CHAPTER XII
"AS A THIEF IN THE NIGHT--"
The arrival of Dollops lighted a spark of great interest in the servants'hall. The newly engaged maids accepted him for his youth and sharpmanners, as an innovation which they rather fancied than otherwise.Borkins alone stood aloof. It seemed to the man that here, in Dollops'lithe, young form, in the very ginger of his carrotty hair, in thestridency of this cockney accent--which Cleek had endeavoured toeradicate without a particle of success--was the reembodiment of theolder, shorter, more mature James Collins. To hear him speak in thatsharp, young voice of his was to make the hair upon one's neck prick insupernatural discomfort. It was as though James Collins had come back tolife again in the form of this East Side youngster, who was so extremelyunlike his drawling, over-pampered master.
But Dollops had been primed for his task, and set to work at it with awill.
"Been in these 'ere parts long, Mr. Borkins?" he queried as they all satat supper, and he himself munched bread and butter and fish paste with avigour that was lacking in only one quality--manners.
Borkins sniffed, and passed up his cup to the housekeeper.
"Before you were born, I dessay," he responded tartly.
"Is that so, Methuselah?" Dollops gave a little boyish giggle at sightof the butler's face. "Well, seein' as I'm gettin' along in life,you must be a good way parst the meridian, if yer don't mind my sayin'so.... Funny thing, on the way down I run across a chap wot's visitin'pals in this 'ere village, and 'e pulls me the strangest yarn as ever abody 'eard. Summink to do wiv flames it were--Frozen Flames or icicles orfrost of some kind. But 'e was so full up of mystery that there weren'tno gettin' nuffin out er 'im. Any one 'ere tell me the story? 'E fair gotme curiosity fired, 'e did!"
A glance laden with sinister meaning flew around the table. Borkinscleared his throat as every eye fastened itself upon him, and he swelledvisibly beneath his brass-buttoned waistcoat.
"If you're any wiser than you look, young man, you'll leave well alone,and not go stickin' your fingers in other peoples' pie!" he gave outsententiously. "Yes, there is a story--and a very unpleasant one, too.If you use your eyes to-night and look out of the smoking-room window asdusk comes on, you'll see the Frozen Flame for yerself, and won't want tobe arskin' me any fool questions about it. One of the servants 'ere--anda rude, unmannerly London creetur 'e was too!--disappeared a while ago,goin' out across the Fens after night-time when 'e was warned not to.Never seen a sight of 'im since--though I'm not mournin' any, as you kinsee!"
"_Go on!_" Dollops' voice expressed incredulity, amazement, and an awedinterest that rather flattered the butler.
"True as I'm sittin' 'ere!" he responded grimly. "And before that afriend of Sir Nigel's--a fine, big upstandin' man 'e were, name ofWynne--went the same way. Got a little the worse for drink and laughedat the story. Said 'e'd go out and investigate for 'imself. 'E never comeback from that day to this!"
"Gawd's truf! 'Ow orful! You won't find yer 'umble a 'ankerin' after thefresh air come night-time!" broke in Dollops with a little shiver ofterror that was remarkably real. "I'll keep to me downy thank you, an' asyou say, Mr. Borkins, leave well enough alone. You're a wise gentleman,you are!"
Borkins, flattered, still further expanded.
"I won't say as all you cockney chaps are the same as Collins," hereturned magnanimously, "for it takes all kinds ter make a world. If youfeels inclined some time, I'll walk you down to the Pig and Whistle andyou shall 'ave a word or two with a chap I know. 'E'll tell yer somethinkthat'll make your 'air stand on end. You jist trot along ter me whenyou're free, and we'll take a little stroll together."
Dollops' countenance widened into a delighted grin.
Later, Dollops, in the act of laying out Cleek's clothes for dinner,while Cleek himself unpacked leisurely and made the braces that held themirror of the dressing-table gay with multi-coloured ties, gave out thenews of his promised visit to the Pig and Whistle with the august Borkinswith something akin to triumph.
"That's right, lad, that's right. Get friendly with 'em!" returned Cleekwith a pleased smile. "I've an idea we're going to have a pretty livelytime down here, if I'm not much mistaken. Stick to that chap Borkins asyou would to glue. Don't let him get away from you. Follow him whereverhe goes, but don't let the other servants in the place slip out from yourwatchful eye, either. Those Frozen Flames want looking into. I have gravesuspicions of Borkins. His sort generally knows more than almost anyother sort, and he appeared to be sizing me up pretty carefully. Ishouldn't wonder at all, if he had an idea already that I am not the 'manabout town' I appear to be. It will be rotten luck if he has.... Time Igot into my togs, boy.... Here, just hand me that shirt, will you?"
That night certainly proved an even more exciting one than Cleek hadprophesied. The household retired early, as country households are aptto do, but Cleek, however, did not undress. He sat at his window, whichfaced upon the Fens, watching the trail of the flames dancing across thehorizon of night, and trying to solve the riddle that he had come to findthe answer to.
He heard the church clock in the distance chime out the hour of twelve;and still he sat on. The peace of the quiet night stole over him, fillinghis active brain with a restfulness that had been foreign to it for sometime in the stress of his busy life in London. He felt glad he had takenup this case, if only for the view of the countryside at night, thestillness of the untrod marshes, and the absolute absence of every livingthing at this hour.
The clock chimed one, and he heeded it not. Two--half-past--. Of a suddenhe sat bolt upright, then got noiselessly to his feet and glided acrossthe floor to where his bed stood--a monstrous black object with heavycanopy and curtains, a relic of the Victorianism in which this house wasborn. He moved like a cat, absolutely without sound, fleet, sure. Hisfingers found the coverlet and he tore it down, tumbling the clothes andpushing down the pillow so that it looked as if he himself lay there,peacefully sleeping beneath the sheltering blankets.... Then, stillnoiseless, panther-like, he slid his lithe figure under the bed.... Thenthe noise came again. Just the whisper of footsteps in the wide hall, andthen--his door opened soundlessly and for a moment the footsteps stopped.He could feel a presence in the room. If it were Dollops the lad wouldgive some sign. If not--He lay still, scarcely breathing in theenveloping darkness. The footsteps came again, softly, softly paddingacross the room toward him. He saw the black shadows of stockinged feetas they crossed the path of moonlight, and sucked in his breath. Man'sfeet!... Whose?... Then something shook the bedstead with tremendousforce, but without sound. It was as if some object had been hurledforcibly into its softness. The footsteps turned again, hurriedly thistime, and there was a sound of a deep-drawn breath--a breath full ofpent-up, passionate hatred. Then the figure ran lightly across the room,and as it flashed for a moment through the bar of moonlight, Cleek lookedout from his safe hiding-place and--_saw_! The eyes were narrowed in theivory-tinted face, the jaw heavy and undershot as a bull-dog's, while adark coloured mustache straggled untidily across the upper lip. Themoonlight, cruelly clear, picked out the point of something sharp thatshone in one clenched hand, something that looked like a knife--that_was_ a knife.
Then the figure vanished and the door closed noiselessly behind him.
Hmm. So this question of the Frozen Flame was as urgent as all that, wasit? To attempt to murder him, here--in the house of the Squire ofFetchworth. He wriggled out of his hiding place, a little stiff fromthe cramped position he had held, and guardedly lit his candle. Then hesurveyed the bed with set mouth and narrowed eyes. There was a sharpincision through the clothes, an incision quite three inches long, thathad punctured the pillow which lay beneath them--the pillow that hadsaved him his life--and buried itself in the mattress beneath. Gad! apowerful hand that! He stood a moment thinking, pinching up his chin thewhile. He had had his suspicions of Borkins, but the face that he hadseen in the moonlight was not the butler's face. _Whose, then, was it?_