lorian slowly; "but the more valuable ones I have at myown studio, including those intended for use in his book."
Something in his tone caused me to glance hard at him.
"You don't think they were the burglar's objective?" I suggested.
"Hardly," was the reply. "They would be worthless to a thief."
"First I've heard of this attempt, Lorian," said Edie. "Anythingmissing?"
"No. The thing is an utter mystery. There were some odds and ends lyingabout which no ordinary burglar could very well have overlooked."
"If any loss had been sustained," said the Colonel, half jestingly, "Ishould have put it down to the Riddle!"
"Don't quite follow you. Colonel," remarked Edie. "What riddle?"
"The family Riddle of the Ragstaffs," explained Lorian. "You've seenit--over there by the staircase."
"Oh!" exclaimed the other, "you mean that inscription on thepanel--which means nothing in particular? Yes, I have examined itseveral times. But why should it affect the fortunes of Sir Julius?"
"You see," was the Colonel's reply, "we have a tradition in the family,Edie, that the Riddle brings us luck, but brings misfortune to anyoneelse who has it in his possession. It's never been copied before; but Ilet Lorian--Sir Julius--make a drawing of it for his forthcoming bookon Decorative Wood-carving. I don't know," he added smilingly, "if themysterious influence follows the copy or only appertains to theoriginal."
"Let us have another look at it," said Edie. "It has acquired a newinterest!"
The whole party of us passed idly across the hall to the foot of thegreat staircase. From the direction of the drawing-room proceeded thesoftly played strains of the _Duetto_ from _Cavalleria_. I knew SybilReynor was the player, and I saw Lorian glance impatiently in thedirection of the door. Hulme detected the glance, too, and an expressionrested momentarily upon his handsome face which I found myself at a lossto define.
"You see," said the Colonel, holding a candle close to thetime-blackened panel, "it is a meaningless piece of mediaeval doggerelroughly carved in the wood. The oak-leaf border is very fine, so yourfather tells me, Harry"--to Lorian--"but it is probably the work ofanother hand, as is the man and ragged staff which form the shield atthe top."
"Has it ever occurred to you," asked Hulme, "that the writing might beof a very much later date--late Stuart, for instance?"
"No," replied the Colonel abruptly, and turned away. "I am sure it isearlier than that."
I was not the only member of the party who noticed the curt tone of hisreply; and when we had all retired for the night I lingered in Lorian'sroom and reverted to the matter.
"Is the late Stuart period a sore point with the Colonel?" I asked.
Lorian, who was in an unusually thoughtful mood, lighted his pipe andnodded.
"It is said," he explained, "that a Reynor at about that time turnedbuccaneer and became the terror of the two Atlantics! I don't know whatpossessed Hulme to say such a thing. Probably he doesn't know about thepiratical page in the family records, however. He's a strange chap."
"He is," I agreed. "Everybody seems to know him, yet nobody knowsanything _about_ him. I first met him at the Travellers' Club. I wasunaware, until I came down here this time, that the Colonel was one ofhis friends."
"Edie brought him down first," replied Lorian. "But I think Hulme hadmet Sybil--Miss Reynor--in London, before. I may be a silly ass, butsomehow I distrust the chap--always have. He seems to know altogethertoo much about other people's affairs."
I mentally added that he also took too great an interest in acertain young lady to suit Lorian's taste. We chatted upon variousmatters--principally upon the manners, customs, and manifold beautiesof Sybil
Reynor--until my friend's pipe went out. Then I bade him goodnight and went to my own room.
III
With that abruptness characteristic of the coast and season, a high windhad sprung up since the party had separated. Now a continuous boomingfilled the night, telling how the wrath of the North Atlantic spentitself upon the western rocks.
To a town-dweller, more used to the vaguely soothing hum of themetropolis, this grander music of the elements was a poor sedative.Sleep evaded me, tired though I was, and I presently found myselfdrifting into that uncomfortable frame of mind between dreaming andwaking, wherein one's brain becomes a torturing parrot-house, filledwith some meaningless reiteration.
"The riddle of the ragged staff--the riddle of the ragged staff," wasthe phrase that danced maddeningly through my brain. It got to that passwith me, familiar enough to victims of insomnia, when the words began togo to a sort of monotonous melody.
Thereupon, I determined to light a candle and read for a while, in thehope of inducing slumber.
The old clock down in the hall proclaimed the half-hour. I glanced at mywatch. It was half-past one. The moaning of the wind and the wild songof the sea continued unceasingly.
Then I dropped my paper--and listened.
Amid the mighty sounds which raged about Ragstaff Park it was one slightenough which had attracted my attention. But in the elemental musicthere was a sameness which rendered it, after a time, negligible.Indeed, I think sleep was not far off when this new sound detacheditself from the old--like the solo from its accompaniment.
Something had fallen, crashingly, within the house.
It might be some object insecurely fastened which had been detachedin the breeze from an open window. And, realising this, I waited andlistened.
For some minutes the wind and the waves alone represented sound. Then myears, attuned to this stormy conflict, and sensitive to anything apartfrom it, detected a faint scratching and tapping.
My room was the first along the corridor leading to the west wing, andtherefore the nearest to the landing immediately above the hall. Idetermined that this mysterious disturbance proceeded from downstairs.At another time, perhaps, I might have neglected it, but to-night,and so recently following upon Lorian's story of the attempt upon hisfather's studio, I found myself keenly alive to the burglariouspossibilities of Ragstaff.
I got out of bed, put on my slippers, and, having extinguished thecandle, was about to open the door when I observed a singular thing.
A strong light--which could not be that of the moon, for ordinarily thecorridor beyond was dark--shone under the door!
Even as I looked in amazement it was gone.
Very softly I turned the knob.
Careful as I was, it slipped from my grasp with a faint _click_. Tothis, I think, I owed my failure to see more than I did see. But what Isaw was sufficiently remarkable.
Cloud-banks raced across the sky tempestuously, and, as I peered overthe oaken balustrade down into the hall, one of these impinged upon themoon's disc and, within the space of two seconds or less, had whollyobscured it. Upon where a long, rectangular patch of light, splashedwith lozenge-shaped shadows spread from a mullioned window acrossthe polished floor, crept a band of blackness--widened--claimedhalf--claimed the whole--and left the hall in darkness.
Yet, in the half-second before the coming of the cloud, and as I firstlooked down, I had seen something--something indefinable. All butimmediately it was lost in the quick gliding shadow--yet I could be surethat I had seen--what?
A gleaming, metallic streak--almost I had said a sword--which leapt frommy view into the bank of gloom!
Passing the cloud, and the moon anew cutting a line of light through thedarkness of the hall, nothing, no one, remained to be seen. I might haveimagined the presence of the shining blade, rod, or whatever had seemedto glitter in the moon-rays; and I should have felt assured that suchwas the case but for the suspicion (and it was nearly a certainty) thata part of the shadow which had enwrapped the mysterious appearance hadbeen of greater depth than the rest--more tangible; in short, had beenno shadow, but a substance--the form of one who lurked there.
Doubtful how to act, and unwilling to disturb the house without goodreason, I stood hesitating at the head of the stairs.
A grating sound, like that of a rusty lock, and clearly distinguishableabove the noise occasioned by the wind, came to my ears. I began slowlyand silently to descend the stairs.
At the foot I paused, looking warily about me. There was no one in thehall.
A new cloud swept across the face of the moon, and utter darknesssurrounded me again. I listened intently, but nothing stirred.
Briefly I searched all those odd nooks and corners in which the ramblingplace abounded, but without discovering anything to account for thephenomena which had brought me there at that hour of the night. The bigdoors were securely bolted, as were all the windows. Extremely puzzled,I returned to my room and to bed.
In the morning I said nothing to our host respecting the mysterioustraffic of the night, since nothing appeared to be disturbed in any way.
"Did you hear it blowing?" asked Colonel Reynor during breakfast. "Thebooming of the waves sounded slap under the house. Good job the wind hasdropped this morning."
It was, indeed, a warm and still morning, when on the moorland stripbeyond the long cornfield, where the thick fir-tufts marked the warrenhoneycomb, partridges might be met with in many coveys, basking in thesandy patches.
There were tunnels through the dense bushes to the west, too, which ledone with alarming suddenness to the very brink of the cliff. And herewent scurrying many a hare before the armed intruder.
Lorian and I worked around by lunch-time to the spinneys east ofthe cornfield, and, nothing loath to partake of the substantialhospitalities of Ragstaff, made our way up to the house. There is a kindof rock-garden from which you must approach from that side. It affordsan uninterrupted view of the lower part of the grounds from the lawn upto the terrace.
Only two figures were in sight; and they must have been invisible fromany other point, as we, undoubtedly, were invisible to them.
They were those of a man and a girl. They stood upon the stepsleading down from the lawn to the rose-garden. It was impossible tomisunderstand the nature of the words which the man was speaking. ButI saw the girl turn aside and shake her head. The man sought to takeher hand and received a further and more decided rebuff.
We hurried on. Lorian, though I avoided looking directly at him,was biting his lip. He was very pale, too. And I knew that he hadrecognized, as I had recognized, Sybil Reynor and Felix Hulme.
IV
During lunch, a Mr. Findon, who had driven over with one of theColonel's neighbours, asked Sybil Reynor whether the peculiar and farfrom beautiful ring which she invariably wore was Oriental. From hisconversation I gathered that he was something of an expert.
"It is generally supposed to be Phoenician, Mr. Findon," she answered;and slipping it from her finger she passed it to him. "It is my lot inlife to wear it always, hideous though it is!"
"Indeed! An heirloom, I suppose?"
"Yes," replied the girl; "and an ugly one."
In point of fact, the history of the ring was as curious as that of theRiddle. For generations it had been worn by the heir of Ragstaff fromthe day of his majority to that of his eldest son's. Colonel Reynorhad no son. Hence, following the tradition as closely as circumstancesallowed, he had invested Sybil with the ring upon the day that she cameof age--some three months prior to the time of which I write.
As Mr. Findon was about to return the ring, Lorian said:
"Excuse me. May I examine it for a moment?"
"Of course," replied Sybil.
He took it in his hand and bent over it curiously. I cannot pretend toexplain what impelled me to glance towards Hulme at that moment; but Idid do so. And the expression which rested upon his dark and usuallyhandsome face positively alarmed me.
I concluded that, beneath the c
ool surface, he was a man of hotpassions, and I would have ascribed the fixed glare to the jealousy ofa rejected suitor in presence of a more favoured rival, had it centredupon Lorian. But it appeared to be focused, particularly, upon the ring.
The incident impressed me very unfavourably. A sense of mystery wasgrowing up around me--pervading the atmosphere of Ragstaff Park.
After lunch Lorian and I again set out in company, but my friendappeared to be in anything but sporting humour. We bore off at a sharpangle from the Colonel and some others who were set upon the roughshooting on the western rim of the moors and made for the honeycombedground which led one upward to the cliff edge.
Abruptly, we found ourselves upon the sheer brink, with the floor of theocean at our feet and all the great Atlantic before us.
"Let us relent of our murderous purpose," said Lorian, droppingcomfortably on to a patch of velvety turf and producing his pipe. "Ihave dragged you up here with the malicious intention of talking toyou."
I was not sorry to hear it. There was much that I wished to discuss withhim.
"I should have stayed to say something to some one," he added, carefullystuffing his briar, "but first I wanted to say something to you." Hepaused, fumbling for matches. "What," he continued, finding some andstriking one, "is Felix Hulme's little game?"
"He wants to marry Miss Reynor."
"I know; but he needn't get so infernally savage because she won'taccept him. He looked at me in a positively murderous way at lunchto-day."
"So you noticed that?"
"Yes--and I saw that you noticed it, too."
"Listen," I said. "Leaving Hulme out of the question, there is analtogether more mysterious business afoot." And I told him of theepisode of the previous night.
He smoked stolidly whilst I spoke, frowning the while; then:
"Old chap," he said, "I begin to have a sort of glimmering ofintelligence. I believe I am threatened with an idea! But it's such anutterly fantastic hybrid that I dare not name it--yet."
He asked me several questions respecting what I had seen, and my repliesappeared to confirm whatever suspicion was gathering in his mind. We sawlittle enough sport, but came in later than anyone.
During dinner there was an odd incident. Lorian said:
"Colonel, d'you mind my taking a picture of the Riddle?"
"Eh!" said the Colonel. "What for? Your father made a drawing of it."
"Yes, I know," replied Lorian. "I mean a photograph."
"Well," mused the Colonel, "I don't know that there can be muchobjection, since it has been copied once. But have you got a camerahere?"
"Ah--no," said my friend thoughtfully, "I haven't. Can anybody lend meone?"
Apparently no one could.
"If you care to drive over to Dr. Mason's after dinner," said our host,"he will lend you one. He has several."
Lorian said he would, and I volunteered to accompany him. Accordinglythe Colonel's high dogcart was prepared; and beneath a perfect moon,swimming in a fleckless sky which gave no hint of the storm to come,we set off for the doctor's.
My friend's manoeuvres were a constant source of surprise to me.However, I allowed him to know his own business best, and employed mymind with speculations respecting this mystery, what time the Colonel'sspirited grey whisked us along the dusty roads.
We had just wheeled around Dr. Mason's drive, when the fact broke inupon my musings that a Stygian darkness had descended upon the night,as though the moon had been snuffed, candle-wise.
"Devil of a storm brewing," said Lorian. "Funny how the weather changesat night."
Two minutes after entering the doctor's cosy study, down came the rain.
"Now we're in for it!" said Mason. "I'll send Wilkins to run the dogcartinto the stable until it blows over."
The storm proved to be a severe one; and long past midnight, despite thedoctor's hospitable attempts to detain us, we set off for Ragstaff Park.
"We can put up the grey ourselves," said Lorian. "I love groominghorses! And by going around into the yard and throwing gravel up athis window, we can awaken Peters without arousing the house. This planalmost startles me by its daring originality. I fear that I detectwithin myself the symptoms of genius."
So, with one of Dr. Mason's cameras under the seat, we started backthrough the sweet-smelling lanes; and, at about twenty minutes past one,swung past the gate lodge and up the long avenue, the wheels grindingcrisply upon the newly wetted gravel. There was but little moon, now,and the house stood up, an irregular black mass, before us.
Then, from three of the windows, there suddenly leapt out a dazzlingwhite light!
Lorian pulled up the grey with a jerk.
"Good God!" he said. "What's that! An explosion!"
But no sound reached us. Only, for some seconds, the hard, white glarestreamed out upon the steps and down on to the drive. Suddenly as it hadcome--it was gone, and the whole of Ragstaff was in darkness as before!
The horse started nervously, but my friend held him with a firm hand,turning and looking at me queerly.
"That's what shone under your door last night!" he said. "That light wasin the hall!"
V
Peters was awakened, the horse stabled and ourselves admitted withoutarousing another soul. As we came around from the back of the house (wehad not entered by the main door), and, candles in hand, passed throughthe hall, nothing showed as having been disturbed.
"Don't breathe a word of our suspicions to anyone," counselled Lorian.
"What _are_ our suspicions?" said I.
"At present," he replied, "indefinable."
To-night the distant murmur of the sea proved very soothing, and I sleptsoundly. I was early afoot, however, but not so early as Lorian. As Ipassed around the gallery above the hall, on my way to the bathroom, Isaw him folding up the tripod of the camera which he had borrowed fromDr. Mason. The morning sun was streaming through the windows.
"Hullo!" Lorian called to me. "I've got a splendid negative, I think.Peters is rigging up a dark-room in the wine-cellar--delightful site forthe purpose! Will you join me in developing?"
Although I was unable to conjecture what my friend hoped to gain by hisphotographic experiments, I agreed, prompted as much by curiosity asanything else. So, after my tub, I descended to the cellar and splashedabout in Hypo., until Lorian declared himself satisfied.
"The second is the best," he pronounced critically, holding the negativeup to the red lamp. "I made three exposures in all; but the reflectionfrom the polished wood has rather spoiled the first and also the third."
"Whatever do you want with this photograph, anyway," I said, "when theoriginal is available?"
"My dear chap," he replied, "one cannot squat in the hall fixedlyregarding a section of panel like some fakir staring at a palm leaf!"
"Then you intend to study it?"
"Closely!"
As a matter of fact, he did not join us during the whole of the day; butsince he spent the greater part of the time in his own room, I did notproffer my aid. From a remark dropped by the Colonel, I gathered thatSybil had volunteered to assist, during the afternoon, in preparingprints.
I was one of the first in to tea, and Lorian came racing out to meet me.
"Not a word yet," he said, "but if the Colonel is agreeable, I shalltell them all at dinner!"
"Tell them what?" I began----
Then I saw Sybil Reynor standing in the shadow of the porch, and, evenfrom that distance, saw her rosy blushes.
I understood.
"Lucky man!" I cried, and wrung his hand warmly. "The very best of goodwishes, old chap. I am delighted!"
"So am I!" replied Lorian. "But come and see the print."
We went into the house together; and Sybil blushed more furiously thanever when I told her how I envied Lorian--and added that he deserved themost beautiful girl in England, and had won her.
Lorian had a very clear print of the photograph pinned up to dry on theside of his window.
"We sh
all be busy to-night!" he said mysteriously.
He had planned to preserve his great secret until dinner-time; but, ofcourse, it came out whilst we sat over tea on the balcony. The Colonelwas unfeignedly delighted, and there is nothing secretive about ColonelReynor. Consequently, five minutes after he had been informed howmatters were between his daughter and Lorian, all the house knew.
I studied the face of Hulme, to see how he would take the news. Buthe retained a perfect mastery of himself, though his large dark eyesgleamed at discord with the smile which he wore.
Our photographic experiments were forgotten; and throughout dinner,whereat Sybil looked exquisitely lovely and very shy, and Lorianpreserved an unruffled countenance, other topics ruled.
It was late before we found ourselves alone in Lorian's room, with theprint spread upon the table beneath the light of the shaded lamp.
We bent over it.
"Now," said Lorian, "I assume that this is some kind of cipher!"
I stared at him surprisedly.
"And," he continued, "you and I are going to solve it if we sit up allnight!"
"How do you propose to begin?"
"Well, as it appears to mean nothing in particular, as it stands, Ithought of beginning by assuming that the letters have other valuesaltogether. Therefore, upon the basis that _e_ is the letter which mostfrequently occurs in English, with _a_, _o_, _i_, _d_, _h_, _n_, _r_,afterwards, I had thought of resolving it into its component letters."
"But would that rule apply to mediaeval English?"
"Ah," said Lorian thoughtfully, "most sage counsellor! A wise and timelythought! I'm afraid it wouldn't."
"What now?"
Lorian scratched his head in perplexity.
"Suppose," he suggested, "we write down the words plainly, and see if,treating each one separately, we can find other meanings to them."
Accordingly, upon a sheet of paper, I wrote:
Wherso eer thee doome bee Looke untoe ye strypped tree Offe ragged staffe. Upon itte ley Golde toe greene ande kay toe kay.
Our efforts in the proposed direction were rewarded with poor success.Some gibberish even less intelligible than the original was the onlyresult of our labour.
Lorian threw down his pencil and began to reload his pipe.
"Let us consider possible meanings to the original words," he said. "Doyou know of anything in the neighbourhood which might answer to thedescription of a 'strypped tree'?"
I shook my head.
"What has occasioned your sudden interest in the thing?" I askedwearily.
"It is a long story," he replied; "and I have an idea that there's notime to be lost in solving the Riddle!"
However, even Lorian's enthusiasm flagged at last. We were forced toadmit ourselves hopelessly beaten by the Riddle. I went to my own roomfeeling thoroughly tired. But I was not destined to sleep long. A fewminutes after closing my eyes (or so it seemed), came a clamouring atthe door.
I stumbled sleepily out of bed, and, slipping on my dressing-gown,admitted Lorian. Colonel Reynor stood immediately behind him.
"Most extraordinary business!" began the latter breathlessly. "Sybilhad--_you_ tell him, Harry!"
"Well," said Lorian, "it is not unexpected! Listen: Sybil woke up awhile ago, with the idea that she had forgotten something or lostsomething--you know the frame of mind! She went to her dressing-tableand found the family ring missing!"
"_The_ ring!" burst in the Colonel excitedly. "Amazing!"
"She remembered having taken it off, during the evening, to--er--to putanother one on! But she was unable to recall having replaced it. Shedetermined to run down and see if she had left it upon the seat in thecorner of the library. Well, she went downstairs in her dressing-gown,and, carrying a candle, very quietly, in order to wake no one, crossedto the library and searched unavailingly. She heard a faint noiseoutside in the hall."
Lorian paused. Felix Hulme had joined the party.
"What's the disturbance?" he asked.
"Oh," said Lorian, turning to him, "it's about Sybil. She was down inthe library a while ago to look for something, and heard a sort ofgrating sound out in the hall. She came out, and almost fell over aniron-bound chest, about a foot and a half long, which stood near thebottom of the staircase!"
"Good heavens, Lorian!" I cried, "how had it come there?"
"Sybil says," he resumed, "that she could not believe her eyes. Shestooped to examine the thing ... and with a thrill of horror saw it tobe roughly marked _with a skull and cross-bones_!"
"My dear Lorian," said Hulme, "are you certain that Miss Reynor wasawake?"
"She woke _us_ quickly enough!" interrupted the Colonel. "Poor girl, shewas shaking dreadfully. Thought it was a supernatural appearance. She'swith her mother now."
"But the box!" I cried. "Where is the box?"
"That's the mystery," answered Colonel Reynor. "I was downstairs twominutes later, and there was nothing of the kind to be seen! Has ourRagstaff ghost started walking again, I wonder? You ought to know,Hulme; you're in the Turret Room--that is the authentic hauntedchamber!"
"I was aroused by the bell ringing," replied Hulme. "I am a very lightsleeper. But I heard or saw nothing supernatural."
"By the way, Hulme," said my friend, "the Turret Room is directly abovethe hall. I have a theory. Might I come up with you for a moment?"
"Certainly," replied Hulme.
We all went up to the Turret Room. Having climbed the stairs to thisapartment, you enter it by descending three steps. It is octagonal andpanelled all around. My friend tapped the panels and sounded all theoaken floor-boards. Then, professing himself satisfied, he bade Hulmegood night, and accompanied me to my room.
VI
Ragstaff Park slumbered once more. But Lorian sat upon the edge of mybed, smoking and thinking hard. He had been to his own room for theprint of the Riddle, and it lay upon a chair before him.
"Listen to this," he said suddenly: "(_a_) Some one breaks into thegovernor's studio, and takes nothing. His drawings of the RagstaffRiddle happen to be at my studio. (_b_) You hear a noise in the night,and see (1) a bright light; (2) a gleaming rod. (_c_) You and I see abright light on the following night, and presumably proceeding fromthe same place; i.e., the hall. (_d_) Something I have not mentionedbefore--Hulme has a camera in his kit! And he doesn't want the factknown!"
"What do you mean?"
"I tested him the other night, by inquiring if anyone could lend mea camera. He did not volunteer! The morning following the mysteriousbusiness in the hall, observed by you, I saw a photographic printingframe in his window! He must have one of those portable developers withhim."
"And to what does all this point?"
"To the fact that he has made at least three attempts to obtain a copyof the Riddle, and has at last succeeded!"
"Three!"
"I really think so. The evidence points to him as the person who brokeinto the studio. He made a bad slip. He referred to the matter, andcited Horace Baxter as his informant. Baxter is away!"
"But this is serious!"
"I should say so! He couldn't attempt to photograph the panel indaylight, so he employed magnesium ribbon at night! First time histripod slipped. It is evidently one of the light, telescopic kind. Hisnegative proved useless. It was one of the metal legs of the tripodwhich you saw shining! The second time he was more successful. That wasthe light of his magnesium ribbon you and I saw from the drive!"
"But, Lorian, I went down and searched the hall!"
"Now we come on to the, at present, conjectural part," explained Lorian."My theory is that Hulme, somewhere or other, has come across some olddocuments which give the clue to those secret passages said to exist inRagstaff, but which the Colonel has never been able to locate. I feelassured that there is some means of secret communication between theTurret Room and the hall. I further believe that Hulme has in some waygot upon the track of another secret--that of the Riddle."
"But what _is_ the secret of the Riddle?" r />
"In my opinion the Riddle is a clue to another hiding-place, evidentlynot connected with the maze of passages; possibly what is known as aPriest's Hole. As you know, Hulme asked Sybil to marry him. I believethe man to be in financial straits; so that we must further assume theRiddle to conceal the whereabouts of a treasure, since the Reynors arefar from wealthy."
"The _chest_! Lorian! The chest!" I cried.
"Quite so. But what immediately preceded its appearance? The loss of thefamily ring! If I am not greatly in error, Hulme found that ring! Andthe ring is the key to the riddle! Do you recall the shape of the bezel?Simply _a square peg of gold_! Look at the photograph!"
He was excited, for once.
"What does it say?" he continued: "'Ye strypped tree!' That means thedevice of leaves, twigs, and acorns--stripped _from_ a tree--see? Here,at the bottom of the panel, is such a group, and (this is where we havebeen so blind!) intertwined with the design is the word _CAEG_--AncientSaxon for _key_! Look! 'Golde toe Greene and kay toe kay'! Amongst the_green_ leaves is a square hole. The _gold_ knob on the ring fits it!"
For a moment I was too greatly surprised for speech. Then:
"You think Hulme discovered this?"
"I do. And I think Sybil's mislaying her ring gave him his big chance.He had got the chest out whilst she was in the library. He must havebeen inside somewhere looking for it when she passed through the hall.Then, hearing her approach from the library, he was forced to abandonhis heavy 'find' and hide in the secret passage which communicates withhis room. Directly she ran upstairs he returned for the chest!"
I looked him hard in the face.
"We don't want a scene, Lorian," I began. "Besides, it's just possibleyou may be wrong."
"I agree," said Lorian. "Come up to his room, now."
Passing quietly upstairs, we paused before the door of the Turret Room.A faint light showed under it. Lorian glanced at me--then knocked.
"Who's there?" came sharply.
"Lorian," answered my friend. "I want a chat with you about the secretpassage and the old treasure chest--_before speaking to the Colonel_!"
There was a long silence, then:
"Just a moment," came hoarsely. "Don't come in until I call."
We looked at one another doubtfully. A long minute passed. I could heara faint sound within. At last came Hulme's voice:
"All right. Come in."
As Lorian threw the door open, a faint _click_ sounded from somewhere.
The Turret Room was empty!
"By heaven! he's given us the slip!" cried my friend.
We glanced around the room. A candle burnt upon the table. And upon thebed stood an iron-barred chest, with a sheet of notepaper lying on itslid!
Lorian pounced upon the note. We read it together.
"Mr. Henry Lorian" (it went), "I realize that you have found me out. Iwill confess that I had no time to open the chest. But as matters standI only ask you not to pursue me. I have taken nothing not my own. Thering, and an interesting document which I picked up some years ago, areon the table. Offer what explanation of my disappearance you please. Iam in your hands."
We turned again to the table. Upon a piece of worn parchment lay themissing ring. Lorian spread out the parchment and bent over it.
"Why," I cried, "it is a plan of Ragstaff Park!"
"With a perfect network of secret passages!" added my friend, "and someinstructions, apparently, as to how to enter them. It bears the initials'R. R.' and, in brackets, 'Capt. S.' I begin to understand."
He raised the candle and stepped across to the ancient chest. It borea roughly designed skull and cross-bones, and, in nearly defaced redcharacters, the words:
"_CAPTAIN SATAN_."
"Captain Satan!" I said. "He was one of the most bloodthirsty pirateswho ever harried the Spanish Main!"
"He was," agreed Lorian; "and his real name was Roderick Reynor. Heevidently solved the riddle some generations earlier than Hulme--andstored his bloodstained hoard in the ancient hiding-place. Also, yousee, he knew about the passages."
"What shall we do?"
"Hulme has surrendered. You can see that the chest has not been opened.Therefore there is only one thing that we _can_ do. We must keep what weknow to ourselves, return the chest to its hiding-place, and proclaimthat we have found the missing ring!"
Down to the hall we bore the heavy chest. The square knob on the ringfitted, as Lorian had predicted, into the hole half hidden among theoak leaves of the design. Without much difficulty we forced back thefastening (it proved to be of a very simple pattern), and slid the wholepanel aside. A small, square chamber was revealed by the light of thecandle--quite empty.
"As I had surmised," said my friend; "a Priest's Hole."
We carried the chest within, and reclosed the panel, which came to witha sharp _click_.
* * * * *
The story which we invented to account for Hulme's sudden departurepassed muster; for one topic usurped the interests of all--the ghostlybox, with its piratical emblem.
"My boy," Colonel Reynor said to Lorian, "I cannot pretend to explainwhat Sybil saw. But it bears curiously upon a certain black page in thefamily history. If the chest had been tangible, and had contained afortune, I would not have opened it. Let all pertaining to that part ofour records remain buried, say I."
"Which determines our course," explained Lorian to me. "The chest is notours, and the Colonel evidently would rather not know about it. I regretthat I lack the morals of a burglar."