CHAPTER XXV
Heyton slept badly that night and came down to breakfast after LordSutcombe and Miriam had finished theirs and gone out. He was in a badtemper, cursed the footman who waited on him, and when he had drunk acup of coffee and made pretence of eating a piece of toast, mixedhimself a glass of soda and whisky and went out.
He wandered about the park, and did not come in to lunch, but when heappeared at dinner, he was more than usually cheerful and talked toMiriam and his father in the aimless and futile way with which a mantalks when he is engaged in the unaccustomed task of making himselfagreeable. Both Miriam and his father noticed that he was more sparingof the wine than usual, and Lord Sutcombe, who thought that Miriam hadgiven Percy a hint, glanced at her gratefully.
"Where have you been all day, Percy?" asked Miriam, masking herindifference with a show of curiosity.
"Oh, I've been mouching about," he said. "Looking round the estategenerally." He fingered his glass and glanced across at the Marquess."They seem to look after the preserves pretty well," he said; "but Inoticed that there was a gipsy encampment down by the pool. Unpleasantsort of characters to have about you. I should clear them away, father."
"I know the gipsy encampment you mean," said the Marquess; "but they arepitched on that piece of common land; it is just outside the estate, andwe have no power to remove them. Besides," he added, "I've a kind ofliking for them; they do no harm; and they are, well, picturesque, don'tyou think, Miriam?"
"That's all very well," said Heyton, with a forced laugh; "but I don'tknow about their doing no harm. They're most of them thieves, I shouldsay."
"We can spare a fowl or two," said the Marquess, with a smile. "And abroken hedge is soon mended."
"Oh, if it were only the fowls," said Heyton. "But I daresay some ofthem would fly higher than hen-roosts. For instance, nothing would beeasier than to break into the house here; and there's plenty to temptthem--plenty of silver, I mean," he added, hastily and with a furtiveglance at the Marquess.
"I don't think gipsies commit burglaries," said the Marquess, in hisprecise way. "They would find some difficulty in getting away with theirbooty. It would be easy to trace them."
"All the same, I'd try to get rid of them," said Heyton, doggedly. "Isaw one or two of them, evil-looking chaps, lurking about theplantation."
"Looking for wood for their fires, no doubt," said the Marquess. "ButI'll speak to the steward, if you wish it; though, as I say, they are oncommon land and it will not be easy to turn them off."
"Well, don't blame me when it's too late," said Percy, with a shrug ofhis shoulders.
Departing from his usual custom, he went into the drawing-room with hisfather and sat there, listening to Miriam's playing and singing; and itwas he who suggested bed.
"I'm a bit tired; had a long tramp to-day," he said, yawning andstretching his arms.
"You ought to walk more, Percy," remarked the Marquess. "If you'll allowme to say so, I don't think you take enough exercise. You ought to ride;but perhaps you will when the hunting begins."
"Can't afford to hunt," retorted Heyton, with an unpleasant laugh."Horses cost money."
"You shall have some hunters," said the Marquess, with a contraction ofhis brow. "I had thought of speaking to you about it. We will discuss itlater on."
"All right," said Heyton, ungraciously. "Well, I'm off."
He went upstairs, and Miriam and the Marquess followed him soon after.Just as she was ready for bed, Heyton opened his dressing-room door and,looking in, said:
"I'm going to sleep in here to-night, Miriam."
He had often occupied the bed in his dressing-room; generally on nightswhen, if the truth must be told, he had drunk too much and was ashamedthat Miriam should see him.
"Very well," she said, indifferently.
He closed the door and turned the key softly, took off his things andput on a thick dressing-gown over his pyjamas; then he sat down in achair, with his hands thrust in the dressing-gown pockets, his head sunkon his breast, his teeth gnawing his lip. He was listening intently.Presently he got up, went to the bed and disarranged the clothes, givingthem the appearance of having been slept in; then he went back to hischair and sat and listened again.
The faint noises of a big household retiring to rest grew less bydegrees and then ceased; and presently all was perfectly still. He satmotionless, still listening, for another hour, two; then he rose and,opening the outer door stealthily, stopped, with craned head, stilllistening. The silence was unbroken, and with noiseless tread, he passedalong the corridor to his father's door and, with his ear to thekeyhole, listened again. He could hear his father's steady, long-drawnbreathing, the breathing of a man in a deep sleep.
With a gesture, as if he were controlling his nervousness, Heyton triedthe handle of the door; the door was not locked and he opened it andwent in. The house was lit by electricity, and a small lamp was burningbeside the Marquess's bed. Heyton stole across the room, in his feltslippers, and looked down at the sleeping man for a moment; then hisfurtive, bloodshot eyes went towards the small table beside the bed.There was a carafe of water and a glass, the Marquess's ring and hiswatch and chain on the table. The chain was an old-fashioned affair,with an extra ring, and on this ring were two keys, the key of the safeand a smaller one. Heyton knew that it was the key to the jewel-case.
His hand shook so much that, for a moment or two, he was afraid to touchthe chain, lest it should jingle and wake the Marquess; with an effort,Heyton controlled the shaking hand, and, after some fumbling, took thekeys from the ring; as he did so, his eyes wandered apprehensively fromthe things he was purloining to the face on the pillow; but in realityhis movements had been noiseless, and the Marquess had not awakened.
With the keys in his hand, Heyton stole into the dressing-roomadjoining, and closing the door softly, turned up the electric light. Atsight of the safe, his courage rose, his nerves grew more steady; he hadbeen careful to drink very little that night, and his brain was clear.He unlocked the safe and looked inside it. There were bundles of paperstied with tape and, at the back of them, a box covered with moroccoleather. Heyton's breath came fast and his eyes glistened; he had seenthat box once before, and knew that it contained the Sutcombe jewels. Hetook it out of the safe, closed the door and had got half-way across theroom when he stopped suddenly; for it had occurred to him that, if hetook the box, the Marquis, if he chanced to go to the safe, would missit: it would be safer to empty the box of its precious contents andreplace it in the safe. As he had guessed, the smaller key fitted thelock of the box; he opened it and, at sight of the diamonds and theother gems, he caught his breath, his eyes dilated.
There is a mystic fascination in precious stones and, gazing at them,Heyton yielded to that fascination and forgot for a moment, as his eyesdwelt on their flashing beauty, the need which had compelled him tosteal them; but presently he released himself from the spell, thrust thejewels into the capacious pockets of his dressing-gown, locked the boxand replaced it in the safe. As the safe door clanged softly to, heheard, or fancied he heard, a slight noise in the adjoining bedroom; thesound, actual or only fancied, struck a sudden terror to his cravenheart and he sprang towards the door leading on to the corridor. Thehandle turned, but the door did not open: it was locked, and the key wasnot in it.
The noise in the Marquess's bedroom grew more distinct, and it had nowresolved itself into the sound of footsteps. Livid with terror, with theperspiration standing out on his forehead, Heyton leant against the dooras if powerless to move, powerless to stand upright. The door betweenthe dressing-room and the bedroom opened; instinctively, Heytonstretched out his hand, found the switch, and extinguished the light.
"Who is there?" came the Marquess's voice. "What is it? Who is there?"
The voice came nearer; the Marquess was now in the dressing-room. Heytonknew that his father was standing still; that, in another instant, hewould be calling for assistance. But the Marquess did not speak; he madea movement, and Heyton g
uessed that his father was returning to thebedroom to turn up all the lights there.
With a smothered oath, the wretched man stole forward, felt for thefireplace with his foot, caught up the poker and, feeling his way roundthe wall, reached the bedroom door. As he did so, the Marquess reachedit also and actually touched his son. Heyton drew back a pace, swung upthe poker and struck at the figure he could not see; there was a cry, achoked groan, the sound of a body falling to the floor; then adeath-like silence.
Shaking in every limb, the poker still grasped in his hand, Heyton leantagainst the wall, his other hand clinging to it, as if for support. Theclock on the mantelpiece seemed to tick a thousand times as he crouchedthere, staring, with protruding eyes, into the horrible darkness; then,with a gasp, as if he were suffocating, he felt his way round to theswitch, and turned it on. The light fell on the figure of the Marquess,lying on its back, where he had fallen; his arms were stretched out, hewas quite motionless, and a thin stream of blood was trickling from hisforehead; it had already reddened his face and made a small pool on thecarpet.
Heyton stood and gazed at this horrible sight, as if he were turned tostone. He was like a man who has been suddenly struck by paralysis; itseemed to him as if the whole of his legs and feet had been turned tolead, and that he should never again be able to move them, that he wouldbe forced to remain there until the servants came and that--thathorrible thing lying at his feet were discovered.
For some minutes he remained in this condition of coma, stupor; butpresently, gradually, he recovered the use of his limbs, his brain beganto work again, and he asked himself whether there was any reason for theterror which had obsessed him. Of compunction for the awful crime therewas nothing in his mind or heart. That the man he had struck down washis own father, did not count; every fibre of his being was absorbed, tothe exclusion of everything else, in the desire for his own safety. Sogigantic was his selfishness, that the working of his mind was notdisturbed by the enormity of the crime he had committed; he saw nowthat, as events had turned out, he had acted unwisely in taking thejewels from their box; and, alertly and with something like calmness, heunlocked the safe, replaced the jewels in the box and left the safe dooropen; he was actually turning away, leaving the jewel-case in its place,when his cupidity got the better of him and he took up the case, hid itunder his dressing-gown, and went towards the bedroom door.
As he reached it, he glanced over his shoulder at the silent,blood-stained form lying on the floor; he wondered whether his fatherwere dead or only stunned. For a moment, he wished that the blow hadbeen fatal: he, Heyton, would be the Marquess; there would be plenty ofmoney ready to his hand, there would be no need to steal his own jewels,he thought, with an hysterical giggle. But he could leave nothing tochance now. With another glance at the motionless figure, he stole fromthe room and reached his own.
The unnatural calm which had supported him during the last few minuteshad deserted him by this time, and, in closing the door, he did soclumsily enough to make a sound; the sound, slight as it was, struck himwith renewed terror, and, in crossing the room, he stumbled against achair and overthrew it; and let the two keys slip from his fingers. Thesound of the falling chair was loud and distinct enough to fill him withapprehension, and he stood breathless and listened, as if he expectedthe whole household to awake.
There was a movement in Miriam's room, and he heard her voice calling tohim softly.
"Was that you, Percy?" she asked, in the tone of one just awakened fromsleep.
He was silent for a moment; it seemed hours to him--then he slipped intothe bed, and, with a yawn, as if she had roused him from sleep, hereplied,
"What is it?"
"I don't know," she said. "I thought I heard a noise."
"Oh, that!" he said, with another yawn. "I knocked over the chair by thebed, reaching for a glass of water. For goodness' sake, go to sleep anddon't bother!"
Mentally cursing his wife, Heyton closed his eyes and tried to think.Strangely enough, his lack of imagination helped him; the imaginativeman, in Heyton's position, would have conjured up all the terriblepossibilities which environed him; but Heyton's mind was dull andnarrow, and so he was able to concentrate on actual facts and actualchances.
Up to the present, he told himself, there was absolutely nothing toconnect him with the robbery and the--murder, if murder it was. He feltsure that the Marquess had not seen him in that brief moment, when theold man stood in the doorway; if he had done so, he would certainly havespoken Heyton's name; there was nothing to show that the blow had beendealt by Heyton; with the selfishness of the baser kind of criminal, hehad refrained from examining the motionless figure, lest he should bestained by the blood which flowed from the wound. No; the robbery wouldbe laid to the charge of the ordinary burglar.
Then suddenly his mind switched off with a jolt; he had forgotten thatthe most damning proof of his guilt was in the cabinet opposite the bed,where he had thrust it. At that very moment he was actually inpossession of the stolen goods; a minute search would be made, even hisown room would not be exempt. He must hide the jewel-case somewhere. Butwhere? Then he remembered having dropped the keys, and he hunted forthem; but he could not find them. He was getting confused, obfuscated:he would search for the keys in the morning: perhaps, after all, he hadleft them in the dressing-room.
Throughout the remaining hours of that awful night, he lay pondering themomentous question, at one moment burning with fever, at another icycold. The dawn broke, the sun rose, the room grew hot; and the heat gavehim an idea. As the clock struck six, he rose, put on his boatingflannels, and, with his bath towel over his arm, opened the bedroomdoor. He had actually forgotten the missing keys! Such lapses are commonto the criminal.
Miriam was a light sleeper--as her awaking at the noise of the fallingchair had proved--she became conscious of his presence and she openedher eyes.
"Oh, what is it, Percy?" she asked, petulantly and a little nervously.
"I'm going down to the lake for a swim," he said; "it's precious hotthis morning. I left my white shoes in the room."
"No, you didn't," she said, impatiently. "I saw them with your otherboots in the dressing-room yesterday."
"Oh, right!" he said. "Awfully sorry to have disturbed you."
He returned to the dressing-room, arranged the long bath towel over thejewel-case, and went downstairs. He was too early, as he knew, for anyof the servants to be about, and he went through the lower hall and wasunbolting the outer door when he chanced to glance at the window nearestit; it was closed by a common hasp, and was without bars. With a littlenod of satisfaction, he opened the window noiselessly; then went out bythe door.
He was about to go through the shrubbery, towards the little wood, atthe bottom of which lay the lake, but it occurred to him that some ofthe servants might be getting up and that any movement of his should beopen and free from secrecy. So he went straight across the lawn in thesauntering fashion of a man going for a bath and enjoying the fresh,warm air; but when he entered the wood, which was enchanted ground forDerrick and Celia, he looked round him cautiously; for it was justpossible that one of the gamekeepers might be about; but there was nosight or sound of anyone, and when he had gained the centre of the wood,he stopped and looked around him, and presently, after waiting a minuteor two listening intently, he hid the box under a bush and covered itwith the leaves of last autumn. Then, with a sense of relief, for, lightas it was, the jewel-case had weighed upon him like a leaden thing, hewent to the lake, slipped off his things and had his swim.
He felt better after it; more of a man, as the poor fool told himself.There was nothing to connect him with the robbery, he had got rid of thejewel-case; it was well-nigh impossible that anyone should discover it;he could remove it when the fuss was over; indeed, perhaps there wouldbe no need to deal with the jewels; the old man might be----
It was all very plausible; but he had forgotten to take into accountthat long arm of coincidence which so often upsets the plans of the mo
stastute criminal. And yet, in this case, the arm was not so very long.For Derrick had acquired a habit of early rising during the experiencesin South America; the circus people were always up soon after sunrise,and at the ranch most of the people were stirring at dawn, when the airwas cool and fresh. That morning, Derrick, who had slept soundly, asyour happy lover should sleep, rose and, leaving the inn, had saunteredalong the road until he came to the gate where Lady Gridborough had seenhim and Celia. Naturally enough, he passed into the wood; of course,taking the path on which he had walked with Celia. He was thinking ofher, thinking of the future, of the joy that awaited him, and in thatclear, sunlit air, with the song of the birds in his ears, thedifficulties with which he was beset seemed very light and unimportant.The girl he had loved was going to be his; that thought was quite enoughfor such a morning. He had nearly reached the centre of the wood, whenhe stopped to take out his pipe and pouch, and he was about to strike amatch, when he saw something white passing between the trees at a littledistance from him.
At first he thought it was Celia, and, with a leap of the lover's heart,he took a step forward; then he stopped short; the figure was that of aman in flannels; and a moment or two afterwards, he had recognisedHeyton. The disappointment was great; he had no desire to meet Heyton;the sight of him recalled the bitter past; and Derrick stood, frowningas he watched Heyton on his way to the lake. He saw Heyton stop and lookround him, and then he lost sight of him, for Heyton was bending down inthe act of hiding the jewel-case. When he rose, Derrick got a clearsight of the man's face, and something in its expression impressedDerrick curiously, painfully.
Nothing stops still in this world of ours; and men must go up or down.It was evident to Derrick that Heyton had gone very much down since hehad last seen him. Heyton's face had coarsened, his lips had grownlooser and more sensual, there were bags under his eyes; but it was notthese grosser changes which struck Derrick so much, as the expression ofthe man's face; it was that of one burdened by some oppression of mindor body; it seemed to Derrick that the light, prominent eyes had in thema look of fear, the look a man wears when he is hunted and driven.
And why, just before he had disappeared, had Heyton looked round him,secretively, cautiously, as if he did not wish to be seen? It wasridiculous, Derrick told himself; but it seemed to him as if Heyton werehiding something. Half-unconsciously, he made a mental note of the spotat which Heyton had made that curious pause in his progress. But Derrickdid not go to it; he wanted particularly to avoid Heyton--and Miriam,everyone connected with that wretched past which still hung over himlike a cloud. So he returned to the road and went straight back to theinn.
Awaiting him, he found a letter from the engineers concerning matterswhich needed his immediate presence in London. He had just time tosnatch a hasty breakfast, left word with the landlord for Reggie thathe, Derrick, was obliged to go to London but would return by the nighttrain, and reached the station just as the train came in. He was hotand, no doubt, looked rather worried; for there was no means of lettingCelia know that he had gone, or of making an appointment with her. Ofcourse, he pictured her wandering about the wood in the hope of seeinghim, and acutely imagined her disappointment.