The House of a Thousand Candles - Meredith Nicholson (top 50 books to read txt) 📗

of the

country for gentlemen in evening clothes to go out by

the window and return by the door. You might think

the other way round preferable.”

 

“Larry!” I shouted.

 

“Jack!”

 

“Kick that door shut and lock it,” he commanded, in

a sharp, severe tone that I remembered well—and just

now welcomed—in him.

 

“How, why and when—?”

 

“Never mind about me. I’m here—thrown the enemy

off for a few days; and you give me lessons in current

history first, while I climb into my armor. Pray pardon

the informality—”

 

He seized a broom and began work upon a pair of

trousers to which mud and briers clung tenaciously.

His coat and hat lay on a chair, they, too, much the

worse for rough wear.

 

There was never any use in refusing to obey Larry’s

orders, and as he got into his clothes I gave him in as

few words as possible the chief incidents that had

marked my stay at Glenarm House. He continued dressing

with care, helping himself to a shirt and collar from

my chiffonnier and choosing with unfailing eye the

best tie in my collection. Now and then he asked a

question tersely, or, again, he laughed or swore direly in

Gaelic. When I had concluded the story of Pickering’s

visit, and of the conversation I overheard between the

executor and Bates in the church porch, Larry wheeled

round with the scarf half-tied in his fingers and surveyed

me commiseratingly.

 

“And you didn’t rush them both on the spot and have

it out?”

 

“No. I was too much taken aback, for one thing—”

 

“I dare say you were!”

 

“And for another I didn’t think the time ripe. I’m

going to beat that fellow, Larry, but I want him to

show his hand fully before we come to a smash-up. I

know as much about the house and its secrets as he does,

—that’s one consolation. Sometimes I don’t believe

there’s a shilling here, and again I’m sure there’s a big

stake in it. The fact that Pickering is risking so much

to find what’s supposed to be hidden here is pretty fair

evidence that something’s buried on the place.”

 

“Possibly, but they’re giving you a lively boycott.

Now where in the devil have you been?”

 

“Well—” I began and hesitated. I had not mentioned

Marian Devereux and this did not seem the time

for confidences of that sort.

 

He took a cigarette from his pocket and lighted it.

 

“Bah, these women! Under the terms of your revered

grandfather’s will you have thrown away all your rights.

It looks to me, as a member of the Irish bar in bad

standing, as though you had delivered yourself up to

the enemy, so far as the legal situation is concerned.

How does it strike you?”

 

“Of course I’ve forfeited my rights. But I don’t

mean that any one shall know it yet a while.”

 

“My lad, don’t deceive yourself. Everybody round

here will know it before night. You ran off, left your

window open invitingly, and two gentlemen who meditated

breaking in found that they needn’t take the trouble.

One came in through your own room, noting, of

course, your absence, let in his friend below, and tore

up the place regrettably.”

 

“Yes, but how did you get here?—if you don’t mind

telling.”

 

“It’s a short story. That little chap from Scotland

Yard, who annoyed me so much in New York and drove

me to Mexico—for which may he dwell for ever in fiery

torment—has never given up. I shook him off, though,

at Indianapolis three days ago. I bought a ticket for

Pittsburg with him at my elbow. I suppose he thought

the chase was growing tame, and that the farther east

he could arrest me the nearer I should be to a British

consul and tide-water. I went ahead of him into the

station and out to the Pittsburg sleeper. I dropped my

bag into my section—if that’s what they call it in your

atrocious American language—looked out and saw him

coming along the platform. Just then the car began to

move—they were shunting it about to attach a sleeper

that had been brought in from Louisville and my carriage,

or whatever you call it, went skimming out of

the sheds into a yard where everything seemed to be

most noisy and complex. I dropped off in the dark

just before they began to haul the carriage back. A

long train of empty goods wagons was just pulling

out and I threw my bag into a wagon and climbed after

it. We kept going for an hour or so until I was thoroughly

lost, then I took advantage of a stop at a place

that seemed to be the end of terrestrial things, got out

and started across country. I expressed my bag to you

the other day from a town that rejoiced in the cheering

name of Kokomo, just to get rid of it. I walked into

Annandale about midnight, found this medieval marvel

through the kindness of the station-master and was reconnoitering

with my usual caution when I saw a gentleman

romantically entering through an open window.”

 

Larry paused to light a fresh cigarette.

 

“You always did have a way of arriving opportunely.

Go on!”

 

“It pleased my fancy to follow him; and by the time

I had studied your diggings here a trifle, things began

to happen below. It sounded like a St. Patrick’s

Day celebration in an Irish village, and I went down at

a gallop to see if there was any chance of breaking in.

Have you seen the room? Well,”—he gave several

turns to his right wrist, as though to test it—“we all

had a jolly time there by the fireplace. Another chap

had got in somewhere, so there were two of them. Your

man—I suppose it’s your man—was defending himself

gallantly with a large thing of brass that looked like

the pipes of a grand organ—and I sailed in with a chair.

My presence seemed to surprise the attacking party,

who evidently thought I was you—flattering, I must

say, to me!”

 

“You undoubtedly saved Bates’ life and prevented the

rifling of the house. And after you had poured water

on Bates—he’s the servant—you came up here—”

 

“That’s the way of it.”

 

“You’re a brick, Larry Donovan. There’s only one of

you; and now—”

 

“And now, John Glenarm, we’ve got to get down to

business—or you must. As for me, after a few hours

of your enlivening society—”

 

“You don’t go a step until we go together—no, by

the beard of the prophet! I’ve a fight on here and I’m

going to win if I die in the struggle, and you’ve got to

stay with me to the end.”

 

“But under the will you dare not take a boarder.”

 

“Of course I dare! That will’s as though it had

never been as far as I’m concerned. My grandfather

never expected me to sit here alone and be murdered.

John Marshall Glenarm wasn’t a fool exactly!”

 

“No, but a trifle queer, I should say. I don’t have

to tell you, old man, that this situation appeals to me.

It’s my kind of a job. If it weren’t that the hounds are

at my heels I’d like to stay with you, but you have

enough trouble on hands without opening the house to

an attack by my enemies.”

 

“Stop talking about it. I don’t propose to be deserted

by the only friend I have in the world when I’m up

to my eyes in trouble. Let’s go down and get some

coffee.”

 

We found Bates trying to remove the evidences of the

night’s struggle. He had fastened a cold pack about his

head and limped slightly; otherwise he was the same—

silent and inexplicable.

 

Daylight had not improved the appearance of the

room. Several hundred books lay scattered over the

floor, and the shelves which had held them were hacked

and broken.

 

“Bates, if you can give us some coffee—? Let the

room go for the present.”

 

”Yes, sir.”

 

“And Bates—”

 

He paused and Larry’s keen eyes were bent sharply

upon him.

 

“Mr. Donovan is a friend who will be with me for

some time. We’ll fix up his room later in the day”

 

He limped out, Larry’s eyes following him.

 

“What do you think of that fellow?” I asked.

 

Larry’s face wore a puzzled look.

 

“What do you call him—Bates? He’s a plucky fellow.”

 

Larry picked up from the hearth the big candelabrum

with which Bates had defended himself. It

was badly bent and twisted, and Larry grinned.

 

“The fellow who went out through the front door

probably isn’t feeling very well to-day. Your man was

swinging this thing like a windmill.”

 

“I can’t understand it,” I muttered. “I can’t, for

the life of me, see why he should have given battle to

the enemy. They all belong to Pickering, and Bates is

the biggest rascal of the bunch.”

 

“Humph! we’ll consider that later. And would you

mind telling me what kind of a tallow foundry this is?

I never saw so many candlesticks in my life. I seem

to taste tallow. I had no letters from you, and I supposed

you were loafing quietly in a grim farm-house,

dying of ennui, and here you are in an establishment

that ought to be the imperial residence of an Eskimo

chief. Possibly you have crude petroleum for soup and

whipped salad-oil for dessert. I declare, a man living

here ought to attain a high candle-power of luminosity.

It’s perfectly immense.” He stared and laughed. “And

hidden treasure, and night attacks, and young virgins

in the middle distance—yes, I’d really like to stay a

while.”

 

As we ate breakfast I filled in gaps I had left in my

hurried narrative, with relief that I can not describe filling

my heart as I leaned again upon the sympathy of

an old and trusted friend.

 

As Bates came and went I marked Larry’s scrutiny of

the man. I dismissed him as soon as possible that we

might talk freely.

 

“Take it up and down and all around, what do you

think of all this?” I asked.

 

Larry was silent for a moment; he was not given to

careless speech in personal matters.

 

“There’s more to it than frightening you off or getting

your grandfather’s money. It’s my guess that

there’s something in this house that somebody—Pickering

supposedly—is very anxious to find.”

 

“Yes; I begin to think so. He could come in here

legally if it were merely a matter of searching for lost

assets.”

 

“Yes; and whatever it is it must be well hidden. As

I remember, your grandfather died in June. You got

a letter calling you home in October.”

 

“It was sent out blindly, with not one chance in a

hundred that it would ever reach me.”

 

“To be sure. You were a wanderer on the face of the

earth, and there was nobody in America to look after

your interests. You may be sure that the place was

thoroughly ransacked while you were sailing home. I’ll

wager you the best dinner you ever ate that there’s more

at stake than your grandfather’s money. The situation

is inspiring. I grow interested. I’m almost persuaded

to linger.”