The House of a Thousand Candles - Meredith Nicholson (top 50 books to read txt) 📗
- Author: Meredith Nicholson
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“No, sir. He was quite busy with his books and papers.”
“Humph! We can never be sure of him.”
“I suppose that is correct, sir.”
“Well, you and Morgan are a fine pair, I must say!
I thought he had some sense, and that you’d see to it
that he didn’t make a mess of this thing. He’s in bed
now with a hole in his arm and you’ve got to go on
alone.”
“I’ll do my best, Mr. Pickering.”
“Don’t call me by name, you idiot. We’re not advertising
our business from the housetops.”
“Certainly not,” replied Bates humbly.
The blood was roaring through my head, and my
hands were clenched as I stood there listening to this
colloquy.
Pickering’s voice was—and is—unmistakable. There
was always a purring softness in it. He used to remind
me at school of a sleek, complacent cat, and I hate cats
with particular loathing.
“Is Morgan lying or not when he says he shot himself
accidentally?” demanded Pickering petulantly.
“I only know what I heard from the gardener here at
the school. You’ll understand, I hope, that I can’t be
seen going to Morgan’s house.”
“Of course not. But he says you haven’t played fair
with him, that you even attacked him a few days after
Glenarm came.”
“Yes, and he hit me over the head with a club. It
was his indiscretion, sir. He wanted to go through the
library in broad daylight, and it wasn’t any use, anyhow.
There’s nothing there.”
“But I don’t like the looks of this shooting. Morgan’s
sick and out of his head. But a fellow like Morgan
isn’t likely to shoot himself accidentally, and now
that it’s done the work’s stopped and the time is running
on. What do you think Glenarm suspects?”
“I can’t tell, sir, but mighty little, I should say. The
shot through the window the first night he was here
seemed to shake him a trifle, but he’s quite settled down
now, I should say, sir.”
“He probably doesn’t spend much time on this side
of the fence—doesn’t haunt the chapel, I fancy?”
“Lord, no, sir! I hardly suspect the young gentleman
of being a praying man.”
“You haven’t seen him prowling about analyzing the
architecture—”
“Not a bit of it, sir. He hasn’t, I should say, what
his revered grandfather called the analytical mind.”
Hearing yourself discussed in this frank fashion by
your own servant is, I suppose, a wholesome thing for
the spirit. The man who stands behind your chair may
acquire, in time, some special knowledge of your mental
processes by a diligent study of the back of your
head. But I was not half so angry with these conspirators
as with myself, for ever having entertained a single
generous thought toward Bates. It was, however, consoling
to know that Morgan was lying to Pickering, and
that my own exploits in the house were unknown to the
executor.
Pickering stamped his feet upon the paved porch
floor in a way that I remembered of old. It marked a
conclusion, and preluded serious statements.
“Now, Bates,” he said, with a ring of authority and
speaking in a louder key than he had yet used, “it’s
your duty under all the circumstances to help discover
the hidden assets of the estate. We’ve got to pluck the
mystery from that architectural monster over there, and
the time for doing it is short enough. Mr. Glenarm was
a rich man. To my own knowledge he had a couple of
millions, and he couldn’t have spent it all on that house.
He reduced his bank account to a few thousand dollars
and swept out his safety-vault boxes with a broom before
his last trip into Vermont. He didn’t die with the
stuff in his clothes, did he?”
“Lord bless me, no, sir! There was little enough
cash to bury him, with you out of the country and me
alone with him.”
“He was a crank and I suppose he got a lot of satisfaction
out of concealing his money. But this hunt for it
isn’t funny. I supposed, of course, we’d dig it up before
Glenarm got here or I shouldn’t have been in such
a hurry to send for him. But it’s over there somewhere,
or in the grounds. There must he a plan of the house
that would help. I’ll give you a thousand dollars the
day you wire me you have found any sort of clue.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I don’t want thanks, I want the money or securities
or whatever it is. I’ve got to go back to my car now,
and you’d better skip home. You needn’t tell your
young master that I’ve been here.”
I was trying hard to believe, as I stood there with
clenched hands outside the chapel porch, that Arthur
Pickering’s name was written in the list of directors of
one of the greatest trust companies in America, and
that he belonged to the most exclusive clubs in New
York. I had run out for a walk with only an inverness
over my dinner-jacket, and I was thoroughly chilled by
the cold mist. I was experiencing, too, an inner cold as
I reflected upon the greed and perfidy of man.
“Keep an eye on Morgan,” said Pickering.
“Certainly, sir.”
“And be careful what you write or wire.”
“I’ll mind those points, sir. But I’d suggest, if you
please, sir—”
“Well?” demanded Pickering impatiently.
“That you should call at the house. It would look
rather strange to the young gentleman if you’d come
here and not see him.”
“I haven’t the slightest errand with him. And besides,
I haven’t time. If he learns that I’ve been here
you may say that my business was with Sister Theresa
and that I regretted very much not having an opportunity
to call on him.”
The irony of this was not lost on Bates, who chuckled
softly. He came out into the open and turned away toward
the Glenarm gate. Pickering passed me, so near
that I might have put out my hand and touched him,
and in a moment I heard the carriage drive off rapidly
toward the village.
I heard Bates running home over the snow and listened
to the clatter of the village hack as it bore Pickering
back to Annandale.
Then out of the depths of the chapel porch—out of
the depths of time and space, it seemed, so dazed I stood
—some one came swiftly toward me, some one, light of
foot like a woman, ran down the walk a little way into
the fog and paused.
An exclamation broke from me.
“Eavesdropping for two!”—it was the voice of Olivia.
“I’d take pretty good care of myself if I were you,
Squire Glenarm. Good night!”
“Good-by!” I faltered, as she sped away into the mist
toward the school.
THE GIRL IN GRAY
My first thought was to find the crypt door and return
through the tunnel before Bates reached the house.
The chapel was open, and by lighting matches I found
my way to the map and panel. I slipped through and
closed the opening; then ran through the passage with
gratitude for the generous builder who had given it a
clear floor and an ample roof. In my haste I miscalculated
its length and pitched into the steps under the
trap at a speed that sent me sprawling. In a moment
more I had jammed the trap into place and was running
up the cellar steps, breathless, with my cap
smashed down over my eyes.
I heard Bates at the rear of the house and knew I had
won the race by a scratch. There was but a moment in
which to throw my coat and cap under the divan, slap
the dust from my clothes and seat myself at the great
table, where the candles blazed tranquilly.
Bates’ step was as steady as ever—there was not the
slightest hint of excitement in it—as he came and stood
within the door.
“Beg pardon, Mr. Glenarm, did you wish anything,
sir?”
“Oh, no, thank you, Bates.”
“I had stepped down to the village, sir, to speak to
the grocer. The eggs he sent this morning were not
quite up to the mark. I have warned him not to send
any of the storage article to this house.”
“That’s right, Bates.” I folded my arms to hide my
hands, which were black from contact with the passage,
and faced my man servant. My respect for his rascally
powers had increased immensely since he gave me my
coffee. A contest with so clever a rogue was worth
while.
“I’m grateful for your good care of me, Bates. I had
expected to perish of discomfort out here, but you are
treating me like a lord.”
“Thank you, Mr. Glenarm. I do what I can, sir.”
He brought fresh candles for the table candelabra,
going about with his accustomed noiseless step. I felt
a cold chill creep down my spine as he passed behind
me on these errands. His transition from the r��le of
conspirator to that of my flawless servant was almost
too abrupt.
I dismissed him as quickly as possible, and listened
to his step through the halls as he went about locking
the doors. This was a regular incident, but I was aware
to-night that he exercised what seemed to me a particular
care in settling the bolts. The locking-up process
had rather bored me before; to-night the snapping of
bolts was particularly trying.
When I heard Bates climbing to his own quarters I
quietly went the rounds on my own account and found
everything as tight as a drum.
In the cellar I took occasion to roll some barrels of
cement into the end of the corridor, to cover and block
the trap door. Bates had no manner of business in that
part of the house, as the heating apparatus was under
the kitchen and accessible by an independent stairway.
I had no immediate use for the hidden passage to the
chapel—and I did not intend that my enemies should
avail themselves of it. Morgan, at least, knew of it and,
while he was not likely to trouble me at once, I had resolved
to guard every point in our pleasant game.
I was tired enough to sleep when I went to my room,
and after an eventless night, woke to a clear day and
keener air.
“I’m going to take a little run into the village, Bates,”
I remarked at breakfast.
“Very good, sir. The weather’s quite cleared.”
“If any one should call I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“Yes, sir.”
He turned his impenetrable face toward me as I rose.
There was, of course, no chance whatever that any one
would call to see me; the Reverend Paul Stoddard was
the only human being, except Bates, Morgan and the
man who brought up my baggage, who had crossed the
threshold since my arrival.
I really had an errand in the village. I wished to
visit the hardware store and buy some cartridges, but
Pickering’s presence in the community was a disturbing
factor in my mind. I wished to get sight of him—
to meet him, if possible, and see how a man, whose
schemes were so deep, looked in the light of day.
As I left the grounds and gained the highway Stoddard
fell in with me.
“Well, Mr. Glenarm, I’m glad to see you abroad so
early. With that library of yours the temptation must
be strong to
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