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

He went to the door and looked about him. The weather was

clearing, the clouds breaking and scudding fast before a wind which had

arisen in the North; a tinge of blue showed here and there in the

interstices between them, while a veil of mist that trailed after them

shone faintly orange in the rays of the hidden sun.

 

Gimblet went back and sat down in the drawing-room with the _Scotsman_ in

his hand. He put it down after a few minutes, however, and began

fidgeting about the room. Then he went and conferred with the second of

the two policemen, and as he was talking to him the General and the

inspector reappeared.

 

"I think," said Gimblet, coming towards them, "that we will not wait any

longer for Lord Ashiel."

 

General Tenby, staring at him with rather a strange expression,

nevertheless silently assented, and the four men started on their walk to

the green way.

 

As they went up the glen a ray of sunshine emerged from between the

flying clouds, and fell upon the statue at the end of the enclosed glade.

Away to the right their eyes could follow the track of a distant shower;

and as they went a rainbow curved across the sky, stretching from hill to

hill like some great monumental arch set up for the celestial armies to

march under on their return from the conquest of the earth.

 

"That statue," Gimblet remarked to the General, who walked beside him,

"is a specimen of the worst modern Italian sculpture. The figure of

Pandora is modelled like a sack of potatoes; the composition is weak and

unsatisfactory; and the pediment on which the whole group is poised large

enough to support three others of the same size."

 

The General grunted.

 

"I always understood that the late Lord Ashiel knew what he was

about," he said stiffly. "He told me himself that it cost him a great

deal of money."

 

Gimblet sighed. He could not help feeling that it was a pity Lord Ashiel

had not earlier fallen into the habit of consulting him.

 

Still, he was bound to admit that though the stone group, regarded as

a work of art, was altogether deplorable, the general effect of the

erection, in its rectangular setting of forest, was excellent. The

whole scene was one of peaceful and romantic beauty. Poets might have

sat themselves down in that moist and shining spot; and, forgetful of

the possibilities of rheumatism, found their muse inspiring beyond

the ordinary.

 

Gimblet was at heart something of a poet, but he felt no inclination to

communicate the feelings which the place and hour aroused in him to any

of his companions; and it was in a silence which had in it something

dimly foreboding that the party drew near to the statue.

 

In silence, Gimblet approached the great block of stone and laid his hand

upon the projecting horn of the bull. Equally silently the two policemen

had taken up positions at the end of the pedestal; the General stood

behind them, alert and interested.

 

After a swift glance, which took in all these details, Gimblet turned the

horn round in its socket.

 

The hidden door swung open, and there was a sound of muttered

exclamations from the police and a loud oath from the General. Gimblet

sprang round the corner of the pedestal, and there, as he expected,

cowering in the mouth of the disclosed cavity, and looking, in his fury

of fear and mortification, for all the world like some trapped vermin,

crouched Lord Ashiel, glaring at his liberators with a rage that was

hardly sane.

 

Beyond him, on the floor at the back, they could see the tin dispatch

box standing open and empty.

 

The two policemen, acting on instructions previously given them, made one

simultaneous grab at the young man and dragged him into the open with

several seconds to spare before the door slammed to again, in obedience

to the invisible mechanism that controlled it. They set him on his legs

on the wet turf, and stood, one on each side of him, a retaining hand

still resting on either arm.

 

For a moment Mark gazed from the General to the detective, his eyes full

of hatred. Then he controlled himself with an effort, and when he spoke

it was with a forced lightness of manner.

 

"I have to thank you for letting me out," he said. "The air in there was

getting terrible." He paused, and filled his lungs ostentatiously, but

no one answered him. Losing something of his assumed calmness, he went

on, uneasily: "I just thought I'd come along and see if there was any

truth in Mr. Gimblet's story; and I was quite right to doubt it, since

there isn't. He's not quite as clever as he thinks, for he was as

positive as you like that my uncle's will was hidden here, but as a

matter of fact it's not, as I was taking the trouble to make sure when

that cursed statue shut me in. There's nothing in it of any sort except

an empty tin box."

 

"There's nothing in it now," said Gimblet, speaking for the first time,

"because I had no doubt you meant to destroy the will if you found it, so

I removed it to a safe place last night. As for the other papers, I have

sent them to London, where they will be still safer. I knew you would

give yourself away by coming here. That's why I told you the secret of

the bull's horn."

 

Mark's face was dreadful to see. He made a menacing step forward as if

he would throw himself upon the detective. But the strong right hands of

Inspector Cameron and Police Constable Fraser tightened on his arms and

restrained his further action. He seemed for the first time to be

conscious of their presence.

 

"Leave go of my arm," he shouted. "What the devil do you mean by putting

your dirty hands on me?"

 

"My lord," said the inspector, "you had better come quietly. I am here to

arrest you for the murder of your uncle, Lord Ashiel, and I warn you that

anything you say may be used against you."

 

"Are you going to arrest the whole family?" scoffed Mark. "Where's your

warrant, man?"

 

"I have it here, my lord," replied the inspector, fumbling in his pocket

for the paper the astonished General had signed when the inspector had

imparted to him, in Lady Ruth's little sitting-room, the information he

had received from Mr. Gimblet.

 

As Inspector Cameron fumbled, the young man, with a sudden jerk which

found them unprepared, threw off the hold upon his arms and leaped aside.

 

As he did so, he plunged his hand into his pocket and drew forth a

little phial.

 

"You shall never take me alive," he cried, and lifted it to his lips.

 

"Stop him!" shouted Gimblet.

 

Throwing his whole weight upon the uplifted arm, he forced the phial away

from Mark's already open mouth; the other men rushed to his assistance,

and between them the frustrated would-be suicide was overpowered, and

held firmly while the inspector fastened a pair of handcuffs over his

wrists. When it was done he raised his pinioned hands, as well as he

could, and shook them furiously at Gimblet.

 

"It's you I have to thank for this," he shouted. "Curse you, you

eavesdropping spy. But there are surprises in store for you, my friend.

You've got me, it seems, and you say you've got the will. You'll find it

more difficult to lay your hands on the heiress!"

 

The words and still more the triumphant tone in which they were uttered

cast a chill upon them all.

 

"What do you mean?" cried Gimblet.

 

But not another syllable could be got out of the prisoner; and the

inspector, besides, protested against questions being addressed to him.

 

With all the elation over his capture taken out of him, and with a mind

full of brooding anxiety, Gimblet hurried on ahead of the returning

party, and burst in upon Lady Ruth with eager inquiries.

 

But Juliet had not returned.

 

How was anyone to know that she had that morning made her way into the

secret passage of the old tower, and watched through the slip of glass in

the case of the clock what Julia Romaninov was doing in the library?

 

But leaving Gimblet and Lady Ruth to organize a search for her, we will

return to Juliet in her hiding-place and see what was the end of her

adventure.

CHAPTER XIX

 

When Juliet, incensed and indignant at the Russian's behaviour,

discovered the door in the clock and was on the point of opening it

and making her presence known, a noise of steps in the passage made

her pause. As she listened, there was the sound of a key turning in

the lock, the library door was thrown suddenly open, and Mark stepped

into the room.

 

Juliet saw Julia's expression as she sprang round to face the newcomer.

She saw it change, swift as lightning, from a look of horrified dismay to

one of sudden transforming tenderness, as the girl recognized the

intruder, that the hand already in the act of pushing open the door of

the clock fell inert and limp to her side, and if she had been able to

move she would have lost no time in retreating. She knew instinctively

that she was seeing a secret laid bare which she had no right to spy

upon. And yet, though her impulse was to fly from the place in

embarrassment and confusion, something stronger than her natural

discretion and delicacy held her where she stood. For Julia had not come

here for the purpose of meeting Mark. She had come with a purpose less

personal: something, Juliet felt convinced, that was in some way vaguely

discreditable, and at the same time menacing. It could be for no harmless

reason that she had taken this secret, dangerous way into the castle.

 

And so Juliet kept her ground, blushing at her role of spy, and averting

her eyes as Julia dropped the book she was holding and ran forward to

meet Mark, with that tell-tale look upon her face.

 

But Mark did not show the same pleasure. He stood, holding the handle of

the door, which he had closed gently behind him, and looking with a

certain sternness at the girl.

 

"Julia," he said, "you here! What are you doing?"

 

"Oh, Mark," she cried, not answering his question, "aren't you glad to

see me? It is so long, oh, it is so long since I saw you!"

 

She threw her arms round his neck with a happy laugh, and drew his face

down to hers.

 

"Darling! darling!" she murmured. "How can we live without each other for

one single day!"

 

She spoke in a low, soft voice. To Juliet, to whom every purling syllable

was painfully audible, it sounded cooingly, like the voice of doves.

 

To the surprise of the girl to whom Mark had proposed marriage two days

before, when she ventured to peep through her spy window, Mark's arms

were round Julia and he was kissing her ardently.

 

But after a moment he released himself gently.

 

"You haven't told me, dear," he said, "what you are doing here."

 

His voice held a note of authority before which Julia's assurance

vanished.

 

"I--I wasn't doing anything," she muttered.

 

"Julia!" he remonstrated.

 

"Well," she said, with some show of defiance, "I suppose anyone may take

a book from the library."

 

"Of course," he said, "you may take anything of mine you want. Still, as

you are not staying in the house--In short, it seems to me that the

more obvious course would have been to have said something to me about

it; and besides," he added, struck by a sudden thought, "how in the world

did you get in? The door was locked, and the key is on the outside."

 

"Oh, if you're going to make such a fuss about nothing," she exclaimed

petulantly, her toe beginning to tap the boards, "it's not worth

explaining anything to you." She turned away and walked towards the

fireplace.

 

"I'm not making a fuss," Mark said quietly, "but you must tell me, Julia,

what you are doing here, and how