CHAPTER XI
IN THE LION'S DEN
It was already dusk when Laurence Carrington stepped briskly out of thegate of the Manse, and turned into the dark drive that led to theneighbouring house.
He had been unable to wish Lena "good-bye," for both the Squire and Mrs.Knox had adjourned with her to the drawing-room at the conclusion ofdinner. He had muttered something about "having a smoke" when he leftthem, and looking to his loaded pistol, which was something more than amere plaything, he had set out on his important errand, wearing anulster which covered his dress suit.
On this occasion he was not left waiting long in the porch, for his pullat the rusty bell was almost immediately answered by a repetition of theincidents of the morning. The same shuffling footsteps sounded along thepassage, the same grating noise of bolts being drawn followed, and thedoor was opened ajar in order that the janitor might satisfy himself asto the identity of his late visitor.
The scrutiny through the chink of the door was apparently satisfactory,for the man inside proceeded to release the chain, after which Laurencewas invited in a surly, gruff tone to "come in."
Pitch darkness reigned supreme within, and the young man found his handgrasping the small fire-arm in his overcoat pocket as he took one stepinto the house, and the door banged upon him.
What little light there had been from the outside world was now shutout. With a shudder, Laurence realised how completely he had placedhimself in the power of the unknown inhabitants of Durley Dene. In thegross darkness, what was to prevent this sour-faced porter, who had,when disguised, encountered him on the previous evening, from plunging aknife into his back as he stood there unable even to catch a glimpse ofthe man's outline?
Even as he thought thus a hand clutched his arm. The young man's fingersclosed simultaneously round the pistol in his pocket, but his companiononly requested him to follow upstairs, and guided him by the arm with anaccuracy that denoted familiarity with the ins and outs of the house, upseveral short flights of uncarpeted stairs, until, presumably halfwaydown a narrow passage, which must have been on the highest floor in thehouse, he stopped short suddenly.
Then he fumbled about for what was evidently a door handle, and amoment later a flood of pale light burst out from a room on thethreshold of which the two had been standing. The door had been flungwide open, and with the janitor still holding his arm, Laurence movedforward into the room, which appeared well furnished, and in the centreof which sat a man in an arm-chair.
Half-blinded by the glare, Carrington stood for a moment motionless.Then the door closed behind him, and, turning, he saw that his lateguide had withdrawn. He was in the presence of Major Jones-Farnell.
"A very good evening to you, sir!"
The man in the chair rose as he uttered these words. He was of more thanmiddle age and height, was clad in a light-coloured shooting suit, andwore glasses and a grey moustache.
"Well, and so you have bearded the lion in his den?"
The words were those that Lena herself had used earlier in the day!Could it be that the Major had overheard them, or was it a case of merecoincidence?
"Come and sit down and let us have a chat," the stranger went on,beckoning Laurence to a vacant arm-chair.
"Major Jones-Farnell, I suppose?" was Carrington's first remark.
"Yes and no," replied the other; "but that is neither here nor there."
"Indeed! And I believe you wished to see me," said Laurence coldly.
"I do," said the Major, "but pray make yourself at home, as far as it ispossible, in such 'diggings' as mine. Here are some cigars that I thinkyou will find palatable. Perhaps you will join me in a smoke. There'snothing so conducive to pleasant conversation as nicotine." And themaster of Durley Dene pushed forward a small box of long cigars, eachwrapped in embossed silver paper.
Now, had Laurence been ushered into the presence of some typicalscoundrel who held a revolver in his hand while conversing, and offeredto murder the young visitor if he actually carried out his threat ofconsulting the police, he would not have been in the least surprised,but he had little expected what he now found.
The room in which he sat was elegantly furnished in decidedly Orientalstyle. A magnificent Indian carpet, into which one's feet sank an inchor so, occupied the best part of the floor, while mats covered the barecorners of the room. Indian tapestry of fine workmanship hung from thewalls, and many of the small chairs and bric-a-brac ornaments were ofOriental manufacture. A hookah, with ivory mouthpiece, and brilliantlyworked coiling pipe, stood upon a table at Major Farnell's right hand.That gentleman's feet were encased in Persian bed slippers. In fact,little of the furniture but the arm-chairs was of a kind one wouldexpect to find in England. Even the prevailing odour of the room wasthat of incense such as one reads of as pervading Eastern bazaars andtemples. Certainly the Major had a good idea of comfort.
And as Laurence noted these points in connection with the room herealised how they agreed with the supposition of his that the Squire'senemy was a "black" man or woman. But the Major gave him little time forthought.
"Oh, you must take a weed," said Farnell, when Laurence had at firstrefused the other's hospitality.
Fearing to displease, Carrington did so, carefully selecting one of thecigars from the bottom of the box. Why he did this will be quiteevident. He considered it possible that some of them might be drugged.However, as the owner himself carelessly chose one of the top layer, itseemed probable that Laurence was over-suspicious. That, however, was nofault. The circumstances under which he had been brought face to facewith the Major were remarkable enough to raise suspicion.
"And so," said Jones-Farnell, when the two had lighted up, "and so youthought of sending the police here! May I ask why?"
"I hardly think it necessary to explain to you what I am under theimpression you already know," was the answer.
The Major looked surprised.
"I fear," he said, "that your impression is a mere misapprehension.Truthfully, I have no idea why you should object to my retiring habitsin a house which is my own in every respect. I am inclined to thinkmyself a peculiarly desirable kind of neighbour. I am sure no noisecaused by me or my servant has ever disturbed you. I keep no fowls towake you up by their crowing at daybreak. Never has either my servant ormyself trespassed upon your grounds. I don't keep a dog----"
"Pardon me, but why, then, did your servant purchase a dog-whip onlylast night?"
And when Laurence made this quiet and apparently ordinary remark, henoticed a sudden flush rise to his host's brow. For a moment the Majordid not reply. Then, affecting an off-hand manner, he said--
"Oh, that was for my Persian cat, Teddy."
But Laurence knew that he lied!