CHAPTER IV
A STRANGE ADVENTURE
Conniston and Bernard Gore were as much as possible in one another'scompany during the stay of the former in town. Thinking he would go outto the Cape sooner than he did, Bernard had impulsively got rid of hiscivilian clothes, and therefore had to keep constantly to his uniform.But in those days everyone was in khaki, as the war fever was in theair, so amongst the throng he passed comparatively unnoticed. At allevents he managed to keep away from the fashionable world, and thereforesaw neither Sir Simon nor Lucy. Beyond the fact that his grandfather wasin town Bernard knew nothing, and was ignorant that the old man hadtaken up his abode in Crimea Square. So he told Durham when the lawyerquestioned him.
The three old schoolfellows came together at Durham's house, which wassituated on Camden Hill. Faithful to his intention to see Gore, thelawyer had sent a note asking Conniston where Bernard was to be found.Already Conniston had told Durham of his chance meeting in the Park, sowhen he received Durham's letter he insisted on taking Gore to dinner atthe lawyer's house. Bernard was only too glad, and the three had a longtalk over old times. The dinner was excellent, the wine was good, andalthough the young man's housekeeper was rather surprised that herprecise master should dine with a couple of soldiers, she did her bestto make them comfortable. When the meal was ended Durham carried off hisguests to the library, where they sat around a sea-wood fire sippingcoffee and smoking the excellent cigars of their host. Durham alone wasin evening dress, as Gore kept to khaki, and Conniston, for the sake ofcompany, retained his lancer uniform. Their host laughed as hecontemplated the two.
"I feel inclined to go to the front myself," said he, handing Gore aglass of kuemmel, "but the business would suffer."
"Leave it in charge of a clerk," said Conniston, in his hair-brainedway. "You have no ties to keep you here. Your parents are dead--youaren't married, and--"
"I may be engaged for all you know."
"Bosh! There's a look about an engaged man you can't mistake. Look atBernard there. He is--"
"_Pax! Pax!_" cried Gore, laughing. "Leave me alone, Conniston. But areyou really engaged, Mark?"
"No," said Mark, rubbing his knees rather dismally. "I should like tobe. A home-loving man like myself needs a wife to smile at him acrossthe hearth."
"And just now you talked of going to the front," put in the young lord."You don't know your own mind. But, I say, this is jolly. Back I go tobarracks to-morrow and shall remember this comfortable room and thisglimpse of civilized life."
"You were stupid to enlist," said Durham, sharply. "Had you come to me,we could have arranged matters better. You knew I'd see you through,Conniston. I have ample means."
"I don't want to be seen through," said Conniston, wilfully. "Besides,it's fun, this war. I'm crazy to go, and now that Bernard's coming alongit will be like a picnic."
"Not much, I fear," said Bernard, "if all the tales we hear are true."
"Right," said Durham. "This won't be the military promenade thegenerality of people suppose it will be. The Boers are obstinate."
"So are we," argued Conniston; "but don't let us talk shop. We'll getheaps of that at the Cape. Mark, you wanted to see Bernard about somebusiness. Shall I leave the room?"
"No, no!" said Gore, hastily. "Mark can say what he likes about mybusiness before you, Conniston. I have nothing to conceal."
"Nothing?" asked Durham, looking meaningly at his friend.
Gore allowed an expression of surprise to flit across his expressiveface. "What are you driving at, Mark?"
"Well," said Durham, slowly, "your grandfather came to see me the otherday on business--"
"I can guess what the business was," put in Bernard, bitterly, andthinking that a new will had been made.
The lawyer smiled. "Quite so. But don't ask me to betray the secrets ofmy client. But Sir Simon knew you were in the Imperial Yeomanry,Bernard. He learned that from Beryl."
"Who is, no doubt, spying on me. It is thanks to Julius that I had therow with my grandfather. He--"
"You needn't trouble to explain," interrupted Durham. "I know. Sir Simonexplained. But he also asked me if you knew he was in town."
"I told Bernard," said Conniston, "and you told me."
"Yes. But does Bernard know where Sir Simon is stopping?"
"No," said Gore, emphatically, "I don't."
"Neither do I. What are you getting at, Mark?"
"It's a queer thing," went on Durham, taking no notice of Conniston'squestion, "but afterwards--yesterday, in fact--Sir Simon wrote sayingthat he heard from Mrs. Gilroy of an Imperial Yeoman who had beenvisiting in the kitchen of Crimea Square--"
"What about Crimea Square?" asked Gore, quickly.
"Your grandfather is stopping there--in No. 32; old Jefferies' house."
"Oh! I knew nothing of that. Go on."
"Sir Simon," proceeded the lawyer, looking at Gore, "stated in hisletter that the description of the soldier, as given by the maid,applied to you, Bernard."
Gore stared and looked puzzled, as did Conniston. "But I don't quiteunderstand," said the former. "Do you mean that my grandfather thinksthat I have been making love to some servant in Crimea Square?"
"In No. 32. Yes. That is what Sir Simon's letter intimated to me."
The other men looked at one another and burst out laughing. "What jollyrubbish!" said Lord Conniston. "Why, Bernard is the last person to dosuch a thing."
"It's all very well to laugh," said Durham, rather tartly, "but you see,Gore, Sir Simon may think that you went to the kitchen, not to make loveto the maid, but to see how he was disposed towards you."
"But, Mark, I haven't been near the place."
"Are you sure?" asked Mark, sharply.
Bernard, always hot-tempered, jumped up. "I won't bear that from anyman," he said. "You have no right to doubt my word, Durham."
"Don't fire up over nothing, Gore. It is in your own interest that Ispeak. I knew well enough that you wouldn't make love to this housemaidmentioned by Sir Simon--Jane Riordan is her name. But I fancied youmight have gone to see if your grandfather--"
"I went to see nothing," replied Gore, dropping back into his chair witha disgusted air. "I don't sneak round in that way. When my grandfatherkicked me out of the house, I said good-bye to Alice and came to London.I saw you, to get some money, and afterwards I enlisted. I never knewthat Sir Simon was in town till Conniston told me. I never knew he livedin Crimea Square till you explained. My duties have kept me hard at workall the time. And even if they hadn't," said the young man, wrathfully,"I certainly wouldn't go making love to servants to gain informationabout my own people."
"Quite so," said Durham, smoothly. "Then why--"
"Drop the subject, Mark."
"Sit down and be quiet, Bernard," said Conniston, pulling him back intohis seat, for he had again risen. "Mark has something to say."
"If you will let me say it," said Durham, with the air of a man severelytried by a recalcitrant witness.
"Go on, then," said Bernard, and flung himself into his chair in arather sullen manner. His troubles had worn his nerves thin, and evenfrom his old schoolfellow he was not prepared to take any scolding. Allthe same, he secretly saw that he was accusing Durham of taking aliberty where none was meant.
"It's this way," said the lawyer, when Gore was smoothed down for thetime being. "We know that Beryl hates you."
"He wants the money."
"I know that." Durham smiled when he thought of the destroyed will; buthe could hardly explain his smile. "Well, it is strange that thedescription given by the maid of this soldier--and a yeoman, mindyou--should be like you. Have you a double?"
"Not that I know of."
"Then someone is impersonating you so as to arouse the wrath of yourgrandfather against you. Sir Simon is a proud old man, and the idea thatyou condescended to flirt with--"
"But I didn't, I tell you!" cried the exasperated Gore.
; "No. We know that. But Sir Simon, judging from his letter, thinks so."
"He has no right to do that. My conduct never gave him any reason tothink I would sink so low."
"My dear chap," said Conniston, with the air of a Socrates, "when anyonehas his monkey up, he will believe anything."
"Conniston is quite right," said the lawyer, "though he expresseshimself with his usual elegance. Sir Simon, with Beryl at his elbow, isinclined to believe the worst of you, Bernard, and probably thinks youhave deteriorated sufficiently to permit your making use of even sohumble an instrument as a housemaid."
"Bah!" said Gore, in a rage. "What right has he to--"
"Don't be so furious, my dear man. I am advising you for your own good,and not charging seven-and-six either."
This made Bernard laugh. "But it does make a fellow furious to hear hisnearest--I won't say dearest--think so badly of one."
"One's relatives always think the worst," said Conniston, oracularly."Miss Plantagenet thinks so badly of me that I'll never see that fivethousand a year. Miss Malleson will have it, and you, Bernard, will liveon it. _Pax! Pax!_" for Bernard gave him a punch on the shoulder.
"Dick, you're a silly ass! Go on, Durham."
"Well," said Durham, beginning in his invariable manner, "I fancy thatBeryl is up to some trick. You have not been near the place; so someonemade up to impersonate you is sneaking round. Of course, there is theother alternative, Mrs. Gilroy may be telling a lie!"
"She wouldn't," rejoined Gore, quickly. "She is on my side."
"So you told me. But your grandfather thinks otherwise. We were talkingabout you the other day."
"And Sir Simon said no good of me," was Bernard's remark. "But what isto be done?"
"Only one thing. Go and see your grandfather and have the matter sifted.If Mrs. Gilroy is lying you can make her prove the truth. If she tellsthe truth, you can see if Beryl has a hand in the matter."
Gore rose and began to pace the room. "I should like to see mygrandfather," said he, "as I want to apologise for my behavior. But I amafraid if we come together there will be trouble."
"I daresay--if Beryl is at his elbow. Therefore, I do not advise you tocall at Crimea Square. But when Sir Simon goes down to the Hall again,you can make it your business to see him and set matters right."
"I am afraid that is impossible," said Gore, gloomily, "unless I give upAlice, and that I won't do." He struck the table hard.
"Don't spoil the furniture, Bernard," said Conniston, lighting acigarette. "You do what Mark says. Go down to Hurseton."
"I don't want to be known in this kit, and I have parted with my plainclothes," objected the other.
"You always were an impulsive beast," said Conniston, with the candourof a long friendship. "Well, then"--he rose and crossed to thewriting-table--"I'll scrawl a note to Mrs. Moon telling her to put youup at Cove Castle. She can hold her tongue, and the castle is in soout-of-the-way a locality that no one will spot you there. You can thenwalk across to Hurseton--it's only ten miles--and see if that Red Windowis alight."
"Your grandfather said something about the Red Window," said Durham,while Conniston scribbled the note in a kind of print, since Mrs. Moonwas not particularly well educated. "What is it?"
Bernard explained the idea of Lucy, and how she was playing the part ofhis friend, to let him know how matters stood. "I am always startled bya red window now," he said, laughing at his own folly, "as it means somuch to me. The other night I saw a chemist's sign and it made me situp."
"It's an absurdly romantic idea," said Durham, with all the scorn of alawyer for the quaint. "Why revive an old legendary idea when a simpleletter--"
"Mrs. Gilroy and Julius would stop any letters," said Bernard, "that is,if she is hostile to me, which she may be. I am not sure of herattitude."
"What is the legend of the Red Window?" asked Durham.
"It's too long a story to tell," said Bernard, glancing at the clock,which pointed to a quarter to ten, "and I'm due at barracks. I'll tellyou about it on another occasion. Meantime--"
"Meantime," said Durham, rising, "I advise you to drop red windows andlegends and go down to see Sir Simon boldly. A short interview will puteverything right."
"And might put everything wrong."
"No," said Durham, earnestly, "believe me, your grandfather will be moreeasy to deal with than you think. I am his solicitor and I dare not saymuch, but I advise you to see him as soon as you can. The sooner thebetter, since Beryl is a dangerous enemy to have."
"Well, Lucy is my friend."
"And Mrs. Gilroy your enemy along with Beryl."
"I'm not so sure of that," began Gore, when Conniston lounged towardshim with a letter.
"You give that to Mrs. Moon," said he, "and she will put you up and holdher tongue and make things pleasant. But don't say I am in town, as Ihave not dated the letter."
"Does she think you are in America?" asked Bernard, putting the letterinto his pocket, and promising to use it should occasion offer.
"Yes. She thinks a great deal of the West family," said Conniston,taking another glass of kuemmel, "and she would howl if she heard I was amere private. And I don't know but what she may not know. I saw thatyoung brute of a Judas when I left you the other day, Bernard."
"Judas?" echoed Durham, who was unlocking the spirit-stand.
Conniston sat down and stretched out his legs. "He's Mrs. Moon'sgrandson. Jerry Moon is his name--but he's such a young scoundrel that Icall him Judas as more appropriate. I got him a place with Taberley, thetobacconist, but he took money or something and was kicked out. Theother day when I met him he was selling matches. I gave him half asovereign to go back to his grandmother, so by this time I expect he'sat Cove Castle telling her lies. I instructed him to hold his tongueabout my soldiering."
"Why didn't you send him to me?" said Mark. "I would have frightenedhim, and made him hold his tongue."
"If you could frighten Judas you could frighten his father, the Old 'Undown below," said Conniston, laughing. "He's what the Artful Dodgerwould call a young Out-and-Outer; a kind of Jack Sheppard in grain.He'll come your way yet, Mark, passing by on his journey to the gallows.He's only thirteen, but a born criminal. He'll hold his tongue about meso long as it suits him, and sell me to make a sixpence. Oh, he's adelightful young scamp, I promise you!"
All this aimless chatter made Bernard rather impatient. "I must cutalong," he said; "it's rather foggy and it will take me a long time tofetch my barracks. No, thank you, Mark, I don't want anything to drink.Give me a couple of those cigarettes, Conniston. Good night."
"Won't you stop the night?" said Durham, hospitably. "Conniston isstaying."
"He's on furlough and I'm not," said Bernard, who was now putting on hisslouch hat in the hall. "Good night, Conniston. Good night, Durham."
"You'll think over what I told you," said the lawyer, opening the doorhimself and looking outside. "I say, what a fog! Stop here, Bernard."
"No! No! Thanks all the same." Gore stepped out into the white mist,buttoning his coat. "Give me a light. There! Go back and yarn with Dick,I'll come and see you again. As to Sir Simon--"
"What about him?"
"I'll think over what you said. If possible I'll go down and stop atCove Castle, and see Sir Simon at night. By the way, what's the time,Durham?"
The lawyer was about to pull out his watch when Conniston appeared atthe end of the hall in high spirits. "My dear friend," he said in adramatic manner, "it is the twenty-third of October, in the year of ourLord one thousand nine hundred and--"
"Bosh!" interrupted Bernard. "The time, Mark?"
"Just ten o'clock. Good night!"
"Good night, and keep that wild creature in order. Conniston, I'll lookyou up to-morrow."
It was indeed a foggy night. Bernard felt as though he were passingthrough wool, and the air was bitterly cold. However, he thrust hishands into his pockets and smoked bravely as he felt his way down thehill. Hardly had he issued from the gate when he felt som
eone clutch hiscoat. Brave as Gore was he started, for in this fog he might meet withall manner of unpleasant adventures. However, being immediately under alamp, he saw that a small boy was holding on to him. A pretty lad helooked, though clothed in rags and miserable with the cold. In one handhe held a tray of matches and in the other a piece of bread. His feetwere bare and his rags scarcely covered him. In a child-like, innocentmanner he looked up into the face of the tall soldier. "Well, boy," saidBernard, feeling for sixpence, "Are you wanting to get home?"
"Ain't got no home," said the boy, hoarsely. "I sleeps in a barrel, Idoes, when 'ard up. It's you as the lady wants to see."
"The lady!" Bernard looked down at the imp. "What do you mean?"
"It's this way, my lord," said the boy, looking like a cherub ofinnocence. "The lady, she says to me that in this street you'll see,before twelve, a soldier in yeller clothes. Tell him to foller to theRed Winder."
"What's that?" asked Gore, sharply, and quite taken aback by hearingthese words on the lips of this ragged brat. "Where did you see thelady, boy?"
"Down Kensington way," said the boy jerking his head over his shoulder."She says, 'Tell him to foller to the Red Winder.' Come along!" and hedarted off in the fog.
"But you must explain," began Bernard, when he stopped. The boy haddisappeared into the fog, and wondering how he came to be in possessionof this information which concerned him, Gore walked along feeling hisway by the brick wall. Perhaps Lucy had sent the message, and the RedWindow was to be seen in the Crimea Square house. Bernard wished to askthe boy further questions, but the lad had vanished. In much perplexitythe young man went down the hill towards Kensington High Street. As hepaused at the corner wondering if it would be wise to go to the Square,and wondering also where it was, the boy suddenly appeared again at hiselbow. "Come along acrost the road," he growled, and vanished again.Then Bernard got lost in the fog till the boy found him again.
Bernard, not thinking any harm could come of the adventure, as he hadample confidence in his right arm, went across the street. The boyreappeared and led him down a side street. Gore tried to seize the boyand to detain him in order to ask questions, but the imp kept well outof reach, and only appeared when he thought there was danger of the tallsoldier losing his way. In this manner Bernard was led down the quietstreet, 'longside a high wall and through the heart of the dense fog. Hekept his eyes open for any possible assailant, and did not feel theleast afraid. All the same, he began to think he was foolish to followon such a will-o'-the-wisp errand. But that the boy had mentioned theRed Window, Bernard would have turned on his heel. As it was, he feltcurious enough to proceed. Suddenly the boy--a few feet ahead--led himinto a wide space which was densely filled with fog. Here his guideturned to the right, and then whistled. When Gore, who had followed,heard that whistle he tightened his hold on his stick. The boy hadvanished, and there he was alone in the heart of the fog. No oneappeared, and he could not even see his guide. Looking overhead, Bernardsuddenly saw a Red Window on the first story of a house. The houseloomed hugely through the fog and was in some measure revealed by thelight of a street lamp which threw a dull glimmer on to steps ascendingto the door. There was a light behind the glass over the door, but theyoung man did not look at that. He was staring at the window in thefirst storey, which showed a fiery red color.
"I wonder if this is Crimea Square and the house," muttered Bernard,stepping forward. "And whether Lucy put that light there, and sent theboy to tell me. But how could she know I was with Durham to-night?"
Again he heard the whistle, and then came a shriek which apparently camefrom the house. Bernard ran to the steps, wondering if anything was thematter. The door opened, and a woman burst out of the house shrieking atthe pitch of her voice--"Murder! Murder! Murder!" she cried. "Oh, thepolice--the police! Murder!"
"Mrs. Gilroy!" Bernard saw her face in the light which streamed from theopen door, and which was thrown by the street lamp vaguely through thefog. She stopped and clutched him, staring into his face.
"Come," she said in a harsh whisper, and dragged him forward. Quitebewildered, Gore suffered himself to be led. Mrs. Gilroy dragged himrather than led him up the stairs and into a room. There he saw hisgrandfather seated by the fire with a handkerchief round his neck, andanother tied across his mouth--quite dead. "Murder!" said Mrs. Gilroy.