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

the collar. The man lifted his hat as Lady Ruth wished

him good day.

 

"I saw you at the funeral, Angus McConachan," she said. "A sad business.

A terrible business." And she shook her head mournfully.

 

The farmer stopped the willing pony.

 

"That it is, my leddy," he assented. "It's a black day indeed, when the

heed o' a clan is struck doon by are o' his ain bleed. It's a great peety

that the lad would ha' forgot what he owed to his salt. But I'm thinkin'

they'll be hangin' him afore the year's oot."

 

"Oh, Angus," cried Lady Ruth, in horrified tones, "don't talk in that

dreadful way. I'm quite, quite sure Sir David never had any part in the

thing. It's all a mistake, and this gentleman here is going to find out

who really fired the shot."

 

"Well, I hope ye'll be richt, my leddy," was all the farmer would commit

himself to, as he gathered up the reins. Then he hesitated, looking down

on the hot, flushed countenance of the lady in the road beneath him. "If

yer leddyship will be tackin' a seat in the machine," he hazarded, "it'll

maybe save ye the trail up the brae."

 

Lady Ruth accepted the suggestion with great content. She was getting

very tired, and was finding the walk more exhausting than she had

bargained for. She lost no time in climbing up beside Angus, and the fat

pony was induced to continue its reluctant progress.

 

Near the top of the hill the road forked into two branches, that which

led to the right continuing parallel with the loch, whilst the other

diverged over the hill towards Auchtermuchty, a town some fifteen miles

distant. The stout pony unhesitatingly took the turning to the left.

 

The farmer looked at Lady Ruth inquiringly.

 

"Will ye get doon here, my leddy?" he asked; "or will ye drive on as far

as the sheepfold? It will be shorter for ye tae walk doon fay there, by

the burn and the Green Way."

 

"I should like to do that;" said Lady Ruth, "if you don't mind taking me

so far. Perhaps you would give Mr. Gimblet a lift too, now that we're on

top of the hill?"

 

The man readily consented, and Gimblet, who was following on foot, was

called and informed of the proposed change of route. He scrambled into

the back of the cart and they rattled along the upper road, the stout

pony no doubt wearing a very aggrieved expression under its blinkers.

 

When another mile had been traversed, they were put down at a place where

a rough track led down across the moor by the side of an old stone

sheepfold.

 

The cart jogged off to the sound of a chorus of thanks, and Lady Ruth and

Gimblet started down the heather-grown path. They rounded the corners of

the deserted fold, and walked on into the golden mist of sunset which

spread in front of them, enveloping and dazzling. The clouds of the

morning had rolled silently away to the horizon, the wind had dropped to

a mere capful; and the midges were abroad in their hosts, rejoicing in

the improvement in the weather.

 

"I don't believe it's going to rain after all," said Lady Ruth. "The sun

looks rather too red, perhaps, to be quite safe, though it _is_ supposed

to be the shepherd's delight. I can only say that, if he was delighted

with the result of some of the red sunsets we get up here, he'd be easily

pleased, and for my part I'm never surprised at anything. These midges

are past belief, aren't they?"

 

They were, Gimblet agreed heartily. He gathered a handful of fern and

tried to keep them at bay, but they were persevering and ubiquitous. Soon

the path led them away from the open moor, and into the wood of birches

and young oaks which clung to the side of the hill. A little farther, and

Gimblet heard the distant gurgling of a burn; presently they were picking

their way between moss-covered boulders on the edge of a rocky gully.

Great tufts of ferns dotted the steep pitch of the bank below; the stream

that clattered among the stones at the bottom shone very cool and shadowy

under the alders; and a clearing on the other side revealed, over the

receding woods, the broken hill-tops of a blue horizon.

 

The path wound gradually downward to the waterside, and in a little while

they crossed it by means of a row of stepping-stones over which Lady Ruth

passed as boldly as her companion.

 

Another hundred yards of shade, and they came out into a long narrow

glen, carpeted with short springy turf, and bordered, as by an avenue,

with trees knee-deep in bracken. The rectangular shape and enclosed

nature of the glade came as a surprise in the midst of the wild

woodlands. The place had more the air of forming part of pleasure grounds

near to the haunts of man, and the eye wandered instinctively in search

of a house. The effect of artificiality was increased by a large piece of

statuary representing a figure carved in stone and standing upon a high

oblong pediment, which stood a little distance down the glen.

 

Gimblet did not repress his feeling of astonishment.

 

"What a strange place!" he exclaimed. "Who would have expected to

find this lawn tucked away in the woods. Or is there a house

somewhere at hand?"

 

"No," Lady Ruth answered, "there is nothing nearer than my cottage half a

mile away; and this short grass and flat piece of ground are entirely

natural. Nothing has been touched, except here and there a tree cut out

to keep the borders straight. The late Lady Ashiel, the wife of my

unfortunate cousin, was very fond of this place. Although it is farther,

she always walked round by it when she came to see me at the cottage.

That absurd statue was put up last year as a sort of memorial to her--a

most unsuitable one to my mind, she being a chilly sort of woman, poor

dear, who always shivered if she saw so much as a hen moulting. I'm sure

it would distress her terribly if she knew that poor creature over there

had to stand in the glen in all weathers, year in and year out, with only

a rag to cover her. And a stone rag at that, which is a cold material at

the best. Yes, this is only the beginning of a track which runs for miles

across the hills to the South. It is so green that you can always make it

out from the heights, and there are all sorts of legends about it. It is

supposed to be the road over which the clans drove back the cattle they

captured in the old days when they were always raiding each other. They

have a name for it In the Gaelic, which means the Green Way."

 

"The Green Way," Gimblet repeated mechanically. For a moment his brain

revolved with wild imaginings.

 

"Yes," repeated Lady Ruth. "Sometimes they call it 'The Way,' for short.

It is a favourite place for picnics from Crianan. My cousin used to allow

them to come here, and the place is generally made hideous with

egg-shells and paper and old bottles. One of the gardeners comes and

tidies things up once a week in the summer. People are so absolutely

without consciences."

 

"Is there a bull here?" cried Gimblet. He was quivering with excitement.

 

"Goodness gracious, I hope not!" said Lady Ruth. "Do you see any cattle?

I can't bear those long-horned Highlanders!"

 

"No," said Gimblet. "I thought perhaps--But what is the statue? The

design, surely, is rather a strange one for the place."

 

"Most extraordinary," assented Lady Ruth. "He got it in Italy and had it

sent the whole way by sea. It took all the king's horses and all the

king's men to get it up here, I can tell you. And, as I say, nothing

less apropos can one possibly imagine. That poor thin female with such

very scanty clothing is hardly a cheerful object on a Scotch winter's

day, and as for those little naked imps they would make anyone shiver,

even in August."

 

They had drawn near the sculptured group. It consisted of the slightly

draped figure of a girl, bending over an open box, or casket, from which

a crowd of small creatures, apparently, as Lady Ruth had said, imps or

fairies, were scrambling and leaping forth.

 

Gimblet gazed at it intently, as if he had never seen a statue

before. In a moment his face cleared and he turned to Lady Ruth with

burning eyes.

 

"It is Pandora," he cried. "Curiosity! Pandora and her box. Is it

not Pandora?"

 

Lady Ruth stared at him amazed.

 

"I believe it is," she said, "that or something of the sort. I'm not very

well up in mythology."

 

"Of course it is," cried Gimblet. "Face curiosity! And here's the bull,

or I'll eat my microscope," he added, advancing to the side of the group

and laying a hand upon the pedestal.

 

Lady Ruth followed his gaze with some concern. She was beginning to doubt

his sanity. But there, sure enough, beneath his pointing finger, she

perceived a row of carved heads: the heads of bulls, garlanded in the

Roman manner, and forming a kind of cornice round the top of the great

rectangular stone stand.

 

Gimblet glanced to right and left, up the glen and down it. There was no

one to be seen. The sun had fallen by this time beneath the rim of the

hills; a greyness of twilight was spread over the whole scene, and under

the trees the dusk of night was already silently ousting the day. He

turned once more to Lady Ruth.

 

"Lady Ruth," he said, "can you keep a secret?"

 

"My husband trusted me," she replied. "He was judicious as well as

judicial."

 

"I am sure I may follow his example," Gimblet said, after looking at her

fixedly for a moment. "So I will tell you that I believe I am on the

point of discovering Lord Ashiel's missing will--and not that alone.

Somewhere, concealed probably within a few feet of where we are standing,

we may hope to find other and far more important documents, involving,

perhaps, not only the welfare of one or two individuals but that of

kings and nations. Apart from that, and to speak of what most immediately

concerns us at present, I am convinced that within this stone will be

found the true clue to the author of the murder."

 

"You don't say so," gasped Lady Ruth, her round eyes rounder than ever.

 

"I found some directions in the handwriting of the murdered man," went on

Gimblet, "which I could not understand at first. But their meaning is

plain enough now. 'Take the bull by the horn,' he says. Well, here are

the bulls, and I shall soon know which is the horn."

 

He walked round to the front of the statue, so that he faced the stooping

figure of Pandora, and laid his hand upon one of the curved and

projecting horns of the left-hand bull. Nothing happened, and he tried

the next. There were seven heads in all along the face of the great block,

and he tested six of them without perceiving anything unusual. Was it

possible that he was mistaken, and that, after all, the words of the

message did not refer to the statue?

 

When he grasped the first horn of the last head, the hand that did so was

shaking with excitement and suspense. It seemed, like the rest, to

possess no attribute other than mere decoration. And yet, and yet--surely

he had missed some vital point. He would go over them again. There

remained, however, the last horn, and as he took hold of it with a

premonitory dread of disappointment, he felt that it was loose in its

socket, and that he could by an effort turn it completely over. With a

triumphant cry he twisted it round, and at the same moment Lady Ruth

started back with an exclamation of alarm.

 

She was standing where he had left her, and was nearly knocked down by

the great slab of stone which, as Gimblet turned the horn of the bull,

swung sharply out from the end of the pediment, till it hung like a door

invitingly open and disclosing a hollow chamber within the stone.

 

Within the opening, on the floor at the far end, stood a large tin

despatch-box.

 

The door was a good eighteen inches wide; plenty of room for Gimblet to

climb in, swollen with exultation though he might be. In less than three

seconds he had scrambled through the aperture and was stooping over the

box. It seemed to be locked, but a key lay on the top of the lid. He lost

no time in inserting it, and in a moment threw open the case and