CHAPTER XVII
WHENCE DID THEY COME?
In the darkness nobody spoke for a moment. Not one of them could havesaid anything for a king's ransom. Apart from the feeling ofsuffocation, the gradual poppy sleep of death that filled the room as agreat wave suddenly engulfs some rocky cave, the dramatic horror of thedarkness held them fast.
At the same time there was something of a shock, a healthy shock in theplunge from light to gloom. A fitful purple gleam still flickered wherethe blazing paraffin had licked the hard oak polished floor; the breathof the sea breeze was bracing. It was Marion who first came to herselfas one comes out of a horrid nightmare.
"Oh, oh," she shuddered. "Who opened the window?"
Nobody responded for a moment. Ralph had crept to Geoffrey's side. Itwas marvelous how he found his way in the intense darkness.
"Say you did it," he whispered. "You must say you did it. Speak."
"I suppose I did," Geoffrey murmured. "I seem to recollect something ofthe kind."
"You have saved our lives," said Marion. "Will somebody ring the bell?"
Servants came without much dismay or surprise. They were used to amazingthings at Ravenspur. It would have caused no more than a painfulsensation to come in some night after dinner and find the whole familymurdered.
"Bring more lamps," Ralph Ravenspur said quietly.
Lamps were brought. The disordered litter on the floor was swept up,the broken globes, the dainty china, the glass and silver. The whiteflowers were no longer there. This was a puzzle to everybody but Ralph,who had gathered them at the first distraction, and thrown them out ofthe window.
There was silence for a minute or two after the servants had withdrawn.Then Rupert Ravenspur dashed his fist on the table in a passion ofdespair.
"Great Heaven!" he said. "How long, how long? How much more of this isit possible to bear and still retain the powers of reason? What was it?"
"Could it have been the flowers?" Vera suggested. "It was my fault."
"No, no," Marion cried. "Why your fault? Those white blossoms wereinnocent enough; we packed them ourselves, we arranged them together."
"Still, I believe it was the flowers," Geoffrey observed. "Why shouldthey have fascinated us in that strange way? It was horrible!"
Horrible indeed, and not the less so because the horrible was notconspicuous by its absence. That innocent flowers, pure white blossoms,could lend themselves to a dark mystery like this was almost maddening.
And yet it must have been so, for no sooner had the flowers been removedand the air of heaven had entered the room than the grip and bitternessof death were past.
"I am sure we were near the end," Marion cried. "Geoff, was it you whosnatched the cloth from the table?"
Geoffrey was about to deny the suggestion when his eyes fell uponRalph's face. It was eager, almost pleading in its aspect. Like a flashthe changing expression was gone.
"It must have been mechanical," Geoffrey murmured. "One does thosethings and calls them impulses. Inspiration would be a betterexpression, I fancy."
They crowded round him and gave him their thanks, all save Ralph, whosat drumming his fingers on the table as if nothing out of the ordinaryhad happened. Nothing seemed to draw him out of his environment.
Still, it was another man who came creeping to Geoffrey's room when thelights were extinguished and the castle was wrapped in slumber. Therewas an inner room lying out over the sea, which Geoffrey usedindifferently for a smoking room and study.
"I can smoke my pipe here without a chance of our being overheard," hesaid. "Well, was the adventure this evening creepy enough for you?"
Geoffrey shuddered slightly. Flagrant, rioting dangers would have had noterrors for him. It was the unseen that played on the nerves ofimagination.
"Horrible," he said, "but why this mystery?"
"As far as I am concerned, you mean? My dear Geoffrey, it is imperativethat I should be regarded by everybody as a poor blind worm who isincapable for good or evil. I want people to pity me, to make way forme, to treat me as if I were of no account, a needless cumberer of theground. I want to see that you prevent these tragedies by sheer chance.I will strike when the time comes!"
The hoarse voice had sunk to a whisper, the sightless eyes rolled, thethin fingers crooked as if dragging down an unseen foe to destruction.As suddenly Ralph changed his mood and laughed noiselessly.
"Let us not prophesy," he said. "What did you think of the episode?"
"I don't know what to think about it."
"Then you have no theory to offer?"
"No, uncle. I am in the dark. That is where the keen edge of the terrorcomes in. I should say it was the flowers. As the atmosphere of the roomgrew warmer, as the heat from the lamps drew out the fragrance of theblooms, the perfume seemed to become overpowering. The perfume rivetedattention, arrested the senses, and gradually sense and feeling appearedto go altogether."
"Perfectly right, Geoffrey. Still, there is nothing very wonderfulabout it. Lucretia Borgia used the same means to despatch her victims. Apoisoned bouquet was a favorite weapon of hers, you remember."
"But the poison there was conveyed through the palms of the hands. Whydo we never hear of that sort of poison nowadays?"
Ralph smiled as he refilled his pipe.
"I've got some of it myself," he said, "or at least Tchigorsky has. Itis poor, inartistic stuff, compared to some of the poisons known toTchigorsky and myself. There are Eastern poisons unknown to science;toxicology little dreams of the drugs that Tchigorsky and your pooruncle wot of.
"You are right. Those flowers were impregnated with the deadly drug thatcomes out with warmth. It comes as quickly as a breath of wind and doesits work and vanishes almost immediately, leaving no trace behind.Another minute and the whole family of Ravenspur had been no more. Therewould have been a fearful sensation: doctors would have discoursedlearnedly--and vaguely--and there would have been an end to the matter.Not a soul in England would have had the remotest idea of the source ofthe tragedy. Look here."
From under his coat Ralph produced a single white carnation.
"That was on the table to-night," he said. "Take it in your hands. Smellit. Do you recognize anything beyond the legitimate perfume?"
Geoffrey held the perfect bloom to his nostrils. He could detect nothingfurther.
"It seems to me to be as innocent as beautiful," he said.
"So it is, so it is--at present. Give it me back again. See, I have herea little white, dull powder. In it is the one-thousandth part of a grainof the deadly drug. I dust the powder on the carnation, thus. Thenatural moisture in the leaves absorbs it and the flower presents anormal aspect. Smell it."
"I smell nothing at all," said Geoffrey.
"Not yet. Hold it to the lamp for ten seconds."
Geoffrey did so. At the end of the brief space he placed it to hisnostrils as Ralph suggested. Immediately a drowsy feeling came over him,a desire for sleep, a desire to be at rest in body and mind, in heartand pulses. Indeed, it seemed to him as if his heart had stoppedalready.
Through a yellow scented mist he seemed to see his uncle and hear thelatter's voice commanding him to drop the carnation. He could not havedone it to save himself from destruction. Then the flower was pluckedaway.
"How long have I been asleep?" he asked, suddenly opening his eyes.
"You have been across the Styx and back in exactly fifty seconds," Ralphsaid gravely. "Now you see the effect of that stuff. Wonderfullyartistic, isn't it?"
Geoffrey gazed at the flower with sickening horror. Ralph seemed todivine this, for he picked it up, sniffed it coolly and placed it in hisbutton-hole.
"The evil effect has gone, believe me," he said. "The dose was verysmall, and I did not mix it with water, which makes a difference."
"Still, I don't follow," Geoffrey said. "We know those flowers were cutand arranged by Vera and Marion. It would have been impossible for anyone to have entered the dining-room and replaced them with other whi
teflowers. And for anybody to have had the time to impregnate them one byone--oh, it is impossible!"
"Not at all, Geoffrey. A mystery is like a conjuring trick--seeminglyinsoluble, but you know how it is done, and then it becomes bald andcommonplace. Suppose the stuff is mixed with water and the mixtureplaced in a small spray worked by an india-rubber ball. Then one goesinto the dining hall for half a minute, gives two or three rapid motionsof the hand, and the thing is accomplished."
"Yes, that sounds easy. You speak as if you knew who did it."
"Yes," Ralph said, with one of his spasmodic smiles, "I do."
"You know the author of this dastardly thing. Tell me."
"Not yet. I dare not tell you, because you are young and might betrayyourself. I could not confide my secret to any one, even the bestdetective in England. It is only known to Tchigorsky and myself. Youshall help me in drawing the net around the miscreants, but you must notask me that."
"And to-night's doings are to remain a secret?"
"Of course. Nobody is to know anything. They may conjecture as much asthey like. Good heavens, if any one in the house were to know what Ihave told you to-night, all my work would be undone. You are myinstrument, by which I ward off danger without attracting attention tomyself. You are the unsuspecting boy, who by sheer good luck foils theenemy. Keep it up, keep it up; for so long as you appear young andunsophisticated, there is less of the deadly danger."