CHAPTER XXIII
THE DOOR OF BEWILDERMENT
We had established the practice of barring all thegates and doors at nightfall. There was no way ofguarding against an attack from the lake, whose frozensurface increased the danger from without; but wecounted on our night patrol to prevent a surprise fromthat quarter. I was well aware that I must prepare toresist the militant arm of the law, which Pickeringwould no doubt invoke to aid him, but I intended toexhaust the possibilities in searching for the lost treasurebefore I yielded. Pickering might, if he would,transfer the estate of John Marshall Glenarm to MarianDevereux and make the most he could of that service,but he should not drive me forth until I had satisfiedmyself of the exact character of my grandfather’s fortune.If it had vanished, if Pickering had stolen itand outwitted me in making off with it, that was anothermatter.
The phrase, “The Door of Bewilderment,” had neverceased to reiterate itself in my mind. We discussed athousand explanations of it as we pondered over thescrap of paper I had found in the library, and everybook in the house was examined in the search for furtherclues.
The passage between the house and the chapel seemedto fascinate Larry. He held that it must have someparticular use and he devoted his time to exploring it.
He came up at noon—it was the twenty-ninth ofDecember—with grimy face and hands and a grin on hisface. I had spent my morning in the towers, where itwas beastly cold, to no purpose and was not in a moodfor the ready acceptance of new theories.
“I’ve found something,” he said, filling his pipe.
“Not soap, evidently!”
“No, but I’m going to say the last word on the tunnel,and within an hour. Give me a glass of beer and apiece of bread, and we’ll go back and see whether we’resold again or not.”
“Let us explore the idea and be done with it. Waittill I tell Stoddard where we’re going.”
The chaplain was trying the second-floor walls, andI asked him to eat some luncheon and stand guard whileLarry and I went to the tunnel.
We took with us an iron bar, an ax and a couple ofhammers. Larry went ahead with a lantern.
“You see,” he explained, as we dropped through thetrap into the passage, “I’ve tried a compass on thistunnel and find that we’ve been working on the wrongtheory. The passage itself runs a straight line fromthe house under the gate to the crypt; the ravine is arough crescent-shape and for a short distance the tunneltouches it. How deep does that ravine average—aboutthirty feet?”
“Yes; it’s shallowest where the house stands. itdrops sharply from there on to the lake.”
“Very good; but the ravine is all on the Glenarm sideof the wall, isn’t it? Now when we get under the wallI’ll show you something.”
“Here we are,” said Larry, as the cold air blew inthrough the hollow posts. “Now we’re pretty near thatsharp curve of the ravine that dips away from the wall.Take the lantern while I get out the compass. Whatdo you think that C on the piece of paper means? Why,chapel, of course. I have measured the distance fromthe house, the point of departure, we may assume, tothe chapel, and three-fourths of it brings us under thosebeautiful posts. The directions are as plain as daylight.The passage itself is your N. W., as the compassproves, and the ravine cuts close in here; therefore, ourbusiness is to explore the wall on the ravine side.”
“Good! but this is just wall here—earth with a layerof brick and a thin coat of cement. A nice job it musthave been to do the work,—and it cost the price of atiger hunt,” I grumbled.
“Take heart, lad, and listen,”—and Larry beganpounding the wall with a hammer, exactly under thenorth gate-post. We had sounded everything in andabout the house until the process bored me.
“Hurry up and get through with it,” I jerked impatiently,holding the lantern at the level of his head. Itwas sharply cold under the posts and I was anxious toprove the worthlessness of his idea and be done.
Thump! thump!
“There’s a place here that sounds a trifle off the key.You try it.”
I snatched the hammer and repeated his soundings.
Thump! thump!
There was a space about four feet square in the wallthat certainly gave forth a hollow sound.
“Stand back!” exclaimed Larry eagerly. “Here goeswith the ax.”
He struck into the wall sharply and the cementchipped off in rough pieces, disclosing the brick beneath.Larry paused when he had uncovered a foot ofthe inner layer, and examined the surface.
“They’re loose—these bricks are loose, and there’ssomething besides earth behind them!”
I snatched the hammer and drove hard at the wall.The bricks were set up without mortar, and I pluckedthem out and rapped with my knuckles on a woodensurface.
Even Larry grew excited as we flung out the bricks.
“Ah, lad,” he said, “the old gentleman had a waywith him—he had a way with him!” A brick droppedon his foot and he howled in pain.
“Bless the old gentleman’s heart! He made it aseasy for us as he could. Now, for the Glenarm millions,—red money all piled up for the ease of counting it,—a thousand pounds in every pile.”
“Don’t be a fool, Larry,” I coughed at him, for thebrick dust and the smoke of Larry’s pipe made breathingdifficult.
“That’s all the loose brick,—bring the lantern closer,”—and we peered through the aperture upon a woodendoor, in which strips of iron were deep-set. It was fastenedwith a padlock and Larry reached down for the ax.
“Wait!” I called, drawing closer with the lantern.“What’s this?”
The wood of the door was fresh and white, but burneddeep on the surface, in this order, were the words:
THE DOOR OF BEWILDERMENT
“There are dead men inside, I dare say! Here, mylad, it’s not for me to turn loose the family skeletons,”—and Larry stood aside while I swung the ax andbrought it down with a crash on the padlock. It wasof no flimsy stuff and the remaining bricks cramped me,but half a dozen blows broke it off.
“The house of a thousand ghosts,” chanted the irrepressibleLarry, as I pushed the door open and crawledthrough.
Whatever the place was it had a floor and I set myfeet firmly upon it and turned to take the lantern.
“Hold a bit,” he exclaimed. “Some one’s coming,”—and bending toward the opening I heard the soundof steps down the corridor. In a moment Bates ran up,calling my name with more spirit than I imagined possiblein him.
“What is it?” I demanded, crawling out into thetunnel.
“It’s Mr. Pickering. The sheriff has come with him,sir.”
As he spoke his glance fell upon the broken wall andopen door. The light of Larry’s lantern struck fullupon him. Amazement, and, I thought, a certain satisfaction,were marked upon his countenance.
“Run along, Jack,—I’ll be up a little later,” saidLarry. “If the fellow has come in daylight with thesheriff, he isn’t dangerous. It’s his friends that shootin the dark that give us the trouble.”
I crawled out and stood upright. Bates, staring atthe opening, seemed reluctant to leave the spot.
“You seem to have found it, sir,” he said,—I thoughta little chokingly. His interest in the matter nettledme; for my first business was to go above for an interviewwith the executor, and the value of our discoverywas secondary.
“Of course we have found it!” I ejaculated, brushingthe dust from my clothes. “Is Mr. Stoddard in thelibrary?”
“Oh, yes, sir; I left him entertaining the gentlemen.”
“Their visit is certainly most inopportune,” saidLarry. “Give them my compliments and tell them I’llbe up as soon as I’ve articulated the bones of my friend’sancestors.”
Bates strode on ahead of me with his lantern, and Ileft Larry crawling through the new-found door as Ihurried toward the house. I knew him well enough tobe sure he would not leave the spot until he had foundwhat lay behind the Door of Bewilderment.
> “You didn’t tell the callers where you expected tofind me, did you?” I asked Bates, as he brushed me offin the kitchen.
“No, sir. Mr. Stoddard received the gentlemen. Herang the bell for me and when I went into the libraryhe was saying, ‘Mr. Glenarm is at his studies. Bates,’—he says—‘kindly tell Mr. Glenarm that I’m sorry to interrupthim, but won’t he please come down?’ I thoughtit rather neat, sir, considering his clerical office. Iknew you were below somewhere, sir; the trap-door wasopen and I found you easily enough.”
Bates’ eyes were brighter than I had ever seen them.A certain buoyant note gave an entirely new tone tohis voice. He walked ahead of me to the library door,threw it open and stood aside.
“Here you are, Glenarm,” said Stoddard. Pickeringand a stranger stood near the fireplace in their overcoats.
Pickering advanced and offered his hand, but Iturned away from him without taking it. His companion,a burly countryman, stood staring, a paper in hishand.
“The sheriff,” Pickering explained, “and our businessis rather personal—”
He glanced at Stoddard, who looked at me.
“Mr. Stoddard will do me the kindness to remain,”I said and took my stand beside the chaplain.
“Oh!” Pickering ejaculated scornfully. “I didn’tunderstand that you had established relations with theneighboring clergy. Your taste is improving, Glenarm.”
“Mr. Glenarm is a friend of mine,” remarked Stoddardquietly. “A very particular friend,” he added.
“I congratulate you—both.”
I laughed. Pickering was surveying the room as hespoke,—and Stoddard suddenly stepped toward him,merely, I think, to draw up a chair for the sheriff; butPickering, not hearing Stoddard’s step on the soft ruguntil the clergyman was close beside him, started perceptiblyand reddened.
It was certainly ludicrous, and when Stoddard facedme again he was biting his lip.
“Pardon me!” he murmured.
“Now, gentlemen, will you kindly state your business?My own affairs press me.”
Pickering was studying the cartridge boxes on thelibrary table. The sheriff, too, was viewing these effectswith interest not, I think, unmixed with awe.
“Glenarm, I don’t like to invoke the law to eject youfrom this property, but I am left with no alternative.I can’t stay out here indefinitely, and I want to knowwhat I’m to expect.”
“That is a fair question,” I replied. “If it weremerely a matter of following the terms of the will Ishould not hesitate or be here now. But it isn’t the will,or my grandfather, that keeps me, it’s the determinationto give you all the annoyance possible,—to make ithard and mighty hard for you to get hold of this houseuntil I have found why you are so much interestedin it.”
“You always had a grand way in money matters. AsI told you before you came out here, it’s a poor stake.The assets consist wholly of this land and this house,whose quality you have had an excellent opportunityto test. You have doubtless heard that the countrypeople believe there is money concealed here,—but Idare say you have exhausted the possibilities. This isnot the first time a rich man has died leaving preciouslittle behind him.”
“You seem very anxious to get possession of a propertythat you call a poor stake,” I said. “A few acresof land, a half-finished house and an uncertain claimupon a school-teacher!”
“I had no idea you would understand it,” he replied.“The fact that a man may be under oath to performthe solemn duties imposed upon him by the law wouldhardly appeal to you. But I haven’t come here to debatethis question. When are you going to leave?”
“Not till I’m ready,—thanks!”
“Mr. Sheriff, will you serve your writ?” he said, andI looked to Stoddard for any hint from him as to whatI should do.
“I believe Mr. Glenarm is quite willing to hear whateverthe sheriff has to say to him,” said Stoddard. Hestepped nearer to me, as though to emphasize the factthat he belonged to my side of the controversy, and thesheriff read an order of the Wabana County CircuitCourt directing me, immediately, to deliver the houseand grounds into the keeping of the executor of thewill of the estate of John Marshall Glenarm.
The sheriff rather enjoyed holding the center of thestage, and I listened quietly to the unfamiliar phraseology.Before he had quite finished I heard a step inthe hall and Larry appeared at the door, pipe in mouth.Pickering turned toward him frowning, but Larry paidnot the slightest attention to the executor, leaningagainst the door with his usual tranquil unconcern.
“I advise you not to trifle with the law, Glenarm,”said Pickering angrily. “You have absolutely no rightwhatever to be here. And these other gentlemen—yourguests, I suppose—are equally trespassers under thelaw.”
He stared at Larry, who crossed his legs for greaterease in adjusting his lean frame to the door.
“Well, Mr. Pickering, what is the next step?” askedthe sheriff, with an importance that had been increasedby the legal phrases he had been reading.
“Mr. Pickering,” said Larry, straightening up andtaking the pipe from his mouth, “I’m Mr. Glenarm’scounsel. If you will do me the kindness to ask thesheriff to retire for a moment I should like to say afew words to you that you might prefer to keep betweenourselves.”
I had usually found it wise to take any cue Larrythrew me, and I said:
“Pickering, this is Mr. Donovan, who has every authorityto act for me in the matter.”
Pickering looked impatiently from one to the otherof us.
“You seem to have the guns, the ammunition and thenumbers on your side,” he observed dryly.
“The sheriff may wait within call,” said Larry, andat a word from Pickering the man left the room.
“Now, Mr. Pickering,”—Larry spoke slowly,—“asmy friend has explained the case to me, the assets ofhis grandfather’s estate are all accounted for,—the landhereabouts, this house, the ten thousand dollars in securitiesand a somewhat vague claim against a ladyknown as Sister Theresa, who conducts St. Agatha’sSchool. Is that correct?”
“I don’t ask you to take my word for it, sir,” rejoinedPickering hotly. “I have filed an inventory of theestate, so far as found, with the proper authorities.”
“Certainly. But I merely wish to be sure of my factsfor the purpose of this interview, to save me the troubleof going to the records. And, moreover, I am somewhatunfamiliar with your procedure in this country. I ama member, sir, of the Irish Bar. Pardon me, but I repeatmy question.”
“I have made oath—that, I trust, is sufficient evenfor a member of the Irish Bar.”
“Quite so, Mr. Pickering,” said Larry, nodding hishead gravely.
He was not, to be sure, a presentable member of anybar, for a smudge detracted considerably from the appearanceof one side of his face, his clothes were rumpledand covered with black dust, and his hands wereblack. But I had rarely seen him so calm. He recrossedhis legs, peered into the bowl of his pipe for a moment,then asked, as quietly as though he were soliciting anopinion of the weather:
“Will you tell me, Mr. Pickering, whether you yourselfare a debtor of John Marshall Glenarm’s estate?”
Pickering’s face grew white and his eyes stared, andwhen he tried suddenly to speak his jaw twitched. Theroom was so still that the breaking of a blazing log onthe andirons was a pleasant relief. We stood, the threeof us, with our eyes on Pickering, and in my own caseI must say that my heart was pounding my ribs at anuncomfortable speed, for I knew Larry was not sparringfor time.
The blood rushed into Pickering’s face and he turnedtoward Larry stormily.
“This is unwarrantable and infamous! My relationswith Mr. Glenarm are none of your business. Whenyou remember that after being deserted by his own fleshand blood he appealed to me, going so far as to intrustall his affairs to my care at his death, your reflectionis an outrageous insult. I am not accountable to youor any one else!”
“Really, there’s a good deal in all that,” said Larry.“We don’t pretend to any judicial functions. We a
reperfectly willing to submit the whole business and allmy client’s acts to the authorities.”
(I would give much if I could reproduce some hintof the beauty of that word authorities as it rolled fromLarry’s tongue!)
“Then, in God’s name, do it, you blackguards!”roared Pickering.
Stoddard, sitting on a table, knocked his heels togethergently. Larry recrossed his legs and blew acloud of smoke. Then, after a quarter of a minute inwhich he gazed at the ceiling with his quiet blue eyes,he said:
“Yes; certainly, there are always the authorities. Andas I have a tremendous respect for your American institutionsI shall at once act on your suggestion. Mr.Pickering, the estate is richer than you thought it was.It holds, or will hold, your notes given to the decedentfor three hundred and twenty thousand dollars.”
He drew from his pocket a brown envelope, walkedto where I stood and placed it in my hands.
At the same time Stoddard’s big figure grew active,and before I realized that Pickering had leaped towardthe packet, the executor was sitting in a chair, where thechaplain had thrown him. He rallied promptly, stuffinghis necktie into his waistcoat; he even laughed a little.
“So much old paper! You gentlemen are perfectlywelcome to it.”
“Thank you!” jerked Larry.
“Mr. Glenarm and I had many transactions together,and he must have forgotten to destroy those papers.”
“Quite likely,” I remarked. “It is interesting toknow that Sister Theresa wasn’t his only debtor.”
Pickering stepped to the door and called the sheriff.
“I shall give you until to-morrow morning at nineo’clock to vacate the premises. The court understandsthis situation perfectly. These claims are utterly worthless,as I am ready to prove.”
“Perfectly, perfectly,” repeated the sheriff.
“I believe that is all,” said Larry, pointing to thedoor with his pipe.
The sheriff was regarding him with particular attention.
“What did I understand your name to be?” he demanded.
“Laurance Donovan,” Larry replied coolly.
Pickering seemed to notice the name now and his eyeslighted disagreeably.
“I think I have heard of your friend before,” he said,turning to me. “I congratulate you on the internationalreputation of your counsel. He’s esteemed so highly inIreland that they offer a large reward for his return.Sheriff, I think we have finished our business forto-day.”
He seemed anxious to get the man away, and we gavethem escort to the outer gate where a horse and buggywere waiting.
“Now, I’m in for it,” said Larry, as I locked the gate.“We’ve spiked one of his guns, but I’ve given him a newone to use against myself. But come, and I will showyou the Door of Bewilderment before I skip.”