CHAPTER VI
A SHOT IN THE DARK
The church clock, some distance over Herne's Hill which lies at the backof Merriton Towers, broke the half silence that had fallen upon thelittle group of men in the warm smoking room with twelve sonorous,deep-throated notes. At sound of them Merriton got to his feet andstretched his hands above his head. A damper had fallen over the spiritsof his guests after Wynne had gone out into the night on his foolisherrand, and the fury against him that had stirred Nigel's soul wasgradually wearing off.
"Well, Wynne said twelve, didn't he?" he remarked, with a sort ofhalf-laugh as he surveyed the grave faces of the men who were seated ina semi-circle about him, "and twelve it is. We'll wait another half hour,and then if he doesn't come we'll make a move for bed. He'll be playingsome beastly trick upon us, you may be sure of that. What a horribletemperament the man has! He was supposed to be putting up with theBrelliers to-night--old man Brellier was decent enough to ask him--andpossibly he'll simply turn in there and laugh to himself at the pictureof us chaps sitting here in the mornin' and waitin' for his return!"
Doctor Bartholomew shook his white head with a good deal of obstinacy.
"I think you're wrong there Nigel. Wynne is a man of his word, drunk orsober. He'll come back, no doubt. Unless something has happened to him."
"And this from our sceptical disbeliever, boys!" struck in Tony West,raising his hands in mock horror. "Nigel, m'lad, you've made an earlyconversion. The good doctor has a sneaking belief in the story. How now,son? What's your plan of action?"
"Half an hour's wait more, and then to bed," said Merriton, tossing backhis head and setting his jaw. "I offered Wynne a bed in the first place,but he saw fit to refuse me. If he hasn't made use of this opportunityto turn in at the Brelliers' place, I'll eat my hat. What about a roundof cards, boys, till the time is up?"
So the cards were produced, and the game began. But it was a half-heartedattempt at best, for everyone's ear was strained for the front-door bell,and everyone had an eye half-cocked toward the window. Before the halfhour was up the game had fizzled out. And still Dacre Wynne did not putin an appearance.
Borkins, having been summoned, brought in some whisky and Merritonremarked casually:
"Mr. Wynne has ventured out to try and discover the meaning of the FrozenFlames, Borkins. He'll be back some time this evening--or rather morning,I should say, for it's after midnight--and the other gentlemen and myselfare going to make a move for bed. Keep your ears peeled in case you hearhim. I sleep like the very old devil himself, when once I do get off."
Borkins, on hearing this, turned suddenly gray, and the perspirationbroke out on his forehead.
"Gone, sir? Mr. Wynne--gone--out _there_?" he said in a stifled voice."Oh my Gawd, sir. It's--it's suicide, that's what it is! And Mr.Wynne's--gone!... 'E'll never come back, I swear."
Merriton laughed easily.
"Well, keep your swearing to yourself, Borkins," he returned, "and seethat the gentlemen's rooms are ready for 'em. Doctor Bartholomew has theone next to mine, and Mr. West's is on the other side. I gave Mrs. Dredgefull instructions this morning.... Good-night, Borkins, and pleasantdreams."
Borkins left. But his face was a dull drab shade and he was tremblinglike a man who has received a terrible shock.
"There's a case of genuine scare for you," remarked Doctor Bartholomewquietly, drawing on his pipe. "That man's nerves are like unstrung wires.Hardly ever seen a chap so frightened in all the course of my medicalcareer. He's either had experience of the thing, or he knows somethingabout it. Whichever way it is, he's the most terrified object I've everlaid eyes on!"
Merriton broke into a laugh. But there was not much merriment in it,rather a note of uneasiness which made Tony West glance up at himsharply.
"Best place for _you_, old chap, is your bed," he said, getting to hisfeet and laying an arm across Nigel's shoulders. "Livin' down here doesseem to play the old Harry with one's nerves. I'm as jumpy as a kittenmyself. Take it from me, Wynne will return, Nigel, and when he does he'llsee to it that we all hear him. He'll probably break every pane of glassin the place with a stone, and play a devil's dance upon the knocker.That's his usual way of expressin' his pleasure, I believe. Here, here'shealth to you, old boy, and happiness, and the best of luck."
That little ceremony being over, they turned in, Doctor Bartholomew,his arm linked in Nigel's going with him to his bedroom, and, in thehalf-dusk of the spluttering candles, they stood together at theuncurtained window and looked out in silence upon the flames, the FrozenFlames that Wynne had gone out to investigate. For quite ten minutes theystood still. Then the doctor stirred himself and broke into a littlelaugh.
"Well, well," he said comfortably, "whatever our friend Wynne is going todo, I don't really think we need put any credence in the story that hewon't return, Nigel. So you can go to bed in comfort on that, can't you?"
Merriton nodded. Then he yawned and shut his eyes.
"What's that? Credence in the story? Of course not, Doctor. I'm not sucha fool as I may look. Wynne's playing a game on us, and at this momenthe is probably seated in Brellier's study having a laugh at the rest ofus, waitin' up for him anxiously, like a lot of scared old women. Heigho!I'm tired.... You're interested in firearms, Doctor. Here's my littlepet, my sleepin' companion, you understand, that has been with me throughmany a hot campaign." He leaned over and took a little revolver out ofthe drawer of the little cabinet that stood by the bedside. The doctor,who had a remarkably fine collection of firearms, handled it withpractised hands, remarked upon its good points, cocked the tiny thing,and then lifting his head looked Nigel straight in the eyes.
"I see you keep it loaded, my boy," he said quietly.
Merriton laughed.
"Yes. Habit, I suppose. One needed a loaded revolver in the jungle whereevery black man's hand was against you. Nice little toy, isn't it?"
"Yes. Looks very business-like, too."
"It is. Twice now it has saved my life. I owe it a good turn.... Well,"laying the thing down upon the top of the cabinet and turning to thedoctor with a smile. "I suppose you'll be turning in now. Pleasantdreams, old chap, and plenty of 'em. If you hear anything of Wynne--"
"I'll let you know," broke in the doctor, returning the smileaffectionately. "Good-night."
He turned and went out through the door to his own room, the next onealong the hall.
Nigel, after hesitating a moment, strode over to the window. It was stillas black as a pocket outside, for dawn was not due for some hours yet,and against the darkness the flames still danced their nightly revel. Heshook his fist at them and then broke into a harsh laugh as the thoughtof Dacre Wynne came to him again. Dash the fellow! He was always, in someway or another, intruding upon his privacy, whether it was mental orotherwise. Then, as he looked, it seemed as though a fresh flame suddenlyflashed out in the velvet darkness to the left of the others. To hisexcited fancy it looked bigger, brighter, _newer_! But that wasimpossible! The Fens were uninhabited.
He watched the light for a moment or two, and then suddenly, obsessedwith a strange fear, strode across the room and picked up the tinyrevolver.
"Damn it! I'm going silly!" he exclaimed angrily, and throwing the windowopen took aim, his brain on fire with the champagne and the excitement ofthe evening. "Now let's see if you'll go, you infernal little devil!"
His finger touched the trigger, the thing spoke softly--that was one ofits chief attractions for Nigel--and spat forth a little jet of flame.And as it did so, his brain cleared like magic. He laughed and shookhimself as though out of a trance into which he had fallen. The light wasstill there. What a fool he was, potting at glow-worms like a madman!He shut the window with a bang and started to undress, and then went overto the door as he heard the doctor's voice outside.
"Thought I heard a shot, Nigel, what--?"
"You did. I'm a silly ass and have been potting at those beastly flames,"returned Merriton, shamefacedly. "For Heaven's sake, don't tell the othe
rfellows. They'll think I've gone loony. And for a moment I believe I had.But there's no harm done."
"Potting at those flames!" The doctor's voice was almost concerned. Thenhe shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, well, there's nothing in it! I must sayI've taken a chance shot now and again at a bird myself from my bedroombefore now. Still, get to bed, Nigel, like a good fellow, and have somesleep. Here, give me the pistol. You'll be potting at me before I knowwhere I am. I'll take it into my room, thank you!"
"Right you are!" Merriton's laugh rang more normally and the doctornodded with pleasure. "Good-night, Doctor."
"Good-night."
Then the door closed again, and the house dropped once more intostillness. In ten minutes Merriton tumbled into bed. He slept like alog.... He hadn't seen the doctor drop that sleeping draught into thatlast whisky while Tony West kept him talking. That was why he slept.
Later on, however, his shame at his own foolishness in firing his pistolat mere flames of the night was the cause of grave difficulty. For whenhe related the story of the whole affair to Cleek's master mind he _leftthat out_! And very nearly was it his own undoing, for strange was to bethe outcome of that shot in the night.