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THE SECRET OF THE TOWER
BY ANTHONY HOPE
1919
AUTHOR OF "THE PRISONER OF ZENDA," "RUPERT OF HENTZAU," ETC.
CONTENTS
I. DOCTOR MARY'S PAYING GUEST
II. THE GENERAL REMEMBERS
III. MR. SAFFRON AT HOME
IV. PROFESSIONAL ETIQUETTE
V. A FAMILIAR IMPLEMENT
VI. ODD STORY OF CAPTAIN DUGGLE!
VII. A GENTLEMANLY STRANGER
VIII. CAPTAIN ALEC RAISES HIS VOICE
IX. DOCTOR MARY'S ULTIMATUM
X. THAT MAGICAL WORD MOROCCO!
XI. THE CAR BEHIND THE TREES
XII. THE SECRET OF THE TOWER
XIII. RIGHT OF CONQUEST
XIV. THE SCEPTER IN THE GRAVE
XV. A NORMAL CASE
XVI. DEAD MAJESTY
XVII. THE CHIEF MOURNERS
XVIII. THE GOLD AND THE TREASURE
CHAPTER I
DOCTOR MARY'S PAYING GUEST
"Just in time, wasn't it?" asked Mary Arkroyd.
"Two days before the--the ceremony! Mercifully it had all been kept veryquiet, because it was only three months since poor Gilly was killed. Iforget whether you ever met Gilly? My half-brother, you know?"
"Only once--in Collingham Gardens. He had an _exeat_, and dashed in oneSaturday morning when we were just finishing our work. Don't youremember?"
"Yes, I think I do. But since my engagement I'd gone into colors. Oh, ofcourse I've gone back into mourning now! And everything wasready--settlements and so on, you know. And rooms taken at Bournemouth.And then it all came out!"
"How?"
"Well, Eustace--Captain Cranster, I mean. Oh, I think he really must havehad shell-shock, as he said, even though the doctor seemed to doubt it!He gave the Colonel as a reference in some shop, and--and the bankwouldn't pay the check. Other checks turned up, too, and in the end thepolice went through his papers, and found letters from--well, from her,you know. From Bogota. South America, isn't it? He'd lived there tenyears, you know, growing something--beans, or coffee, or coffee-beans, orsomething--I don't know what. He tried to say the marriage wasn'tbinding, but the Colonel--wasn't it providential that the Colonel washome on leave? Mamma could never have grappled with it! The Colonel wassure it was, and so were the lawyers."
"What happened then?"
"The great thing was to keep it quiet. Now, wasn't it? And there was theshell-shock--or so Eustace--Captain Cranster, I mean--said, anyhow. So,on the Colonel's advice, Mamma squared the check business and--and theygave him twenty-four hours to clear out. Papa--I call the Colonel Papa,you know, though he's really my stepfather--used a little influence, Ithink. Anyhow it was managed. I never saw him again, Mary."
"Poor dear! Was it very bad?"
"Yes! But--suppose we had been married! Mary, where should I have been?"
Mary Arkroyd left that problem alone. "Were you very fond of him?"she asked.
"Awfully!" Cynthia turned up to her friend pretty blue eyes suffused intears. "It was the end of the world to me. That there could be such men!I went to bed. Mamma could do nothing with me. Oh, well, she wrote to youabout all that."
"She told me you were in a pretty bad way."
"I was just desperate! Then one day--in bed--the thought of you came. Itseemed an absolute inspiration. I remembered the card you sent on mylast birthday--you've never forgotten my birthdays, though it's yearssince we met--with your new address here--and your 'Doctor,' and all theletters after your name! I thought it rather funny." A faint smile, thefirst since Miss Walford's arrival at Inkston, probably the first sinceCaptain Eustace Cranster's shell-shock had wrought catastrophe--appearedon her lips. "How I waited for your answer! You don't mind having me, doyou, dear? Mamma insisted on suggesting the P.G. arrangement. I wasafraid you'd shy at it."
"Not a bit! I should have liked to have you anyhow, but I can make youmuch more comfortable with the P.G. money. And your maid too--she looksas if she was accustomed to the best! By the way, need she be quite sotearful? She's more tearful than you are yourself."
"Jeanne's very, very fond of me," Cynthia murmured reproachfully.
"Oh, well get her out of that," said Mary briskly. "The tears, I mean,not the fondness. I'm very fond of you myself. Six years ago you were acharming kitten, and I used to enjoy being your 'visiting governess'--tosay nothing of finding the guineas very handy while I was waiting toqualify. You're rather like a kitten still, one of those blue-eyedones--Siamese, aren't they?--with close fur and a wondering look. But youmustn't mew down here, and you must have lots of milk and cream. Even ifrations go on, I can certify all the extras for you. That's the good ofbeing a doctor!" She laughed cheerfully as she took a cigarette from themantelpiece and lit it.
Cynthia, on the other hand, began to sob prettily and not in a noisyfashion, yet evidently heading towards a bout of grief. Moreover, nosooner had the first sound of lamentation escaped from her lips, than thedoor was opened smartly and a buxom girl, in lady's maid uniform, rushedin, darted across the room, and knelt by Cynthia, sobbing also andexclaiming, "Oh, my poor Mees Cynthia!"
Mary smiled in a humorous contempt.
"Stop this!" she commanded rather brusquely. "You've not been deceivedtoo, have you, Jeanne?"
"Me, madame? No. My poor Mees--"
"Leave your poor Mees to me." She took a paper bag from the mantelpiece."Go and eat chocolates."
Fixed with a firm and decidedly professional glance, Jeanne stoppedsobbing and rose slowly to her feet.
"Don't listen outside the door. You must have been listening. Wait tillyou're rung for. Miss Cynthia will be all right with me. We're going fora walk. Take her upstairs and put her hat on her, and a thick coat; it'scold and going to rain, I think."
"A walk, Mary?" Cynthia's sobs stopped, to make way for this protest. Thedescription of the weather did not sound attractive.
"Yes, yes. Now off with both of you! Here, take the chocolates, Jeanne,and try to remember that it might have been worse."
Jeanne's brown eyes were eloquent of reproach.
"Captain Cranster might have been found out too late--after the wedding,"Mary explained with a smile. "Try to look at it like that. Five minutesto get ready, Cynthia!" She was ready for the weather herself, in thestout coat and skirt and weather-proof hat in which she had driven thetwo-seater on her round that morning.
The disconsolate pair drifted ruefully from the room, though Jeanne didrecollect to take the chocolates. Doctor Mary stood looking down at thefire, her lips still shaped in that firm, wise, and philosophical smilewith which doctors and nurses--and indeed, sometimes, anybody who happensto be feeling pretty well himself--console, or exasperate, sufferinghumanity. "A very good thing the poor silly child did come to me!" Thatwas the form her thoughts took. For although Dr. Mary Arkroyd was, andknew herself to be, no dazzling genius at her profession--in moments ofcandor she would speak of having "scraped through" her qualifyingexaminations--she had a high opinion of her own common sense and herpower of guiding weaker mortals.
For all that Jeanne's cheek bulged with a chocolate, there was openresentment on her full, pouting lips, and a hint of the same feeling inCynthia's still liquid eyes, when mistress and maid came downstairsagain. Without heeding these signs, Mary drew on her gauntlets, took herwalking-stick, and flung the hall door open. A rush of cold wind filledthe little hall. Jeanne shivered ostentatiously; Cynthia sighed andmuffled herself deeper in her fur collar. "A good walking day!" said Maryd
ecisively.
Up to now, Inkston had not impressed Cynthia Walford very favorably. Itwas indeed a mixed kind of a place. Like many villages which lie near toLondon and have been made, by modern developments, more accessible thanonce they were, it showed chronological strata in its buildings. Down bythe station all was new, red, suburban. Mounting the tarred road, thewayfarer bore slightly to the right along the original village street;bating the aggressive "fronts" of one or two commercial innovators, thiswas old, calm, serene, gray in tone and restful, ornamented by three orfour good class Georgian houses, one quite fine, with well wrought irongates (this was Dr. Irechester's); turning to the right again, but moresharply, the wayfarer found himself once more in villadom, but avilladom more ornate, more costly, with gardens to be measured inacres--or nearly. This was Hinton Avenue (Hinton because it was themaiden name of the builder's wife; Avenue because avenue is genteel).Here Mary dwelt, but by good luck her predecessor, Dr. Christian Evans,had seized upon a surviving old cottage at the end of the avenue, and,indeed, of Inkston village itself. Beyond it stretched meadows, whilethe road, turning again, ran across an open heath, and pursued its wayto Sprotsfield, four miles distant, a place of greater size where allamenities could be found.
It was along this road that the friends now walked, Mary setting a briskpace. "When once you've turned your back on the Avenue, it's heapsbetter," she said. "Might be real country, looking this way, mightn't it?Except the Naylors' place--Oh, and Tower Cottage--there are no housesbetween this and Sprotsfield."
The wind blew shrewdly, with an occasional spatter of rain; the witheredbracken lay like a vast carpet of dull copper-color under the cloudy sky;scattered fir-trees made fantastic shapes in the early gloom of aDecember day. A somber scene, yet wanting only sunshine to make it flashin a richness of color; even to-day its quiet and spaciousness, itsmelancholy and monotony, seemed to bid a sympathetic and soothing welcometo aching and fretted hearts.
"It really is rather nice out here," Cynthia admitted.
"I come almost every afternoon. Oh, I've plenty of time! My round in themorning generally sees me through--except for emergencies, births anddeaths, and so on. You see, my predecessor, poor Christian Evans, neverhad more than the leavings, and that's all I've got. I believe the realdoctor, the old-established one, Dr. Irechester, was angry at first withDr. Evans for coming; he didn't want a rival. But Christian was such ameek, mild, simple little Welshman, not the least pushing or ambitious;and very soon Dr. Irechester, who's quite well off, was glad to leave himthe dirty work, I mean (she explained, smiling) the cottages, and thepanel work, National Insurance, you know, and so on. Well, as you know, Icame down as _locum_ for Christian, he was a fellow-student of mine, andwhen the dear little man was killed in France, Dr. Irechester himselfsuggested that I should stay on. He was rather nice. He said, 'We allstarted to laugh at you, at first, but we don't laugh now, anyhow, onlymy wife does! So, if you stay on, I don't doubt we shall work very welltogether, my dear colleague,' Wasn't that rather nice of him, Cynthia?"
"Yes, dear," said Cynthia, in a voice that sounded a good manymiles away.
Mary laughed. "I'm bound to be interested in you, but I supposeyou're not bound to be interested in me," she observed resignedly."All the same, I made a sensation at Inkston just at first. And theywere even more astonished when it turned out that I could dance andplay lawn tennis."
"That's a funny little place," said Cynthia, pointing to the left sideof the road.
"Tower Cottage, that's called."
"But what a funny place!" Cynthia insisted. "A round tower, like aMartello tower, only smaller, of course; and what looks just like anordinary cottage or small farm-house joined on to it. What could thetower have been for?"
"I'm sure I don't know. Origin lost in the mists of antiquity! An oldgentleman named Saffron lives there now."
"A patient of yours, Mary?"
"Oh, no! He's well off, rich, I believe. So he belongs to Dr. Irechester.But I often meet him along the road. Lately there's always been a youngerman with him, a companion, or secretary, or something of that sort, Ihear he is."
"There are two men coming along the road now."
"Yes, that's them, the old man, and his friend. He's rather strikingto look at."
"Which of them?"
"The old man, of course. I haven't looked at the secretary. Cynthia, Ibelieve you're beginning to feel a little better!"
"Oh, no, I'm not! I'm afraid I'm not, really!" But there had been acheerfully roguish little smile on her face. It vanished very promptlywhen observed.
The two men approached them, on their way, no doubt, to Tower Cottage.The old man was not above middle height, indeed, scarcely reached it; buthe made the most of his inches carrying himself very upright, with an airof high dignity. Close-cut white hair showed under an old-fashionedpeaked cap; he wore a plaid shawl swathed round him, his left arm beingenveloped in its folds; his right rested in the arm of his companion, whowas taller than he, lean and loose-built, clad in an almost white (andvery unseasonable looking) suit of some homespun material. He wore nocovering on his head, a thick crop of curly hair (of a colorindistinguishable in the dim light) presumably affording such protectionas he needed. His face was turned down towards the old man, who waslooking up at him and apparently talking to him, though in so low a tonethat no sound reached Mary and Cynthia as they passed by. Neither mangave any sign of noticing their presence.
"Mr. Saffron, you said? Rather a queer name, but he looks a nice old man;patriarchal, you know. What's the name of the other one?"
"I did hear; somebody mentioned him at the Naylors'--somebody who hadheard something about him in France. What was the name? It was somethingqueer too, I think."
"They've got queer names, and they live in a queer house!" Cynthiaactually gave a little laugh. "But are you going to walk all night,Mary dear?"
"Oh, poor thing! I forgot you! You're tired? We'll turn back."
They retraced their steps, again passing Tower Cottage, into which itsoccupants must have gone, for they were no longer to be seen.
"That name's on the tip of my tongue," said Mary in amused vexation. "Ishall get it in a moment!"
Cynthia had relapsed into gloom. "It doesn't matter in the least,"she murmured.
"It's Beaumaroy!" said Mary in triumph.
"I don't wonder you couldn't remember that!"