The Ashiel Mystery - Mrs. Charles Bryce (novels to improve english TXT) 📗

the information as to

who she was. Still, more people might know Ashiel than Ashiel knew, and

it was possible that that hope might fail. No doubt she was a member of

the society the peer had so rashly entangled himself with in the days of

his youth; one of those enemies of whom he had spoken with such grave

apprehension. Had she followed him into the house and forced her way in

on a trumped-up pretext, on the chance of hearing or finding something

that might be useful to her Nihilist friends, or had she known that Lord

Ashiel intended to leave some document in Gimblet's keeping, and come

with the idea, already formed, of stealing it? Such a plan seemed to

partake too much of the nature of a forlorn hope to be likely, but

whether or no she had expected to find that letter, Gimblet could hardly

help admiring the rapidity with which she had possessed herself of it

without wasting an unnecessary moment.

 

She must have been safe in the street and away with it, in less than

five minutes from when she first saw it. Oh, she had been quick and

dexterous! And he? He had been a gull, and false to his trust, and

altogether contemptible. What should he say to Lord Ashiel? Why in the

world hadn't he locked up the letter when Higgs brought it in? This was

what came of making red-tape regulations about not being disturbed. After

all, he comforted himself, she would be a good deal disappointed when she

found what she had got. The key to a cipher; that was all. And a key with

nothing to unlock was an unsatisfactory kind of loot to risk prison for.

Evidently she expected something more important; perhaps the very

documents she had invited Gimblet to steal for her, regardless of

expense. This, he thought, was a reassuring sign for Lord Ashiel. For it

was plain they meant to steal the papers, if they could; but not so plain

that they looked to murder as the means by which to gain that end, since

they applied for help from him.

 

Gimblet rang up the Carlton Club and asked for his client, but he was not

in, nor did he succeed in communicating with him that afternoon; and when

he rang up the Club for the fifth time after dinner he was told that Lord

Ashiel had already left for Scotland.

 

With a groan, and fortifying himself with chocolates, the detective sat

down to write a long and full account of his failure to keep what had

been confided to his care, for the space of one hour.

 

In a couple of days he had an answer. Ashiel did not seem much perturbed

at the loss of the cipher.

 

"It is a nuisance, of course," he said. "I must think out another, and

will let you have it in a few days before sending you other things. No, I

did not recognize the person I met as I was leaving your rooms. In spite

of what you say as to your belief that theft and not murder is the object

of these people, I am still convinced that my life is aimed at. However,

I think that for the present I have hit on a way of frustrating their

plans. With regard to the other problem you are helping me to solve, I am

seeing a great deal of both the young people, and I believe there can be

no doubt as to the identity of one of them, but I will write to you on

this subject also in a few days' time."

 

He sent Gimblet a couple of brace of grouse, which the detective devoured

with great satisfaction, and for the next week no more letters bearing a

Scotch postmark were delivered at the Whitehall flat.

CHAPTER VI

 

"Here they come again."

 

Lord Ashiel spoke in a voice scarcely above a whisper, and Juliet

crouched low against the peaty wall of the butt. There was an instant's

silence, and then crack, crack, shots sounded from the other end of the

line. Another minute and Lord Ashiel's gun went up; she heard the whirr

of approaching wings before she covered both ears with her hands to

deaden the noise of the explosions she knew were coming.

 

Then several guns seemed to go off at once. Bang! bang! bang! Bang!

bang! bang!

 

Juliet did not really enjoy grouse-driving, but she tried to appear as if

she did, since every one else seemed to, and at all events there were

intervals between drives when she could be happy in the glory of the

hills and the wild free air of the moors.

 

Meanwhile she knelt in her corner of the butt beside her host's big

retriever, and waited. There was a little bunch of heather growing

level with her nose, and she bent forward silently and sniffed at it.

But the honey-sweet scent was drowned for the moment by the smell of

gunpowder and dog.

 

Bang! bang! bang!

 

Presently Lord Ashiel turned and looked down at her, with a smile.

 

"The drivers are close up," he said. "The drive is over."

 

They went out of the butt, and she stood watching the dog picking up the

birds Lord Ashiel had shot. He found nineteen, and the loader picked up

three more. Juliet was glad her host shot so well. She thought him a

wonderful man. And how kind he was to her. But she could not help looking

over from time to time to the next butt, round which three other people

were wandering: Sir David Southern, and his loader, and Miss Maisie

Tarver, to whom he was engaged to be married.

 

One of Sir David's birds had fallen near his uncle's butt, and presently

he strolled across to look for it, his eyes on the heather as he

zigzagged about, leading his dog by the chain which his uncle insisted on

his using.

 

"There is something here," called Juliet. "Yes, it is a dead grouse. Is

this your bird?"

 

Sir David came up and took it.

 

"That's it," he said. "Thanks very much. How do you like this sort

of thing?"

 

He leant against the butt and looked down at her.

 

"Oh, it's so lovely here," began Juliet.

 

"But you don't like the shooting, eh?"

 

"I don't know," Juliet stammered. "I think it's rather cruel."

 

"You must remember there wouldn't be any grouse at all if they weren't

shot," he said seriously, "and besides, wild birds don't die comfortably

in their beds if they're not killed by man. A charge of shot is more

merciful than a death from cold and starvation, or even from the attack

of a hawk or any of a bird's other natural enemies. Just think. Wouldn't

you rather have the violent end yourself than the slow, lingering one?"

 

"Yes," admitted Juliet, "I would. I believe you're right. But I don't

really much like seeing it happen, all the same."

 

"I think you'd get used to it; it's a matter of habit. I believe

everything is a matter of habit, or almost everything. I suppose one gets

used to any kind of horror in time."

 

He spoke reflectively; more, or so it seemed to Juliet, as if trying to

convince himself than her; and as he finished speaking, she was conscious

that his eyes, which had never left her face while they were talking, had

done so now, and were fixed on some object or person behind her. She

turned instinctively and saw Miss Maisie Tarver approaching, a brace of

grouse swinging in each hand.

 

"I've got them all, right here, David," she informed him, as she came up.

She was a tall dark girl, with the look of breeding which often proves so

confusing to Europeans when they first come in contact with certain of

her countrywomen. "This bird," she added, holding up one which still

fluttered despairingly, "was a runner, but now he won't do any more

running than the colour of my new pink shirt-waist; and that's guaranteed

a fast tint, I guess."

 

Juliet looked away, trying not to show her dismay at the struggles of the

wounded bird.

 

"Here, give me that bird, Maisie," said David rather abruptly. "I'll

knock it on the head."

 

"Oh, I can do that, if it makes Miss Byrne feel badly," Maisie laughed.

 

Raising her small foot on to a stone, she began to make ineffectual

attempts to beat the bird's head against her toe. David snatched it from

her unceremoniously, and turned his back while he put an end to the poor

creature's sufferings. His face was very red. When he had killed the bird

he tossed it to Lord Ashiel's loader, and strode away across the heather.

 

Maisie looked at Juliet with a laugh.

 

"Your English young men are perfectly lovely," she remarked, "and David

is just elegant, I think, or I'd not have gone and engaged myself to be

led to the altar by him; but I can't kind of get used to the British way

of looking at things. It's quite remarkable the manner you people have

of admiring a girl one moment, because she's a good sport, and throwing

fits of disapprobation the next, because she tries to act like she is

one. Why, David looked at me just now as if he'd have taken less than two

cents to put knock-out drops in my next cocktail."

 

"Oh," protested Juliet. "I'm sure he didn't mean to. I think his

expression is naturally rather stern."

 

"Stern nothing," said Miss Tarver. "When I came up he was looking at you

as if he reckoned he could eat you, shooting-stick and all. Oh, there

aren't any flies on me! I know just what myself and dollars are worth to

Sir David Southern, and I'm beginning to do some calculating on my own

account as to what Sir David Southern is worth to me."

 

"Oh, surely you are wrong," cried Juliet. "I am certain Sir David has

never thought about your money. Oh, I feel sure you misjudge him; and you

mustn't talk like that, even in fun!"

 

"I don't know," said Miss Tarver doubtfully. "His cousin says David's

really vurry attached to me, but it's the sort of thing one ought to be

able to see for oneself, and I don't seem to feel a really strong

conviction on the subject. As for his thinking of my dollars, I fail to

see how he can help that when he's over head and ears in debt, the way he

He told me so himself when he proposed. He put it as a business

proposition. Said his ancient name was up for auction, and did I reckon

it worth my while to make a bid, or words to that effect. There's a

romantic love-story for you. He was the only titled man I'd ever struck

up till a month ago, and I always did think it would be stunning to marry

into an aristocratic British family, so I was pleased to death at the

idea of putting his on its legs again with my dollars. What else could I

do with them anyway? But I believe if I'd met your friend, Lord Ashiel,

before I'd taken the fatal step, I'd have waited to see if he didn't

fancy an Amurrican wife. But of course _he_ doesn't care a hill of beans

whether I'm rich or not. He's got plenty himself, I'm told, and I guess

he'd never have looked at me while you were around, any old way. All the

same I call him a real striking-looking man."

 

"Oh, don't talk so loud," implored Juliet. "He'll hear you. He's

quite close."

 

"Not he," said Miss Tarver. "He's back of the butt still. And I will say

he is a real high-toned gentleman, and it's my opinion the girl who gets

him will be able to give points to the man who took a piece of waste land

for a bad debt, and struck the richest vein of gold in Colorado on it."

 

She looked at Juliet with an insinuating eye.

 

"Come along," said Lord Ashiel, as he strolled up to them with a bird

he had