6. _The Ghost with the Club-Foot_
Celebrated critics have written with scorn of what they call 'the longarm of coincidence' in fiction. Coincidence is supposed to be thedevice of a novelist who does not possess ingenuity enough toconstruct a book without it. In France our incomparable writers pay noattention to this, because they are gifted with a keener insight intoreal life than is the case with the British. The superb CharlesDickens, possibly as well known in France as he is wherever theEnglish language is read, and who loved French soil and the Frenchpeople, probably probed deeper into the intricacies of human characterthan any other novelist of modern times, and if you read his works,you will see that he continually makes use of coincidence. Theexperience that has come to me throughout my own strange and variedcareer convinces me that coincidence happens in real life withexceeding frequency, and this fact is especially borne in upon me whenI set out to relate my conflict with the Rantremly ghost, whichwrought startling changes upon the lives of two people, one anobjectionable, domineering man, and the other a humble and crushedwoman. Of course, there was a third person, and the consequences thatcame to him were the most striking of all, as you will learn if you dome the honour to read this account of the episode.
So far as coincidence is concerned, there was first the arrival of thenewspaper clipping, then the coming of Sophia Brooks, and when thatmuch-injured woman left my flat I wrote down this sentence on a sheetof paper:--
'Before the week is out, I predict that Lord Rantremly himself willcall to see me.'
Next day my servant brought in the card of Lord Rantremly.
I must begin with the visit of Sophia Brooks, for though that comessecond, yet I had paid no attention in particular to the newspaperclipping until the lady told her story. My man brought me atypewritten sheet of paper on which were inscribed the words:--
'Sophia Brooks, Typewriting and Translating Office, First Floor, No. 51Beaumont Street, Strand, London, W.C.'
I said to my servant,--
'Tell the lady as kindly as possible that I have no typewriting workto give out, and that, in fact, I keep a stenographer and typewritingmachine on the premises.'
A few moments later my man returned, and said the lady wished to seeme, not about typewriting, but regarding a case in which she hoped tointerest me. I was still in some hesitation about admitting her, formy transactions had now risen to a higher plane than when I was new toLondon. My expenses were naturally very heavy, and it was not possiblefor me, in justice to myself, to waste time in commissions from thepoor, which even if they resulted successfully meant little moneyadded to my banking account, and often nothing at all, because theclient was unable to pay. As I remarked before, I possess a heart themost tender, and therefore must greatly to my grief, steel myselfagainst the enlisting of my sympathy, which, alas! has frequently ledto my financial loss. Still, sometimes the apparently poor areinvolved in matters of extreme importance, and England is so eccentrica country that one may find himself at fault if he closes his door tooharshly. Indeed, ever since my servant, in the utmost good faith,threw downstairs the persistent and tattered beggar-man, who helearned later to his sorrow was actually his Grace the Duke ofVentnor, I have always cautioned my subordinates not to judge toohastily from appearances.
'Show the lady in,' I said, and there came to me, hesitating,backward, abashed, a middle-aged woman, dressed with distressingplainness, when one thinks of the charming costumes to be seen on aParisian boulevard. Her subdued manner was that of one to whom theworld had been cruel. I rose, bowed profoundly, and placed a chair ather disposal, with the air I should have used if my caller had been aRoyal Princess. I claim no credit for this; it is of my nature. Thereyou behold Eugene Valmont. My visitor was a woman. _Voila!_
'Madam,' I said politely, 'in what may I have the pleasure of servingyou?'
The poor woman seemed for the moment confused, and was, I feared, onthe verge of tears, but at last she spoke, and said,--
'Perhaps you have read in the newspapers of the tragedy at RantremlyCastle?'
'The name, madam, remains in my memory, associated elusively with somehint of seriousness. Will you pardon me a moment?' and a vague thoughtthat I had seen the castle mentioned either in a newspaper, or aclipping from one, caused me to pick up the latest bunch which hadcome from my agent. I am imbued with no vanity at all; still it isamusing to note what the newspapers say of one, and therefore I havesubscribed to a clipping agency. In fact, I indulge in twosubscriptions--one personal; the other calling for any pronouncementpertaining to the differences between England and France; for it is mydetermination yet to write a book on the comparative characteristicsof the two people. I hold a theory that the English people are utterlyincomprehensible to the rest of humanity, and this will be duly setout in my forthcoming volume.
I speedily found the clipping I was in search of. It proved to be aletter to the _Times_, and was headed: 'Proposed Destruction ofRantremly Castle'. The letter went on to say that this edifice was oneof the most noted examples of Norman architecture in the north ofEngland; that Charles II had hidden there for some days after hisdisastrous defeat at Worcester. Part of the castle had been battereddown by Cromwell, and later it again proved the refuge of a Stuartwhen the Pretender made it a temporary place of concealment. The newLord Rantremly, it seemed, had determined to demolish this ancientstronghold, so interesting architecturally and historically, and tobuild with its stones a modern residence. Against this act ofvandalism the writer strongly protested, and suggested that Englandshould acquire the power which France constantly exerts, in making anhistorical monument of an edifice so interwoven with the fortunes ofthe country.
'Well, madam,' I said, 'all this extract alludes to is the comingdemolition of Rantremly Castle. Is that the tragedy of which youspeak?'
'Oh no,' she exclaimed; 'I mean the death of the eleventh LordRantremly about six weeks ago. For ten years Lord Rantremly livedpractically alone in the castle. Servants would not remain therebecause the place was haunted, and well it may be, for a terriblefamily the Rantremlys have been, and a cruel, as I shall be able totell you. Up to a month and a half ago Lord Rantremly was waited on bya butler older than himself, and if possible, more wicked. One morningthis old butler came up the stairs from the kitchen, with LordRantremly's breakfast on a silver tray, as was his custom. Hislordship always partook of breakfast in his own room. It is not knownhow the accident happened, as the old servant was going up the stairsinstead of coming down, but the steps are very smooth and slippery,and without a carpet; at any rate, he seems to have fallen from thetop to the bottom, and lay there with a broken neck. Lord Rantremly,who was very deaf, seemingly did not hear the crash, and it issupposed that after ringing and ringing in vain, and doubtless workinghimself into a violent fit of temper--alas! too frequent anoccurrence--the old nobleman got out of bed, and walked barefooteddown the stair, coming at last upon the body of his ancient servant.There the man who arrived every morning to light the fires found them,the servant dead, and Lord Rantremly helpless from an attack ofparalysis. The physicians say that only his eyes seemed alive, andthey were filled with a great fear, and indeed that is not to bewondered at, after his wicked, wicked life. His right hand was butpartially disabled, and with that he tried to scribble something whichproved indecipherable. And so he died, and those who attended him athis last moments say that if ever a soul had a taste of futurepunishment before it left this earth, it was the soul of LordRantremly as it shone through those terror-stricken eyes.'
Here the woman stopped, with a catch in her breath, as if the fear ofthat grim death-bed had communicated itself to her. I interjectedcalmness into an emotional situation by remarking in a commonplacetone,--'And it is the present Lord Rantremly who proposes to destroythe Castle, I suppose?'
'Yes.'
'Is he the son of the late lord?'
'No; he is a distant relative. The branch of the family to which hebelongs has been engaged in commerce, and, I believe, its members arevery wealthy.
'
'Well, madam, no doubt this is all extremely interesting, and rathergruesome. In what way are you concerned in these occurrences?'
'Ten years ago I replied to an advertisement, there being required onewho knew shorthand, who possessed a typewriting machine and aknowledge of French, to act as secretary to a nobleman. I was at thattime twenty-three years old, and for two years had been trying to earnmy living in London through the typing of manuscript. But I was makinga hard struggle of it, so I applied for this position and got it.There are in the library of Rantremly Castle many documents relatingto the Stuart exile in France. His lordship wished these documentssorted and catalogued, as well as copies taken of each. Many of theletters were in the French language, and these I was required totranslate and type. It was a sombre place of residence, but the salarywas good, and I saw before me work enough to keep me busy for years.Besides this, the task was extremely congenial, and I became absorbedin it, being young and romantically inclined. Here I seemed to live inthe midst of these wonderful intrigues of long ago. Documents passedthrough my hands whose very possession at one period meant capitaldanger, bringing up even now visions of block, axe, and maskedheadsman. It seemed strange to me that so sinister a man as LordRantremly, who, I had heard, cared for nothing but drink and gambling,should have desired to promote this historical research, and, indeed,I soon found he felt nothing but contempt for it. However, he hadundertaken it at the instance of his only son, then a young man of myown age, at Oxford University.
'Lord Rantremly at that time was sixty-five years old. His countenancewas dark, harsh, and imperious, and his language brutal. He indulgedin frightful outbursts of temper, but he paid so well for service thatthere was no lack of it, as there has been since the ghost appearedsome years ago. He was very tall, and of commanding appearance, buthad a deformity in the shape of a club-foot, and walked with thehalting step of those so afflicted. There were at that time servantsin plenty at the castle, for although a tradition existed that theghost of the founder of the house trod certain rooms, this ghost, itwas said, never demonstrated its presence when the livingrepresentative of the family was a man with a club-foot. Traditionfurther affirmed that if this club-footed ghost allowed its haltingfootsteps to be heard while the reigning lord possessed a similardeformity, the conjunction foreshadowed the passing of title andestates to a stranger. The ghost haunted the castle only when it wasoccupied by a descendant whose two feet were normal. It seems that thefounder of the house was a club-footed man, and this disagreeablepeculiarity often missed one generation, and sometimes two, while atother times both father and son had club-feet, as was the case withthe late Lord Rantremly and the young man at Oxford. I am not abeliever in the supernatural, of course, but nevertheless it isstrange that within the past few years everyone residing in the castlehas heard the club-footed ghost, and now title and estates descend toa family that were utter strangers to the Rantremlys.'
'Well, madam, this also sounds most alluring, and were my time nottaken up with affairs more material than those to which you allude, Ishould be content to listen all day, but as it is--' I spread my handsand shrugged my shoulders.
The woman with a deep sigh said,--
'I am sorry to have taken so long, but I wished you to understand thesituation, and now I will come direct to the heart of the case. Iworked alone in the library, as I told you, much interested in what Iwas doing. The chaplain, a great friend of Lord Rantremly's son, and,indeed, a former tutor of his, assisted me with the documents thatwere in Latin, and a friendship sprang up between us. He was anelderly man, and extremely unworldly. Lord Rantremly never concealedhis scorn of this clergyman, but did not interfere with him because ofthe son.
'My work went on very pleasantly up to the time that Reginald, theheir of his lordship, came down from Oxford. Then began the happiestdays of a life that has been otherwise full of hardships and distress.Reginald was as different as possible from his father. In one respectonly did he bear any resemblance to that terrible old man, and thisresemblance was the deformity of a club-foot, a blemish which one soonforgot when one came to know the gentle and high-minded nature of theyoung man. As I have said, it was at his instance that Lord Rantremlyhad engaged me to set in order those historical papers. Reginaldbecame enthusiastic at the progress I had made, and thus the youngnobleman, the chaplain, and myself continued our work together withever-increasing enthusiasm.
'To cut short a recital which must be trying to your patience, butwhich is necessary if you are to understand the situation, I may saythat our companionship resulted in a proposal of marriage to me, whichI, foolishly, perhaps, and selfishly, it may be, accepted. Reginaldknew that his father would never consent, but we enlisted the sympathyof the chaplain, and he, mild, unworldly man, married us one day inthe consecrated chapel of the castle.
'As I have told you, the house at that time contained many servants,and I think, without being sure, that the butler, whom I feared evenmore than Lord Rantremly himself, got some inkling of what was goingforward. But, be that as it may, he and his lordship entered thechapel just as the ceremony was finished, and there followed anagonising scene. His lordship flung the ancient chaplain from hisplace, and when Reginald attempted to interfere, the maddened noblemanstruck his son full in the face with his clenched fist, and my husbandlay as one dead on the stone floor of the chapel. By this time thebutler had locked the doors, and had rudely torn the vestments fromthe aged, half-insensible clergyman, and with these tied him hand andfoot. All this took place in a very few moments, and I stood there asone paralysed, unable either to speak or scream, not that screamingwould have done me any good in that horrible place of thick walls. Thebutler produced a key, and unlocked a small, private door at the sideof the chapel which led from the apartments of his lordship to thefamily pew. Then taking my husband by feet and shoulders, LordRantremly and the butler carried him out, locking the door, andleaving the clergyman and me prisoners in the chapel. The reverend oldgentleman took no notice of me. He seemed to be dazed, and when atlast I found my voice and addressed him, he merely murmured over andover texts of Scripture pertaining to the marriage service.
'In a short time I heard the key turn again in the lock of the privatedoor, and the butler entered alone. He unloosened the bands around theclergyman's knees, escorted him out, and once more locked the doorbehind him. A third time that terrible servant came back, grasped meroughly by the wrist, and without a word dragged me with him, along anarrow passage, up a stair, and finally to the main hall, and so to mylord's private study, which adjoined his bedroom, and there on a tableI found my typewriting machine brought up from the library.
'I have but the most confused recollection of what took place. I amnot a courageous woman, and was in mortal terror both of LordRantremly and his attendant. His lordship was pacing up and down theroom, and, when I came in, used the most unseemly language to me; thenordered me to write at his dictation, swearing that if I did not doexactly as he told me, he would finish his son, as he put it. I satdown at the machine, and he dictated a letter to himself, demandingtwo thousand pounds to be paid to me, otherwise I should claim that Iwas the wife of his son, secretly married. This, placing pen and inkbefore me, he compelled me to sign, and when I had done so, pleadingto be allowed to see my husband, if only for a moment, I thought hewas going to strike me, for he shook his fist in my face, and usedwords which were appalling to hear. That was the last I ever saw ofLord Rantremly, my husband, the clergyman, or the butler. I was atonce sent off to London with my belongings, the butler himself buyingmy ticket, and flinging a handful of sovereigns into my lap as thetrain moved out.'
Here the woman stopped, buried her face in her hands, and began toweep.
'Have you done nothing about this for the past ten years?'
She shook her head.
'What could I do?' she gasped. 'I had little money, and no friends.Who would believe my story? Besides this, Lord Rantremly retainedpossession of a letter, signed by myself, that would convict me ofa
ttempted blackmail, while the butler would swear to anything againstme.'
'You have no marriage certificate, of course?'
'No.'
'What has become of the clergyman?'
'I do not know.'
'And what of Lord Rantremly's son?'
'It was announced that he had gone on a voyage to Australia for hishealth in a sailing ship, which was wrecked on the African coast, andeveryone on board lost.'
'What is your own theory?'
'Oh, my husband was killed by the blow given him in the chapel.'
'Madam, that does not seem credible. A blow from the fist seldomkills.'
'But he fell backwards, and his head struck the sharp stone steps atthe foot of the altar. I know my husband was dead when the butler andhis father carried him out.'
'You think the clergyman was also murdered?'
'I am sure of it. Both master and servant were capable of any crime orcruelty.'
'You received no letters from the young man?'
'No. You see, during our short friendship we were constantly together,and there was no need of correspondence.'
'Well, madam, what do you expect of me?'
'I hoped you would investigate, and find perhaps where Reginald andthe clergyman are buried. I realise that I have no proof, but in thatway my strange story will be corroborated.'
I leaned back in my chair and looked at her. Truth to tell, I onlypartially credited her story myself, and yet I was positive shebelieved every word of it. Ten years brooding on a fancied injusticeby a woman living alone, and doubtless often in dire poverty, hadmixed together the actual and the imaginary until now, what hadpossibly been an aimless flirtation on the part of the young man,unexpectedly discovered by the father, had formed itself into thetragedy which she had told me.
'Would it not be well,' I suggested, 'to lay the facts before thepresent Lord Rantremly?'
'I have done so,' she answered simply.
'With what result?'
'His lordship said my story was preposterous. In examining the latelord's private papers, he discovered the letter which I typed andsigned. He said very coldly that the fact that I had waited untileveryone who could corroborate or deny my story was dead, united withthe improbability of the narrative itself, would very likely consignme to prison if I made public a statement so incredible.'
'Well, you know, madam, I think his lordship is right.'
'He offered me an annuity of fifty pounds, which I refused.'
'In that refusal, madam, I think you are wrong. If you take my advice,you will accept the annuity.'
The woman rose slowly to her feet.
'It is not money I am after,' she said, 'although, God knows, I haveoften been in sore need of it. But I am the Countess of Rantremly, andI wish my right to that name acknowledged. My character has been underan impalpable shadow for ten years. On several occasions mysterioushints have reached me that in some manner I left the castle under acloud. If Lord Rantremly will destroy the letter which I was compelledto write under duress, and if he will give me written acknowledgmentthat there was nothing to be alleged against me during my stay in thecastle, he may enjoy his money in peace for all of me. I want none ofit.'
'Have you asked him to do this?'
'Yes. He refuses to give up or destroy the letter, although I told himin what circumstances it had been written. But, desiring to be fair,he said he would allow me a pound a week for life, entirely throughhis own generosity.'
'And this you refused?'
'Yes, I refused.'
'Madam, I regret to say that I cannot see my way to do anything withregard to what I admit is very unjust usage. We have absolutelynothing to go upon except your unsupported word. Lord Rantremly wasperfectly right when he said no one would credit your story. I couldnot go down to Rantremly Castle and make investigations there. Ishould have no right upon the premises at all, and would get intoinstant trouble as an interfering trespasser. I beg you to heed myadvice, and accept the annuity.'
Sophia Brooks, with that mild obstinacy of which I had receivedindications during her recital, slowly shook her head.
'You have been very kind to listen for so long,' she said, and then,with a curt 'Good-day!' turned and left the room. On the sheet ofpaper underneath her address, I wrote this prophecy: 'Before the weekis out, I predict that Lord Rantremly himself will call to see me.'
* * * * *
Next morning, at almost the same hour that Miss Brooks had arrived theday before, the Earl of Rantremly's card was brought in to me.
His lordship proved to be an abrupt, ill-mannered, dapper businessman; purse-proud, I should call him, as there was every reason heshould be, for he had earned his own fortune. He was doubtless equallyproud of his new title, which he was trying to live up to, assumingnow and then a haughty, domineering attitude, and again relapsing intothe keen, incisive manner of the man of affairs; shrewd financialsense waging a constant struggle with the glamour of an ancient name.I am sure he would have shone to better advantage either as afinancier or as a nobleman, but the combination was too much for him.I formed an instinctive dislike to the man, which probably would nothave happened had he been wearing the title for twenty years, or had Imet him as a business man, with no thought of the aristocratic honourawaiting him. There seemed nothing in common between him and theformer holder of the title. He had keen, ferrety eyes, a sharpfinancial nose, a thin-lipped line of mouth which indicated little ofhuman kindness. He was short of stature, but he did not possess theclub-foot, which was one advantage. He seated himself before I hadtime to offer him a chair, and kept on his hat in my presence, whichhe would not have done if he had either been a genuine nobleman or acourteous business man.
'I am Lord Rantremly,' he announced pompously, which announcement wasquite unnecessary, because I held his card in my hand.
'Quite so, my lord. And you have come to learn whether or no I can laythe ghost in that old castle to the north which bears your name?'
'Well, I'm blessed!' cried his lordship, agape. 'How could you guessthat?'
'Oh, it is not a guess, but rather a choice of two objects, either ofwhich might bring you to my rooms. I chose the first motive because Ithought you might prefer to arrange the second problem with yoursolicitor, and he doubtless told you that Miss Sophia Brooks's claimwas absurd; that you were quite right in refusing to give up ordestroy the typewritten letter she had signed ten years ago, and thatit was weakness on your part, without consulting him, to offer her anannuity of fifty-two pounds a year.'
Long before this harangue was finished, which I uttered in an easy andnonchalant tone of voice, as if reciting something that everybodyknew, his lordship stood on his feet again, staring at me like a manthunderstruck. This gave me the opportunity of exercising thatpoliteness which his abrupt entrance and demeanour had forestalled. Irose, and bowing, said,--
'I pray you to be seated, my lord.'
He dropped into the chair, rather than sat down in it.
'And now,' I continued, with the utmost suavity, stretching forth myhand, 'may I place your hat on this shelf out of the way, where itwill not incommode you during our discourse?'
Like a man in a dream, he took his hat from his head, and passivelyhanded it to me, and after placing it in safety I resumed my chairwith the comfortable feeling that his lordship and I were much nearera plane of equality than when he entered the room.
'How about the ghost with a club-foot, my lord?' said I genially. 'MayI take it that in the City, that sensible, commercial portion ofLondon, no spirits are believed in except those sold over the bars?'
'If you mean,' began his lordship, struggling to reach his dignityonce more, 'if you mean to ask if there is any man fool enough toplace credit in the story of a ghost, I answer no. I am a practicalman, sir. I now possess in the north property representing, in farminglands, in shooting rights, and what not, a locked-up capital of manya thousand pounds. As you seem to know everything, sir, perhaps youare awar
e that I propose to build a modern mansion on the estate.'
'Yes; I saw the letter in the _Times_.'
'Very well, sir. It has come to a fine pass if, in this country of lawand the rights of property, a man may not do what he pleases with hisown.'
'I think, my lord, cases may be cited where the decisions of yourcourts have shown a man may not do what he likes with his own.Nevertheless, I am quite certain that if you level Rantremly Castlewith the ground, and build a modern mansion in its place, the law willnot hinder you.'
'I should hope not, sir, I should hope not,' said his lordshipgruffly. 'Nevertheless, I am not one who wishes to ride roughshod overpublic opinion.
'I am chairman of several companies which depend more or less onpopular favour for success. I deplore unnecessary antagonism.Technically, I might assert my right to destroy this ancientstronghold tomorrow if I wished to do so, and if that right wereseriously disputed, I should, of course, stand firm. But it is notseriously disputed. The British nation, sir, is too sensible a peopleto object to the removal of an antiquated structure that has longoutlived its usefulness, and the erection of a mansion replete withall modern improvements would be a distinct addition to the country,sir. A few impertinent busybodies protest against the demolition ofRantremly Castle, but that is all.'
'Ah, then you _do_ intend to destroy it?' I rejoined, and it ispossible that a touch of regret was manifest in my tones.
'Not just at present; not until this vulgar clamour has had time tosubside. Nevertheless, as a business man, I am forced to recognisethat a large amount of unproductive capital is locked up in thatproperty.'
'And why is it locked up?'
'Because of an absurd belief that the place is haunted. I could let ittomorrow at a good figure, if it were not for that rumour.'
'But surely sensible men do not pay any attention to such a rumour.'
'Sensible men may not, but sensible men are often married to sillywomen, and the women object. It is only the other day that I was innegotiation with Bates, of Bates, Sturgeon and Bates, a very wealthyman, quite able and willing to pay the price I demanded. He carednothing about the alleged ghost, but his family absolutely refused tohave anything to do with the place, and so the arrangement fellthrough.'
'What is your theory regarding this ghost, my lord?'
He answered me with some impatience.
'How can a sane man hold a theory about a ghost? I can, however,advance a theory regarding the noises heard in the castle. For yearsthat place has been the resort of questionable characters.'
'I understand the Rantremly family is a very old one,' I commentedinnocently, but his lordship did not notice the innuendo.
'Yes, we are an old family,' he went on with great complacency. 'Thecastle, as perhaps you are aware, is a huge, ramshackle place,honeycombed underneath with cellars. I dare say in the old days someof these cellars and caves were the resort of smugglers, and thereceptacle of their contraband wares, doubtless with the fullknowledge of my ancestors, who, I regret to admit, as a business man,were not too particular in their respect for law. I make no doubt thatthe castle is now the refuge of a number of dangerous characters, who,knowing the legends of the place, frighten away fools by impersonatingghosts.'
'You wish me to uncover their retreat, then?'
'Precisely.'
'Could I get accommodation in the castle itself?'
'Lord bless you, no! Nor within two miles of it. You might secure bedand board at the porter's lodge, perhaps, or in the village, which isthree miles distant.'
'I should prefer to live in the castle night and day, until themystery is solved.'
'Ah, you are a practical man. That is a very sensible resolution. Butyou can persuade no one in that neighbourhood to bear you company. Youwould need to take some person down with you from London, and thechances are, that person will not stay long.'
'Perhaps, my lord, if you used your influence, the chief of police inthe village might allow a constable to bear me company. I do not mindroughing it in the least, but I should like someone to prepare mymeals, and to be on hand in case of a struggle, should your surmiseconcerning the ghost prove correct.'
'I regret to inform you,' said his lordship, 'that the police in thatbarbarous district are as superstitious as the peasantry. I, myself,told the chief constable my theory, and for six weeks he has beentrying to run down the miscreants, who, I am sure, are making arendezvous of the castle. Would you believe it, sir, that theconstabulary, after a few nights' experience in the castle, threatenedto resign in a body if they were placed on duty at Rantremly? Theysaid they heard groans and shrieks, and the measured beat of aclub-foot on the oaken floors. Perfectly absurd, of course, but thereyou are! Why, I cannot even get a charwoman or labourer to clear upthe evidences of the tragedy which took place there six weeks ago. Thebeds are untouched, the broken china and the silver tray lie today atthe foot of the stairway, and everything remains just as it was whenthe inquest took place.'
'Very well, my lord, the case presents many difficulties, and so,speaking as one business man to another, you will understand that mycompensation must be correspondingly great.'
All the assumed dignity which straightened up this man whenever Iaddressed him as 'my lord', instantly fell from him when I enunciatedthe word 'compensation'. His eyes narrowed, and all the nativeshrewdness of an adept skinflint appeared in his face. I shall do himthe justice to say that he drove the very best bargain he could withme, and I, on my part, very deftly concealed from him the fact that Iwas so much interested in the affair that I should have gone down toRantremly for nothing rather than forgo the privilege of ransackingRantremly Castle.
When the new earl had taken his departure, walking to the door withthe haughty air of a nobleman, then bowing to me with the affabilityof a business man, I left my flat, took a cab, and speedily foundmyself climbing the stair to the first floor of 51 Beaumont Street,Strand. As I paused at the door on which were painted the words, 'S.Brooks, Stenography, Typewriting, Translation', I heard the rapidclick-click of a machine inside. Knocking at the door the writingceased, and I was bidden to enter. The room was but meagrelyfurnished, and showed scant signs of prosperity. On a smallside-table, clean, but uncovered, the breakfast dishes, washed, butnot yet put away, stood, and the kettle on the hob by the dying fireled me to infer that the typewriting woman was her own cook. Isuspected that the awkward-looking sofa which partly occupied one sideof the room, concealed a bed. By the lone front window stood thetypewriting machine on a small stand, and in front of it sat the womanwho had visited me the morning before. She was now gazing at me,probably hoping I was a customer, for there was no recognition in hereyes.
'Good-morning, Lady Rantremly,' was my greeting, which caused her tospring immediately to her feet, with a little exclamation of surprise.
'Oh,' she said at last, 'you are Monsieur Valmont. Excuse me that I amso stupid. Will you take a chair?'
'Thank you, madam. It is I who should ask to be excused for sounceremonious a morning call. I have come to ask you a question. Canyou cook?'
The lady looked at me with some surprise, mingled perhaps with so muchof indignation as such a mild person could assume. She did not reply,but, glancing at the kettle, and then turning towards the breakfastdishes on the table by the wall, a slow flush of colour suffused herwan cheeks.
'My lady,' I said at last, as the silence became embarrassing, 'youmust pardon the impulse of a foreigner who finds himself constantlybrought into conflict with prejudices which he fails to understand.You are perhaps offended at my question. The last person of whom Imade that inquiry was the young and beautiful Madame la Comtesse deValerie-Moberanne, who enthusiastically clapped her hands with delightat the compliment, and replied impulsively,--
'"Oh, Monsieur Valmont, let me compose for you an omelette which willprove a dream," and she did. One should not forget that Louis XVIIIhimself cooked the _truffes a la puree d'ortolans_ that caused the Ducd'Escars, who partook of the royal dish, to die
of an indigestion.Cooking is a noble, yes, a regal art. I am a Frenchman, my lady, and,like all my countrymen, regard the occupation of a cuisiniere asinfinitely superior to the manipulation of that machine, which is yourprofession, or the science of investigation, which is mine.'
'Sir,' she said, quite unmollified by my harangue, speaking with alofty pride which somehow seemed much more natural than that sointermittently assumed by my recent visitor, 'Sir, have you come tooffer me a situation as cook?'
'Yes, madam, at Rantremly Castle.'
'You are going there?' she demanded, almost breathlessly.
'Yes, madam, I leave on the ten o'clock train tomorrow morning. I amcommissioned by Lord Rantremly to investigate the supposed presence ofthe ghost in that mouldering dwelling. I am allowed to bring with mewhatever assistants I require, and am assured that no one in theneighbourhood can be retained who dare sleep in the castle. You knowthe place very well, having lived there, so I shall be glad of yourassistance if you will come. If there is any person whom you cantrust, and who is not afraid of ghosts, I shall be delighted to escortyou both to Rantremly Castle tomorrow.'
'There is an old woman,' she said, 'who comes here to clear up myroom, and do whatever I wish done. She is so deaf that she will hearno ghosts, and besides, monsieur, she can cook.'
I laughed in acknowledgment of this last sly hit at me, as the Englishsay.
'That will do excellently,' I replied, rising, and placing a ten-poundnote before her. 'I suggest, madam, that you purchase with thisanything you may need. My man has instructions to send by passengertrain a huge case of provisions, which should arrive there before us.If you could make it convenient to meet me at Euston Station about aquarter of an hour before the train leaves, we may be able to discoverall you wish to know regarding the mystery of Rantremly Castle.'
Sophia Brooks accepted the money without demur, and thanked me. Icould see that her thin hands were trembling with excitement as sheput the crackling banknote into her purse.
* * * * *
Darkness was coming on next evening before we were installed in thegrim building, which at first sight seemed more like a fortress than aresidence. I had telegraphed from London to order a wagonette for us,and in this vehicle we drove to the police station, where I presentedthe written order from Lord Rantremly for the keys of the castle. Thechief constable himself, a stolid, taciturn person, exhibited,nevertheless, some interest in my mission, and he was good enough totake the fourth seat in the wagonette, and accompany us through thepark to the castle, returning in that conveyance to the village asnightfall approached, and I could not but notice that this graveofficial betrayed some uneasiness to get off before dusk hadcompletely set in. Silent as he was, I soon learned that he entirelydisbelieved Lord Rantremly's theory that the castle harboureddangerous characters, yet so great was his inherent respect for thenobility that I could not induce him to dispute with any decisivenesshis lordship's conjecture. It was plain to be seen, however, that thechief constable believed implicitly in the club-footed ghost. I askedhim to return the next morning, as I should spend the night ininvestigation, and might possibly have some questions to ask him,questions which none but the chief constable could answer. The goodman promised, and left us rather hurriedly, the driver of thewagonette galloping his horse down the long, sombre avenue towards thevillage outside the gates.
I found Sophia Brooks but a doleful companion, and of very littleassistance that evening. She seemed overcome by her remembrances. Shehad visited the library where her former work was done, doubtless thescene of her brief love episode, and she returned with red eyes andtrembling chin, telling me haltingly that the great tome from whichshe was working ten years ago, and which had been left open on thesolid library table, was still there exactly as she had placed itbefore being forced to abandon her work. For a decade apparently noone had entered that library. I could not but sympathise with the poorlady, thus revisiting, almost herself like a ghost, the haunted arenaof her short happiness. But though she proved so dismal a companion,the old woman who came with her was a treasure. Having lived all herlife in some semi-slum near the Strand, and having rarely experiencedmore than a summer's-day glimpse of the country, the long journey haddelighted her, and now this rambling old castle in the midst of theforest seemed to realise all the dreams which a perusal of halfpennyfiction had engendered in her imagination. She lit a fire, and cookedfor us a very creditable supper, bustling about the place, singing toherself in a high key.
Shortly after supper Sophia Brooks, exhausted as much by her emotionsand memories as by her long journey of that day, retired to rest.After being left to myself I smoked some cigarettes, and finished abottle of superb claret which stood at my elbow. A few hours before Ihad undoubtedly fallen in the estimation of the stolid constable when,instead of asking him questions regarding the tragedy, I had inquiredthe position of the wine cellar, and obtained possession of the keythat opened its portal. The sight of bin after bin of dust-laden,cobwebbed bottles, did more than anything else to reconcile me to mylonely vigil. There were some notable vintages represented in thatdismal cavern.
It was perhaps half-past ten or eleven o'clock when I began myinvestigations. I had taken the precaution to provide myself with halfa dozen so-called electric torches before I left London. These giveillumination for twenty or thirty hours steadily, and much longer ifthe flash is used only now and then. The torch is a thick tube,perhaps a foot and a half long, with a bull's-eye of glass at one end.By pressing a spring the electric rays project like the illuminationof an engine's headlight. A release of the spring causes instantdarkness. I have found this invention useful in that it concentratesthe light on any particular spot desired, leaving all the surroundingsin gloom, so that the mind is not distracted, even unconsciously, bythe eye beholding more than is necessary at the moment. One pours awhite light over any particular substance as water is poured from thenozzle of a hose.
The great house was almost painfully silent. I took one of thesetorches, and went to the foot of the grand staircase where the wickedbutler had met his death. There, as his lordship had said, lay thesilver tray, and nearby a silver jug, a pair of spoons, a knife andfork, and scattered all around the fragments of broken plates, cups,and saucers. With an exclamation of surprise at the stupidity of theresearchers who had preceded me, I ran up the stair two steps at atime, turned to the right, and along the corridor until I came to theroom occupied by the late earl. The coverings of the bed lay turneddown just as they were when his lordship sprang to the floor,doubtless, in spite of his deafness, having heard faintly the fatalcrash at the foot of the stairs. A great oaken chest stood at the headof the bed, perhaps six inches from the wall. Leaning against thischest at the edge of the bed inclined a small, round table, and thecover of the table had slipped from its sloping surface until itpartly concealed the chest lid. I mounted on this carven box of oldblack oak and directed the rays of electric light into the chasmbetween it and the wall. Then I laughed aloud, and was somewhatstartled to hear another laugh directly behind me. I jumped down onthe floor again, and swung round my torch like a searchlight on abattleship at sea. There was no human presence in that chamber exceptmyself. Of course, after my first moment of surprise, I realised thatthe laugh was but an echo of my own. The old walls of the old housewere like sounding-boards. The place resembled an ancient fiddle,still tremulous with the music that had been played on it. It was easyto understand how a superstitious population came to believe in itsbeing haunted; in fact, I found by experiment that if one trod quicklyalong the uncovered floor of the corridor, and stopped suddenly, oneseemed to hear the sound of steps still going on.
I now returned to the stair head, and examined the bare polishedboards with most gratifying results. Amazed at having learnt so muchin such a short time, I took from my pocket the paper on which thedying nobleman had attempted to write with his half-paralysed hand.The chief constable had given the document to me, and I sat on thestair head, spread it out
on the floor and scrutinised it. It was allbut meaningless. Apparently two words and the initial letter of athird had been attempted. Now, however grotesque a piece of writingmay be, you can sometimes decipher it by holding it at various angles,as those puzzles are solved which remain a mystery when gazed atdirect. By partially closing the eyes you frequently catch the intent,as in those pictures where a human figure is concealed among theoutlines of trees and leaves. I held the paper at arm's length, andwith the electric light gleaming upon it, examined it at all angles,with eyes wide open, and eyes half closed. At last, inclining it awayfrom me, I saw that the words were intended to mean, 'The Secret'. Thesecret, of course, was what he was trying to impart, but he hadapparently got no further than the title of it. Deeply absorbed in myinvestigation, I was never more startled in my life than to hear inthe stillness down the corridor the gasped words, '_Oh, God!_'
I swept round my light, and saw leaning against the wall, in an almostfainting condition, Sophia Brooks, her eyes staring like those of ademented person, and her face white as any ghost's could have been.Wrapped round her was a dressing-gown. I sprang to my feet.
'What are you doing there?' I cried.
'Oh, is that you, Monsieur Valmont? Thank God, thank God! I thought Iwas going insane. I saw a hand, a bodiless hand, holding a white sheetof paper.'
'The hand was far from bodiless, madam, for it belonged to me. But whyare you here? It must be near midnight.'
'It _is_ midnight,' answered the woman; 'I came here because I heardmy husband call me three times distinctly, "Sophia, Sophia, Sophia!"just like that.'
'Nonsense, madam,' I said, with an asperity I seldom use where thefair sex is concerned; but I began to see that this hystericalcreature was going to be in the way during a research that called forcoolness and calmness. I was sorry I had invited her to come.'Nonsense, madam, you have been dreaming.'
'Indeed, Monsieur Valmont, I have not. I have not even been asleep,and I heard the words quite plainly. You must not think I am eithermad or superstitious.'
I thought she was both, and next moment she gave further evidence ofit, running suddenly forward, and clutching me by the arm.
'Listen! listen!' she whispered. 'You hear nothing?'
'Nonsense!' I cried again, almost roughly for my patience was at anend, and I wished to go on with my inquiry undisturbed.
'Hist, hist!' she whispered; 'listen!' holding up her finger. We bothstood like statues, and suddenly I felt that curious creeping of thescalp which shows that even the most civilised among us have not yeteliminated superstitious fear. In the tense silence I heard someoneslowly coming up the stair; I heard the halting step of a lame man. Inthe tension of the moment I had allowed the light to go out; nowrecovering myself, I pressed the spring, and waved its rays backwardand forward down the stairway. The space was entirely empty, yet thehesitating footsteps approached us, up and up. I could almost havesworn on which step they last struck. At this interesting momentSophia Brooks uttered a piercing shriek and collapsed into my arms,sending the electric torch rattling down the steps, and leaving us inimpenetrable darkness. Really, I profess myself to be a gallant man,but there are situations which have a tendency to cause annoyance. Icarried the limp creature cautiously down the stairs, fearing the fateof the butler, and at last got her into the dining-room, where I lit acandle, which gave a light less brilliant, perhaps, but more steadythan my torch. I dashed some water in her face, and brought her to hersenses, then uncorking another bottle of wine, I bade her drink aglassful, which she did.
'What was it?' she whispered.
'Madam, I do not know. Very possibly the club-footed ghost ofRantremly.'
'Do you believe in ghosts, Monsieur Valmont?'
'Last night I did not, but at this hour I believe in only one thing,which is that it is time everyone was asleep.'
She rose to her feet at this, and with a tremulous little laughapologised for her terror, but I assured her that for the moment therewere two panic-stricken persons at the stair head. Taking the candle,and recovering my electric torch, which luckily was uninjured by itsroll down the incline the butler had taken, I escorted the lady to thedoor of her room, and bade her good-night, or rather, good-morning.
The rising sun dissipated a slight veil of mist which hung over thepark, and also dissolved, so far as I was concerned, the phantomswhich my imagination had conjured up at midnight. It was abouthalf-past ten when the chief constable arrived. I flatter myself I putsome life into that unimaginative man before I was done with him.
'What made you think that the butler was mounting the stair when hefell?'
'He was going up with my lord's breakfast,' replied the chief.
'Then did it not occur to you that if such were the case, the silverpitcher would not have been empty, and, besides the broken dishes,there would have been the rolls, butter, toast, or what not, strewnabout the floor?'
The chief constable opened his eyes.
'There was no one else for him to bring breakfast to,' he objected.
'That is where you are very much mistaken. Bring me the boots thebutler wore.'
'He did not wear boots, sir. He wore a pair of cloth slippers.'
'Do you know where they are?'
'Yes; they are in the boot closet.'
'Very well, bring them out, examine their soles, and sticking in oneof them you will find a short sliver of pointed oak.'
The constable, looking slightly more stupefied than ever, brought theslippers, and I heard him ejaculate: 'Well, I'm blowed!' as heapproached me. He handed me the slippers soles upward, and there, as Ihave stated, was the fragment of oak, which I pulled out.
'Now, if you take this piece of oak to the top of the stair, you willsee that it fits exactly a slight interstice at the edge of one of theplanks. It is as well to keep one's eyes open, constable, wheninvestigating a case like this.'
'Well, I'm blowed!' he said again, as we walked up the stairtogether.
I showed him that the sliver taken from the slipper fitted exactly theinterstice I had indicated.
'Now,' said I to him, 'the butler was not going up the stairs, but wascoming down. When he fell headlong he must have made a fearfulclatter. Shuffling along with his burden, his slipper was impaled bythis sliver, and the butler's hands being full, he could not savehimself, but went head foremost down the stair. The startling point,however, is the fact that he was _not_ carrying my lord's breakfast tohim, or taking it away from him, but that there is someone else in thecastle for whom he was caterer. Who is that person?'
'I'm blessed if I know,' said the constable, 'but I think you arewrong there. He may not have been carrying up the breakfast, but hecertainly was taking away the tray, as is shown by the empty dishes,which you have just a moment ago pointed out.'
'No, constable; when his lordship heard the crash, and sprangimpulsively from his bed, he upset the little table on which had beenplaced his own tray; it shot over the oaken chest at the head of thebed, and if you look between it and the wall you will find tray,dishes, and the remnants of a breakfast.'
'Well, I'm blessed!' exclaimed the chief constable once again.
'The main point of all this,' I went on calmly, 'is not the disasterto the butler, nor even the shock to his lordship, but the fact thatthe tray the serving man carried brought food to a prisoner, whoprobably for six weeks has been without anything to eat.'
'Then,' said the constable, 'he is a dead man.'
'I find it easier,' said I, 'to believe in a living man than in a deadman's ghost. I think I heard his footsteps at midnight, and theyseemed to me the footsteps of a person very nearly exhausted.Therefore, constable, I have awaited your arrival with someimpatience. The words his late lordship endeavoured to write on thepaper were "The Secret". I am sure that the hieroglyphics with whichhe ended his effort stood for the letter "R", and if he finished hissentence, it would have stood: "The secret room". Now, constable, itis a matter of legend that a secret room exists in this castle. Do youknow where it is
?'
'No one knows where the secret room is, or the way to enter it, exceptthe Lords of Rantremly.'
'Well, I can assure you that the Lord of Rantremly who lives in Londonknows nothing about it. I have been up and about since daylight,taking some rough measurements by stepping off distances. I surmisethat the secret room is to the left of this stairway. Probably a wholesuite of rooms exists, for there is certainly a stair coinciding withthis one, and up that stair at midnight I heard a club-footed manascend. Either that, or the ghost that has frightened you all, and, asI have said, I believe in the man.'
Here the official made the first sensible remark I had yet heard himutter:--
'If the walls are so thick that a prisoner's cry has not been heard,how could you hear his footsteps, which make much less noise?'
'That is very well put, constable, and when the same thing occurred tome earlier this morning, I began to study the architecture of thiscastle. In the first place, the entrance hall is double as wide at thebig doors as it is near the stairway. If you stand with your back tothe front door you will at once wonder why the builders made thiscurious and unnecessary right angle, narrowing the farther part of thehall to half its width. Then, as you gaze at the stair, and see thatmarvellous carved oak newel post standing like a monumental column,you guess, if you have any imagination, that the stairway, like thehall, was once double as wide as it is now. We are seeing only half ofit, and doubtless we shall find a similar newel post within the hiddenroom. You must remember, constable, that these secret apartments areno small added chambers. Twice they have sheltered a king.'
The constable's head bent low at the mention of royalty. I saw thathis insular prejudice against me and my methods was vanishing, andthat he had come to look upon me with greater respect than was shownat first.
'The walls need not be thick to be impenetrable to sound. Two coursesof brick, and a space between filled with deafening would do it. Thesecret apartment has been cut off from the rest of the house since thecastle was built, and was not designed by the original architect. Thepartition was probably built in a hurry to fulfil a pressing need, andit was constructed straight up the middle of the stair, leaving thestout planks intact, each step passing thus, as it were, through thewall. Now, when a man walks up the secret stairway, his footstepsreverberate until one would swear that some unseen person was treadingthe visible boards on the outside.'
'By Jove!' said the constable, in an awed tone of voice.
'Now, officer, I have here a pickaxe and a crowbar. I propose that wesettle the question at once.'
But to this proposal the constable demurred.
'You surely would not break the wall without permission from hislordship in London?'
'Constable, I suspect there is no Lord Rantremly in London, and thatwe will find a very emaciated but genuine Lord Rantremly within tenfeet of us. I need not tell you that if you are instrumental in hisimmediate rescue without the exercise of too much red tape, yourinterests will not suffer because you the more speedily brought foodand drink to the lord paramount of your district.'
'Right you are,' cried the constable, with an enthusiasm for which Iwas not prepared. 'Where shall we begin?'
'Oh, anywhere; this wall is all false from the entrance hall to somepoint up here. Still, as the butler was carrying the meal upstairs Ithink we shall save time if we begin on the landing.'
I found the constable's brawn much superior to his brain. He workedlike a sansculotte on a barricade. When we had torn down part of theold oak panelling, which it seemed such a pity to mutilate with axeand crowbar, we came upon a brick wall, that quickly gave way beforethe strength of the constable. Then we pulled out some substance likematting, and found a second brick wall, beyond which was a furthershell of panelling. The hole we made revealed nothing but darknessinside, and although we shouted, there was no answer. At last, when wehad hewn it large enough for a man to enter, I took with me anelectric torch, and stepped inside, the constable following, withcrowbar still in hand. I learned, as I had surmised, that we were inthe upper hall of a staircase nearly as wide as the one on theoutside. A flash of the light showed a door corresponding with thefireplace of the upper landing, and this door not being locked, weentered a large room, rather dimly lighted by strongly barred windowsthat gave into a blind courtyard, of which there had been noindication heretofore, either outside or inside the castle. Brokenglass crunched under our feet, and I saw that the floor was strewnwith wine bottles whose necks had been snapped off to save the pullingof the cork. On a mattress at the farther end of the room lay a manwith gray hair, and shaggy, unkempt iron-gray beard. He seemed eitherasleep or dead, but when I turned my electric light full on his facehe proved to be still alive, for he rubbed his eyes languidly, andgroaned, rather than spoke:--
'Is that you at last, you beast of a butler? Bring me something toeat, in Heaven's name!'
I shook him wider awake. He seemed to be drowsed with drink, and wasfearfully emaciated. When I got him on his feet, I noticed then thedeformity that characterised one of them. We assisted him through theaperture, and down into the dining-room, where he cried outcontinually for something to eat, but when we placed food before him,he could scarcely touch it. He became more like a human being when hehad drunk two glasses of wine, and I saw at once he was not as old ashis gray hair seemed to indicate. There was a haunted look in hiseyes, and he watched the door as if apprehensive.
'Where is that butler?' he asked at last.
'Dead,' I replied.
'Did I kill him?'
'No; he fell down the stairway and broke his neck.'
The man laughed harshly.
'Where is my father?'
'Who is your father?'
'Lord Rantremly.'
'He is dead also.'
'How came he to die?'
'He died from a stroke of paralysis on the morning the butler waskilled.'
The rescued man made no comment on this, but turned and ate a littlemore of his food. Then he said to me:--
'Do you know a girl named Sophia Brooks?'
'Yes. For ten years she thought you dead.'
'Ten years! Good God, do you mean to say I've been in there only tenyears? Why, I'm an old man. I must be sixty at least.'
'No; you're not much over thirty.'
'Is Sophia--' He stopped, and the haunted look came into his eyesagain.
'No. She is all right, and she is here.'
'Here?'
'Somewhere in the grounds. I sent her and the servant out for a walk,and told them not to return till luncheon time, as the constable and Ihad something to do, and did not wish to be interrupted.'
The man ran his hand through his long tangled beard.
'I should like to be trimmed up a bit before I see Sophia,' he said.
'I can do that for you, my lord,' cried the constable.
'My lord?' echoed the man. 'Oh, yes, I understand. You are apoliceman, are you not?'
'Yes, my lord, chief constable.'
'Then I shall give myself up to you. I killed the butler.'
'Oh, impossible, my lord!'
'No, it isn't. The beast, as I called him, was getting old, and onemorning he forgot to close the door behind him. I followed himstealthily out, and at the head of the stair planted my foot in thesmall of his back, which sent him headlong. There was an infernalcrash. I did not mean to kill the brute, but merely to escape, andjust as I was about to run down the stairway, I was appalled to see myfather looking like--looking like--well, I won't attempt to say whathe looked like; but all my old fear of him returned. As he strodetowards me, along the corridor, I was in such terror that I jumpedthrough the secret door and slammed it shut.'
'Where is the secret door?' I asked.
'The secret door is that fireplace. The whole fireplace moves inwardif you push aside the carved ornament at the left-hand corner.'
'Is it a dummy fireplace, then?'
'No, you may build a fire in it, and the smoke will escape up thechimney. Bu
t I killed the butler, constable, though not intending it,I swear.'
And now the constable shone forth like the real rough diamond he was.
'My lord, we'll say nothing about that. Legally you didn't do it. Yousee, there's been an inquest on the butler and the jury brought in theverdict, "Death by accident, through stumbling from the top of thestair." You can't go behind a coroner's inquest, my lord.'
'Indeed,' said his lordship, with the first laugh in which he hadindulged for many a year. 'I don't want to go behind anything,constable, I've been behind that accursed chimney too long to wish anyfurther imprisonment.'