CHAPTER XVIII
REVEALS THE SPY
The Twelfth--the glorious Twelfth--had come and gone. "The rush to theNorth" had commenced from London. From Euston, St. Pancras, and King'sCross the night trains for Scotland had run in triplicate, crowded bymen and gun-cases and kit-bags, while gloomy old Perth station was ascene of unwonted activity each morning.
At Glencardine there were little or no grouse; therefore it was notuntil later that Sir Henry invited his usual party.
Gabrielle had been south to visit one of her girlfriends near Durham,and the week of her absence her afflicted father had spent in darkloneliness, for Flockart had gone to London, and her ladyship was awayon a fortnight's visit to the Pelhams, down at New Galloway.
On the last day of August, however, Gabrielle returned, being followed afew hours later by Lady Heyburn, who had travelled up by way of Stirlingand Crieff Junction, while that same night eight men forming theshooting-party arrived by the day express from the south.
The gathering was a merry one. The guests were the same who came upthere every year, some of them friends of Sir Henry in the days of hisbrilliant career, others friends of his wife. The shooting atGlencardine was always excellent; and Stewart, wise and serious, hadprophesied first-class sport.
Walter Murie was in London. While Gabrielle had been at Durham he hadtravelled up there, spent the night at the "Three Tuns," and met hernext morning in that pretty wooded walk they call "the Banks." Devotedto her as he was, he could not bear any long separation; while she, onher part, was gratified by this attention. Not without some difficultydid she succeed in getting away from her friends to meet him, for aprovincial town is not like London, and any stranger is always in thepublic eye. But they spent a delightful couple of hours together,strolling along the footpath through the meadows in the direction ofFinchale Priory. There were no eavesdroppers; and he, with his armlinked in hers, repeated the story of his all-conquering love.
She listened in silence, then raising her fine clear eyes to his, said,"I know, Walter--I know that you love me. And I love you also."
"Ah," he sighed, "if you would only be frank with me, dearest--if youwould only be as frank with me as I am with you!"
Sadly she shook her head, but made no reply. He saw that a shadow hadclouded her brow, that she still clung to her strange secret; and atlength, when they retraced their steps back to the city, he reluctantlytook leave of her, and half-an-hour later was speeding south againtowards York and King's Cross.
The opening day of the partridge season proved bright and pleasant. Themen were out early; and the ladies, a gay party, including Gabrielle,joined them at luncheon spread on a mossy bank about three miles fromthe castle. Several of the male guests were particularly attentive tothe dainty, sweet-faced girl whose charming manner and fresh beautyattracted them. But Gabrielle's heart was with Walter always. She lovedhim. Yes, she told herself so a dozen times each day. And yet was notthe barrier between them insurmountable? Ah, if he only knew! If he onlyknew!
The blind man was left alone nearly the whole of that day. His daughterhad wanted to remain with him, but he would not hear of it. "My dearchild," he had said, "you must go out and lunch. You really must assistyour mother in entertaining the people."
"But, dear dad, I much prefer to remain with you and help you," sheprotested. "Yesterday the Professor sent you five more bronze matricesof ecclesiastical seals. We haven't yet examined them."
"We'll do so to-night, dear," he said. "You go out to-day. I'll amusemyself all right. Perhaps I'll go for a little walk."
Therefore the girl had, against her inclination, joined theluncheon-party, where foremost of all to have her little attentions wasa rather foppish young stockbroker named Girdlestone, who had been upthere shooting the previous year, and had on that occasion flirted withher furiously.
During her absence her father tried to resume his knitting--anoccupation which he had long ago been compelled to resort to in order toemploy his time; but he soon put it down with a sigh, rose, and takinghis soft brown felt-hat and stout stick, tapped his way along throughthe great hall and out into the park.
He felt the warmth upon his cheek as he passed slowly along down thebroad drive. "Ah," he murmured to himself, "if only I could once againsee God's sunlight! If I could only see the greenery of nature and theface of my darling child!" and he sighed brokenly, and went on, his chinsunk upon his breast, a despairing, hopeless man. Surely no figure morepathetic than his could be found in the whole of Scotland. Upon him hadbeen showered honour, great wealth, all indeed that makes life worthliving, and yet, deprived of sight, he existed in that world ofdarkness, deceived and plotted against by all about him. His greycountenance was hard and thoughtful as he passed slowly along tappingthe ground before him, for he was thinking--ever thinking--of thedeclaration of his French visitor. He had been betrayed. But by whom?
His thoughts were wandering back to those days when he could see--thosewell-remembered days when he had held the House in silence by hisbrilliant oratory, and when the papers next day had leading articlesconcerning his speeches. He recollected his time-mellowed old club inSt. James's Street--Boodle's--of which he had been so fond. Then camehis affliction. The thought of it all struck him suddenly; and,clenching his hands, he murmured some inarticulate words through histeeth. They sounded strangely like a threat. Next instant, however, helaughed bitterly to himself the dry, harsh laugh of a man into whosevery soul the iron had entered.
In the distance he could hear the shots of his guests, those men whoaccepted his hospitality, and who among themselves agreed that he was "aterrible bore, poor old fellow!" They came up there--with perhaps twoexceptions--to eat his dinners, drink his choice wines, and shoot hisbirds, but begrudged him more than ten minutes or so of their companyeach day. In the billiard-room of an evening, as he sat upon one of thelong lounges, they would perhaps deign to chat with him; but, alas! heknew that he was only as a wet blanket to his wife's guests, hence hekept himself so much to the library--his own domain.
That night he spent half-an-hour in the billiard-room in order to hearwhat sport they had had, but very soon escaped, and with Gabriellereturned again to the library to fulfil his promise and examine theseal-matrices which the Professor had sent.
To where they sat came bursts of boisterous laughter and of thewaltz-music of the pianola in the hall, for in the shooting season theechoes of the fine mansion were awakened by the merriment of as gay acrowd as any who assembled in the Highlands.
Sir Henry heard it. The sounds jarred upon his nerves. Mirth such astheirs was debarred him for ever, and he had now become gloomy andmisanthropic. He sat fingering those big oval matrices of bronze,listening to Gabrielle's voice deciphering the inscriptions, andexplaining what was meant and what was possibly their history. One whichSir Henry declared to be the gem of them all bore the _manus Dei_ fordevice, and was the seal of Archbishop Richard (1174-84). Severaldocuments bearing impressions of this seal were, he said, preserved atCanterbury and in the British Museum, but here the actual seal itselfhad come to light.
With all the enthusiasm of an expert he lingered over the matrice,feeling it carefully with the tips of his fingers, and tracing thedevice with the nail of his forefinger. "Splendid!" he declared. "Thelettering is a most excellent specimen of early Lombardic." And then hegave the girl the titles of several works, which she got down from theshelves, and from which she read extracts after some careful search.
The sulphur-casts sent with the matrices she placed carefully with herfather's collection, and during the remainder of the evening they wereoccupied in replying to several letters regarding estate matters.
At eleven o'clock she kissed her father good-night and passed out to thehall, where the pianola was still going, and where the merriment wasstill in full swing. For a quarter of an hour she was compelled toremain with the insipid young ass Bertie Girdlestone, a man whopatronised musical comedy nightly, and afterwards supped regularly atthe "Savoy"; then she escaped
at last to her room.
Exchanging her pretty gown of turquoise chiffon for an easy wrap, shetook up a novel, and, switching on her green-shaded reading-lamp, satdown to enjoy a quiet hour before retiring. Quickly she became engrossedin the story, and though the stable-chimes sounded each half-hour sheremained undisturbed by them.
It was half-past two before she had reached the happy _denouement_ ofthe book, and, closing it, she rose to take off her trinkets. Havingdivested herself of bracelets, rings, and necklet, she placed her handsto her ears. There was only one ear-ring; the other was missing! Theywere sapphires, a present from Walter on her last birthday. He had sentthem to her from Yokohama, and she greatly prized them. Therefore, atrisk of being seen in her dressing-gown by any of the male guests whomight still be astir--for she knew they always played billiards untilvery late--she took off her little blue satin slippers and stole outalong the corridor and down the broad staircase.
The place was in darkness; but she turned on the light, and again whenshe reached the hall.
She must have dropped her ear-ring in the library; of that she feltsure. Servants were so careless that, if she left it, it might easily beswept up in the morning and lost for ever. That thought had caused herto search for it at once.
As she approached the library door she thought she heard the sound as ofsome one within. On her opening the door, however, all was in darkness.She laughed at her apprehension.
In an instant she touched the switch, and the place became flooded by asoft, mellow light from lamps cunningly concealed behind the bookcasesagainst the wall. At the same moment, however, she detected a movementbehind one of the bookcases against which she stood. With suddenresolution and fearlessness, she stepped forward to ascertain its cause.Her eyes at that instant fell upon a sight which caused her to start andstand dumb with amazement. Straight before her the door of her father'ssafe stood open. Beside it, startled at the sudden interruption, stood aman in evening-dress, with a small electric lamp in his clenched hand. Apair of dark, evil eyes met hers in defiance--the eyes of JamesFlockart.
"You!" she gasped.
"Yes," he laughed dryly. "Don't be afraid. It's only I. But, by Jove!how very charming you look in that gown! I'd love to get a snapshot ofyou just as you stand now."
"What are you doing there, examining my father's papers?" she demandedquickly, her small hands clenched.
"My dear girl," he replied with affected unconcern, "that's my ownbusiness. You really ought to have been in bed long ago. It isn'tdiscreet, you know, to be down here with me at this hour!"
"I demand to know what you are doing here!" she cried firmly.
"And, my dear little girl, I refuse to tell you," was his decisiveanswer.
"Very well, then I shall alarm the house and explain to my father what Ihave discovered."