CHAPTER II
SHOWING HOW EVEN A HOUSE MAY HAVE A WAY OF ITS OWN
While Walker was fiddling with the lock, not being quite sure as to theright key, Armathwaite had eyed the southern landscape. Elmdale was sixhundred feet above sea level, and the Grange stood fully a hundred feethigher than the village, so a far-flung panorama of tillage, pasture,and woodland provided a delightful picture on that glorious June day. Tothe north, he knew, stretched miles of wild moor, and the heather beganwhere the spacious garden ended. A glance at the map in the Walkers'office had shown that this bleak waste was crossed by mere tracks,marked in the dotted lines which motorists abhor. Indeed, the very roadleading to the house was not macadamized beyond the gate; two years ofdisuse had converted even the stone-covered portion into a sort ofmeadow, because grass, the sulkiest of vegetables in a well-tended lawn,will grow luxuriantly on a granite wall if left alone.
Truly, Elmdale seemed to be at the end of the world--the world ofYorkshire, at any rate--and Robert Armathwaite found its aspectpleasing. A lock clicked; he turned, and entered a domain he was nowfully resolved to make his own.
"Well, I'm blest!" said Walker, speaking in a surprised way; "anyone 'udthink the place hadn't been empty an hour, let alone two years, notcountin' Mrs. Wilkins's couple of nights. I wonder who left theseclothes, and hats, and things!"
He had good reason for a certain stare of bewilderment.
The door, which was stoutly built, with a pane of sheet glass in theupper half, opened straight into a spacious, oak-paneled hall. Left andright were a dining-room and a drawing-room, each containing twowindows. Behind the dining-room a wide staircase gave access to theupper floors, and a flood of rich and variously-tinted light from a longarched window glowed on the dark panels below, and glistened on thepolished mahogany case of a grandfather's clock which faced the foot ofthe stairs. The wall opposite the entrance was pierced by a half-opendoor, through which could be seen laden bookshelves reaching up eightfeet or more. Another door, beyond the stairway, showed the onlypossible means of approach to the kitchen and domestic offices.
There were no pictures in the hall, but some antique plates and dishesof blue china were ranged on a shelf above the wainscot, and a narrowtable and four straight-backed chairs, all of oak, were in tastefulkeeping with the surroundings. On each side of the dining-room door weredouble rows of hooks, and on these hung the garments which had caughtthe agent's eye.
A bowler hat, a frayed panama, a cap, a couple of overcoats, even alady's hat and mackintosh, lent an air of occupancy to the house, whichwas not diminished by the presence of several sticks and umbrellas in acouple of Chinese porcelain stands. Walker took down the panama. It wasdust-laden, and the inner band of leather had a clammy feeling. Hereplaced it hastily.
"That's the Professor's," he said, trying to speak unconcernedly. "Iremember seeing him in it, many a time."
Armathwaite noticed the action, and was aware of a peculiar _timbre_ inWalker's voice.
"Now, suppose we lay that ghost, and have done with it," he saidquietly. "Where did my worthy and retrospective landlord hang himself?"
"There," said Walker, indicating a solitary hook screwed through thechina shelf near the clock. "That bronze thing," pointing to a Burmesegong lying on the floor, "used to hang there. He took it down, tied therope to the hook, and kicked a chair away.... If you come here," and headvanced a few paces, "you'll see why a ghost appears."
"Mr. Walker," bleated someone timidly.
Mr. Walker unquestionably jumped, and quite as unquestionably swore,even when he recognized Betty Jackson, standing in the porch.
"Well, what is it?" he cried gruffly, hoping his companion has missedthat display of nerves.
"Please, sir, mother thought--" began the girl; but the startled "nut"was annoyed, and showed it.
"I don't care what your mother thinks," he shouted. "Refusing me thekeys, indeed! What next? I've a good mind to report her to Messrs.Holloway & Dobb."
"But, sir, she only wanted to make the house a bit more tidy. It's dustyand stuffy. If you gentlemen would be kind enough to wait in the gardenfive minutes, I'd open up the rooms, and raise a window here and there."
Betty, tearful and repentant, had entered the hall in her eagerness toserve. Walker weakened; he had a soft spot in his heart for girls.
"No matter now," he said. "We shan't be here long. This gentleman isjust going to look round and see if the place suits him."
"The best bedroom is all upside down," she persisted. "If you'd give methree minutes----"
"Run away and play, and don't bother us," he answered off-handedly. "AsI was about to say, Mr. Armathwaite, someone in the old days put stainedglass in that window on the landing. You'll notice it shows a knight inblack armor--Edward, the Black Prince, it's believed to be--and, whenthe sun sets in the nor' west, it casts a strong shadow on the panelingbeside the clock. Of course, it can be seen from the porch, and itaccounts for this silly story about the ghost----"
"Oh!" screamed the girl. "Why talk of such horrid things? There's noghost!"
Her cry was so unexpectedly shrill that Walker yielded to an angeralmost as loud-voiced.
"Confound you!" he stormed at her; "take yourself off! One more wordfrom you, and your mother loses her job."
Armathwaite looked into the girl's troubled face and saw there a fear, aforeboding, which were very real, if not to be accounted for readily.
"Kindly leave us," he said. "If I want Mrs. Jackson, or you, I'll callat the cottage."
There was an air of authority about Mr. Armathwaite that disconcertedBetty more than Walker's bluster. She went out and closed the frontdoor. The agent ran and opened it again. The girl was standing on thepath, clear of the porch, and gazing wistfully at the house.
"Will you mind your own business?" he grumbled. "The deuce take it,what's come to you to-day? You and your mother seem half crazy."
"We don't like folk to see the place at its worst," she said, ratherdefiantly.
"You're doing your best to turn Mr. Armathwaite against it, _I_ shouldthink," was the angry comment. "Now, don't touch this door again, andclear out, d'ye hear?"
Betty flushed. She was distressed, but dales' blood boils quickly whensubjected to the fire of contumely.
"I haven't asked such a favor," she said. "And you might keep a civiltongue in your head."
Walker sniffed his annoyance. But why bandy words with this aggressiveyoung woman? He swung on his heel.
"Sorry you should have met with such a queer reception, Mr.Armathwaite," he said. "I can't account for it. I really can't. PerhapsMrs. Jackson feels hurt that I didn't let her know you were coming,but----"
"Never mind Mrs. Jackson or her daughter," said Armathwaite placidly."I'll soon settle matters with them. Now, you have an inventory, Ibelieve? Suppose we start here."
"Then you've decided to take the house, sir?"
"Yes, two hours ago, in Nuttonby."
"I wish all our clients were like you," laughed Walker. "You know whatyou want and see that you get it.... Well, sir, as it happens, theinventory begins with the hall. I'll read, and you might note the items,stopping me if there's any doubt."
The agent rattled through his task, but was pulled up several times indining-room and drawing-room, when a picture or two, some Sheffieldplate, and various bits of china were missing. Black doubt seized thesharp Walker when this had happened for the fourth time. In all, therewere seven disappearances, and, in each instance, the article was oldand fairly valuable. Country villages, he reflected, were ransackednowadays by collectors of curios. When opportunity served, he and Mrs.Jackson would have some earnest words.
But surprise and relief came in the discovery of the seven; they werepiled, with a number of books, on a table in the library.
"I suppose some kind of spring cleaning is going on," he saidsheepishly. "Now the cat is out of the bag. Why the deuce didn't Bettysay so, and have done with it!"
"I imagine she was trying to tell us
something of the sort," smiled theother unconcernedly. "Surely we have not got to check the titles of allthese books?"
"No, sir. They're lumped together--about eight hundred volumes."
Armathwaite surveyed the shelves with the eye of a reader.
"That must be nearly right," he said, after a little pause. "I must notget mine mixed with my predecessor's. I've brought nearly two hundredmyself."
Walker thought of the brown paper parcel, which seemed to have a certainsolidity, but said nothing. In the first place, if eight hundred booksoccupied so much space, a quarter of that number would fit in noordinary sheet of brown paper. Secondly, Mr. Armathwaite's manner didnot invite unnecessary questions. The kitchen and scullery were soondealt with. There was coal in a cellar, and a supply of wood, and anumber of lamps drew attention to some tins of oil.
"How much for this lot?" inquired the would-be tenant.
"Nothing," said Walker, in a sudden fit of generosity. "These storeswere left by Mrs. Wilkins, and lost sight of during the row. My, what abother she raised!"
"Yet there is no ghost; we have Betty's word for it. Now--the bedrooms."
The "best" bedroom--that in the south-east angle--was certainly not indisorder. Indeed, it looked fresher and cleaner than any of the others;the bed was spotless; even the window-sill had been dusted recently.
"Of course," said the agent, "those two silly women have been tidyingthings up a bit for the season. I'm getting the hang of things bydegrees. They're afraid I might think it should have been done sooner."
"Probably," agreed Armathwaite, who, however, held a somewhat differentview. The girl was not afraid of Mr. James Walker. Of whom, then, or ofwhat? If the inquiry interested him he would find out.
The remaining bedrooms held at least one year's dust.
A box-room, lumber-room, and servant's bedroom occupied the secondfloor. In the ceiling of a small lobby there was a trap-door.
"That leads to a space beneath the roof," said Walker. "By the way,there ought to be a ladder. It's gone."
Being, as has been seen, of active habit, he brought a chair from thebedroom, stood on it, pushed up the flap, and peered into thesemi-obscurity of a triangular, rafter-lined attic, lighted only by atiny square of glass cemented into one of the flat stone slabs of theroof.
"Oh, here it is," he announced. "Shall I pull it out?"
"No, thanks," said Armathwaite. "I don't suppose I shall mount so highagain during my tenancy."
The younger man closed the trap, and, as it had been unfastenedpreviously, shot a bolt into its socket.
"Well, that ends it," he said, brushing some grime off his hands. "Ifyou care to stroll through the garden you'll find plenty of fruit comingon. This should be a good year for apples and plums, I'm told. It's toolate to raise any potatoes or vegetables, but the village will supplyplenty of table stuff, and cheap, too."
"Let me see," mused Armathwaite aloud. "Fifteen pounds rent,and, say, two guineas for your fee, and another guinea for theconveyance--eighteen pounds three shillings in all. Let us adjourn tothe library, and I'll pay you, sign the agreement, and initial theinventory. Then I need not detain you any longer, Mr. Walker."
The agent looked blank, as well he might. He was flustered, too, by theterms offered for his valuable services.
"You don't mean that you're going to stay here straightaway, sir?" hecried.
"Yes. I came prepared for immediate occupation. That is why I brought mybag, and some groceries."
"Groceries!"
Walker was so astonished that he could only repeat the word.
"That parcel, you know. I'm an old campaigner--that is, I have muchexperience of camping out, under far less pleasant conditions than in adelightful house in a Yorkshire village. I shall be quite happy here."
"But there's a kind of an inn not far off; you'll come and have a snackthere with me, sir?" was all that Walker could find to say at themoment.
"I'm much obliged to you, but I may not stir out again to-day. Shall wego down?"
They descended the stairs, which creaked loudly under their feet. Walkerwas puzzled to understand a cool customer of the Armathwaite type. Hehad never heard of a tenancy being entered into with such promptitude,yet there was no point in the stranger's behavior which he could fix onas definitely eccentric, or even unusual. The man evidently knew his ownmind, and, if he paid up, the philosophy of Walker, senior, fitted thecase admirably.
Still it was a slightly dazed Son who pocketed fifteen pounds in notesand three guineas in coin, and gave receipts for these sums, andexchanged copies of an agreement, and handed over the keys.
"Take another cigar," said the new tenant, bidding him good-bye at thefront door, when bag and parcel had been brought in and dumped on thehall table. "Oh, there is one other small matter. I left three boxes atNuttonby Station. Here is the voucher. Can you get some carter or farmerto bring them here, to-day or to-morrow? I'll pay him well for histrouble. They're rather heavy--books, mostly."
Conscious of a subdued feeling which he was wholly unable to explain,Walker took the cigar and the printed slip, raised his hat--an actionwhich vexed him when he recalled it subsequently--and strolled down tothe gate and the waiting dog-cart. Rattling the reins to let the ponyknow that he would stand no nonsense, he turned the corner on one wheel,and gave not the slightest heed to Betty Jackson's frantic efforts toattract his attention. Without slackening pace at the Fox and HoundsInn, he whisked into the Nuttonby road, but pulled up on the crest ofthe first hill.
Looking back at Elmdale, lying snug and content in the blazing sunshineof early afternoon, he gazed at the Grange during a full minute. Thefront door was closed. So far as he could make out, no tall figure wassauntering in garden or orchard. Then he felt in his breeches pocket, tomake sure, by the touch of notes and gold, that he was not dreaming.
"Well, I'm jiggered, if this isn't a rum go!" he muttered, and chirrupedthe pony into a trot again.
In the meantime, Mr. Robert Armathwaite had watched his hurrieddeparture, in the first instance from the porch and subsequently fromone of the windows in the dining-room.
"Perhaps I've made a mistake," he communed, with an amused smile, whenhe noted the momentary stopping of the dog-cart outside the village."I've puzzled that young sprig, and I might have avoided that. Not thatit matters a great deal. His father will inquire at the bank about myfinancial standing, and the pair of them will put me down as awell-to-do lunatic. Maybe they will prove right. Who can tell? At anyrate, I've not felt so content with my lot since I left India. Now forsome bread and cheese, and a thorough survey of my domain."
He unpacked the brown paper parcel on the kitchen table, and therebyproved himself at least well skilled as a caterer. Bacon, flour, bread,tea, coffee, sugar--all manner of simple domestic stores were there. Hehad, in fact, gone into a grocer's shop in Nuttonby, produced a writtenlist, and asked that the articles named therein should be of the bestquality and got ready at once.
While munching a frugal meal he bethought himself of the water supply.Unlocking the back door, he found the well, and drew a bucket of water,which was excellent in quality, and by no means suffering from disuse;indeed, he learnt later that the Jacksons and other cottagers took theirsupply from that source.
After a stroll round the garden and orchard--noting the laden gooseberryand currant bushes in the one, and several varieties of apples, pears,plums, and cherries in the other--he went back to the house. Goingupstairs, he took possession of the "best" room, and distributed thecontents of the bag among various drawers and on a dressing-table. Alarge wardrobe contained some feminine garments, old, but of goodquality, and he left them undisturbed. Examining the bed, he found thesheets scrupulously clean and well-aired. To all seeming, they had beenput there that very day, and he believed that the Jackson family meantto accommodate some friend in the Grange for the night, which reasonablesurmise explained Betty Jackson's anxiety lest any hint of the projectshould reach the agent's ears.
"It's too
bad if I've contrived to upset their plans," he mused."They're welcome to any other room, for all that I care, and I'll tellthem so if I come across either of them this evening."
Nevertheless, meaning to be lord of his own realm, he locked the doors,both back and front, when he went for a ramble over the moors. He waswilling to fall in with any hospitable arrangement the caretakers mighthave in view, but they must consult him, and he refused to have eitherof them prowling about the house in his absence.
He followed the moorland road for some miles, meeting no one, and seeingno living creature save hundreds of black-faced sheep. Not even a grousescurried across the heather, for June is the nesting season, and theparent birds lie close. Noting the watershed, he found the source of thebeck which brawled through Elmdale, and tracked it back to the village.It was alive with trout and grayling, and his fingers itched for a rod.He regretted now that he had not obtained the names of some of theriparian landowners from Walker, but realized that the village inn wouldsoon yield all the information he needed, and probably contain some ofthe farmers in person that evening.
He reached his new abode, however, somewhat later than he had intended,approaching it from the east, which afforded not only a new point ofview, but enabled him to detect Mrs. Jackson and Betty in a series ofmanoeuvres which were distinctly mysterious when taken into account withtheir earlier attitude.
Obviously, when he emerged from the depths of the tree-lined gill, andfirst caught sight of the house, mother and daughter had just quittedthe front door, presumably after knocking, and failing to obtain ananswer. Betty ran out into the road, and gazed up towards the moor.Apparently satisfied by her scrutiny of that bare upland she hurried tothe rear of the premises, and reappeared, carrying a gardener's ladder,which she placed against the wall. Giving a rapid glance in thedirection of the village, she mounted the ladder. It was rather short,and she was in some danger of falling, but, by clinging to a creeper,she managed to reach a sufficient height that she could peer into thebedroom in which Armathwaite had spread his belongings.
She descended again swiftly, took away the ladder, and returned to hermother. Both women eyed the upper windows anxiously, and, as the outcomeof some talk, Betty went to the gate a second time, and looked along thebold curve of the moorland road. She shook her head. Her mother joinedher, and the two went to their cottage.
Armathwaite smiled, and resolved to keep his knowledge of the Jacksons'behavior to himself. He did not wish to quarrel with the women, whowould be useful in many ways. In a day or two, when he had won theirconfidence, they would doubtless explain their queer proceedings; mostlikely, the explanation would prove so simple that it would never occurto a suspicious mind.
Having waited to fill his pipe, he entered the village, and walked upthe narrow path to Mrs. Jackson's abode. He was met at the door byBetty. She seemed to be rather alarmed by the visit, yet pleased to seehim.
"Can we do anything for you, sir?" she said. "Mother and I went to thehouse a while ago, but you were out."
In the oblique Yorkshire way she had partly told the reason of thevisit. Mrs. Jackson, too, came and stood near her daughter, and it wascurious to note the underlook of alarm, of poignant anxiety, in bothfaces.
"I wish to make your acquaintance, and to inquire about milk, butter,and eggs," he said pleasantly. "Mr. Walker suggested that you might bewilling to attend to household matters, and that would take a burden offmy mind."
"We'll be pleased to do it, and reasonable, too, sir," said Mrs. Jacksonpromptly.
"Very well. Come and see me in the morning. Meanwhile, can you arrangefor a quart of milk, a pound of butter, and a few eggs to be sent inimmediately?"
"Oh, yes, sir," said both together, and the expression of relief in theone face was mirrored in the other.
"You'll be wanting something cooked now, sir?" went on the older woman,with a new cheerfulness of tone, and Armathwaite would have been a farless capable student of human nature than he was had he failed to seethat a much desired entry to the house was now regarded as an assuredthing. Suddenly he made up his mind to solve the enigma, whatever itmight be, since the theory of a spare bed being in request did not seemto fit the case.
"No," he said carelessly, treating the proposal as of slight import, oneway or the other. "I wish to be alone this evening. But you can come inearly to-morrow. Isn't there a spare key?"
"Yes, sir," broke in the girl, for her mother was utterly nonplussedagain. "It's on the bunch with the others."
He produced the keys from his pocket, and saw that there were two alike.
"One of these?" he inquired, meeting the girl's eyes in a steady glance.Then he was sure of his ground. She was so excited that she could hardlyanswer. He gave her the key, ascertained that she would bring the milkand the rest in a few minutes, and left the two women staring after him.
Betty was as good as her word. She made no attempt to prolong her stay,but deposited her purchases on the hall-table, and promised that she orher mother would come about seven in the morning.
"Will you need to be called, sir?" she inquired, as an afterthought.
"Well, yes. I'm a sound sleeper," he assured her gravely.
The statement was true, but it required qualification. A man who hadslept many a night under conditions that demanded instant wakefulness ifany sinister sound threatened his very existence, did not rank in theclass of sound sleepers known to quiet Elmdale.
Thereafter he cooked a meal of eggs and bacon, tea and toast, smoked,rambled in the garden, read, thought a good deal, and went to bed.
The light in his room was extinguished soon after ten o'clock. Abouthalf-past eleven, little more than twelve hours from the time he hadfirst heard of "the house 'round the corner," he was aroused by a loudcrash in the hall. He was up in an instant, laughing at the success of abooby trap compacted of the Burmese gong, some thread, and a piece ofwood set as a trigger. His feet were not on the floor before the frontdoor banged, and, hurrying to the window, he saw Betty Jackson flyingdown the path for dear life. He could not be mistaken. In that northernlatitude a midsummer night is never wholly dark. He not only recognizedthe girl, but could note her heaving shoulders as she sobbedhysterically in her flight.
"I'm sorry if you're badly scared, my country maid, but you asked forit," he said aloud. "Now I think I'll be left to undisturbed slumbertill seven o'clock."
Therein he erred. He had not quitted the window, being held by thesolemn beauty of the gray landscape, ere a heavy thud, and then another,and yet a third, reached his ears. He might not have localized thefirst, but its successors came unmistakably from the attic. After a fewseconds, the three knocks were repeated, and now he adjudged them to theprecise bounds of the trap-door.
Slipping an automatic pistol into the pocket of his pyjama suit--merelyas a precaution against the unforeseen, though he was a man devoid offear, he took an electric torch from a drawer, but knew better than tobring it into use until its glare would disconcert others--not himself.He thrust his bare feet into slippers, unlocked the bedroom door, andpassed out on to the landing.
"Now to unveil Isis!" he thought, as he felt for the first step of theupward stairway. It needed one of steel nerve and fine courage to creepabout a strange house in the dark--a house where ill deeds had beendone, and in which their memories lurked--but Robert Armathwaite hadgone through experiences which reduced the present adventure to theproportions of a somewhat startling prank, closely akin to the successof the stratagem which had routed Betty Jackson.
And, as he mounted the stairs, keeping close to the wall, and thuspreventing the old boards from creaking, again came those ominousknocks, louder, more insistent; but whether threatening or merelyclamorous he could not decide--yet.