and I saw that he was tremblingwith excitement. "And from that day until the day of his death poorMelvill Arnold was, alas! never the same man. What he found within theThing, as he used to call it, made such a terrible impression upon himthat he, bold and fearless and defiant as he used to be, became suddenlyweak, timid, and nervous, lest the secret contained in the cylindershould be revealed. That message of the hieroglyphics, whatever it was,haunted him night and day, and he often declared to me that, inconsequence of his foolish disobedience of the injunction contained inthe papyri, he had become a doomed man,--doomed, Mr Kemball!" he added,in a low, strange voice, looking straight and earnestly into mylace--"doomed, as I fear, alas! that you too are now doomed!"
CHAPTER NINE.
REVEALS GUY'S SUSPICIONS.
All endeavour to discover from Shaw something further concerning themysterious cylinder proved unavailing. Apparently he was entirely inignorance of its actual contents--of the Thing referred to by the mannow dead.
Later I had an opportunity of chatting with Guy Nicholson as we strolledabout the beautiful gardens in the sunset. He was a bright, merry,easy-going fellow, who had been a year or two in a cavalry regiment, hadretired on the death of his father, and who now expressed an ambitionfor foreign travel. He lived at Titmarsh Court, between Rockingham andCorby, he explained, and he invited me over to see him.
Long ago, I had heard of old Nathaniel Nicholson, the great Sheffieldironmaster, who had purchased the place from a bankrupt peer, and whohad spent many thousands on improvements. My father had known him butslightly, for they met in the hunting-field, and now I was muchgratified to know his son.
From the first I took to him greatly, and we mutually expressedfriendship towards each other. We were both bachelors, and I saw thatwe had many tastes in common. His airy carelessness of manner and hisoverflowing good-humour attracted me, while it was plain that he was thedevoted slave of the pretty Asta.
Wheaton, the butler, a grey-faced, grey-haired, and rather superiorperson, called Shaw in to speak on the telephone, and I was left alonewith Nicholson on the terrace.
"Have you known Asta long?" he asked me suddenly.
My reply was a little evasive, for I could not well see the motive ofhis question--if he were not jealous of her.
"I understand from Shaw that you have known him quite a long time, eh?"
"Oh yes," I replied lamely. "We've been acquainted for some littletime."
Nicholson looked me straight in the face with his deep-set eyesunusually serious. Then, after a pause, he said--
"Look here, Kemball, you and I are going to be friends as our fatherswere. I want to speak very frankly with you."
"Well?" I asked, a trifle surprised at his sudden change of manner.
"I want to ask you a plain honest question. What is your opinion ofHarvey Shaw?"
"My opinion," I echoed. "Well, I hardly know. He's rather a goodfellow, I think, as far as I know. Generous, happy--"
"Oh yes, keeps a good cellar, is hospitable, very loyal to his friends,and all that," he interrupted. "But--but what I want you to tell me is,what you really think of him. Is his rather austere exterior only amask?"
"I don't quite follow your meaning," was my reply.
"May I speak to you in entire confidence?"
"You certainly may. I shall not abuse it."
"Well, for some time I have wanted to discuss Shaw with somebody whoknows him, but I have had no opportunity. Because he gives money freelyin the district, supports everything, and never questions a tradesman'sbill, he is naturally highly popular. Nobody will say a word againsthim. Harvey Shaw can do no wrong. But it is the same everywhere in arural district. Money alone buys popularity and a good name."
"Why should any word be said against him?"
I queried. "Is he not your friend, as well as mine?"
"Granted, but--well, he has been here several years, and I have knownAsta all the time. Indeed, I confess I am very fond of her. But wereit not for her I would never darken his doors."
"Why?" I asked, much surprised.
"Well," he said with hesitation, lowering his voice. "Because there'ssomething wrong about him."
"Something wrong? What do you mean?"
"What I allege. I take a great interest in physiognomy, and the face ofHarvey Shaw is the face of a worker of evil."
"Then you have suspicion of him, eh? Of what?"
"I hardly know. But I tell you this perfectly openly and frankly. I donot like those covert glances which he sometimes gives Asta. They areglances of hatred."
"My dear fellow," I laughed. "You must really be mistaken in this. Heis entirely devoted to her. He has told me so."
"Ah, yes! He is for ever making protestations of parental love, I know,but his face betrays the fact that his words do not come from his heart.He hates her?"
"Why should he? She has, I believe, been his companion for years, eversince her childhood."
"I know. You are Shaw's friend, and, of course, pooh-pooh any suspicionthere may be against him. Asta is devoted to his interests, and henceblind to the bitter hatred which he is so cleverly concealing."
"But what causes you to suspect this?" I asked, looking at him veryseriously, as he stood leaning upon the old lichen-covered wall, hisdark thoughtful face turned towards the setting sun.
"Well, I have more than suspicion, Kemball. I have proof."
"Of what?"
"Of what I allege," he cried, in a low, confidential tone. "This manShaw is not the calm, generous, easy-going man he affects to be."
I was silent. What could he know? Surely Asta had not betrayed herfoster-father! Of that I felt confident.
"But you say you have proof. What is the nature of the proof?"
"It is undeniable. This man, under whose guardianship Asta has remainedall these years, has changed towards her. There's evil in his heart."
"Then you fear that--well, that something may happen, eh?--that he mighttreat her unkindly. Surely he is not cruel to her!"
"Cruel? Oh dear, no, not in the least. He is most indulgent andcharming always. That is why she believes in him."
"But you say that you have actual proof that he is not the generous manhe pretends to be."
"Yes, I have. My suspicions were aroused about two months ago, forbehind his calm exterior he seemed ever nervous and anxious aboutsomething, as though he were concealing some great secret."
I held my breath. What could he know?
"Well?" I asked, with an effort to restrain my own anxiety.
"I watched, and my suspicions were more than ever confirmed. Hisfrequent and mysterious absences had long ago puzzled me, moreespecially when Asta refused to give me any reason for them. Sometimesfor months at a time she has been left in this big place alone, withonly the servants. Why did he disappear and reappear so suddenly? Thentwo months ago--I tell you this, of course, in the strictestconfidence--I was going home on my motor-cycle from Corby station onedark wet night, when I overtook a poor miserable-looking man, ill-clad,and drenched to the skin. I wished him good-night, and in his responseI was startled to recognise the voice of Harvey Shaw. So presently Idismounted to repair my machine, so that he might again approach. Buthe held back, yet near enough for me to recognise his features as Iturned my acetylene lamp back along the road. Next day I made casualinquiry of Asta as to his whereabouts, but she told me he was in Parison business, and he certainly did not return here until a fortnightafterwards."
"Well, and what do you make out from that incident?" I asked.
"That he visited the place in secret that night, though Asta believedhim to be on the Continent."
"But the disguise?"
"Ah! there you are! Surely a gentleman doesn't go about in shabbyclothes and trudge miles through the mud and rain without some sinistermotive. The express from London had stopped at Corby twenty minutesbefore, therefore I concluded that he had arrived by that, and wasmaking his way to pay a secret
visit."
"Are you quite sure that Asta was in ignorance of it?"
"Quite confident."
"You told her nothing?"
"Of course not. I have kept my own counsel and remained with my eyesvery wide-open. Every day has rendered it more plain that our friend isnot what he pretends to be."
The situation was, I saw, a most critical one. The young man loved Astavery devotedly, and, suspecting some undefined evil of Shaw, was nowwatching his movements as narrowly as a cat watches a mouse. This wascurious, having regard to Arnold's written words of caution. Thelatter's suspicion seemed to have been aroused after his arrival inLondon.
"Have you