Mr. Marx's Secret Part 9

"A man desires to see you, sir, but refuses to give his name. I have told him that it is quite useless my communicating with you without it; but he is persistent and refuses to go away. He is respectably dressed, but rather rough-looking."

Mr. Ravenor shrugged his shoulders and took up his pen, as though about to resume his writing.

"Tell him to go to the deuce!" he said briefly.

I repeated the message faithfully, but its recipient was evidently not satisfied. In less than a minute the bell sounded again.

"His name is Richards, sir--or, rather, he says he is known to you by that name--and he is very emphatic about seeing you--and, begging your pardon, sir, a little insolent. He says that his business is of the utmost importance."

I repeated the message and stood as though turned to stone. Was my fancy playing tricks with me in the dimly-lit room, or had Mr. Ravenor's face really become ghastly and livid, like the face of a man who sees the phantom shadows of a hideous nightmare pa.s.sing before his fixed gaze? I closed my eyes for a moment's relief and looked again. Surely it had been fancy! Mr. Ravenor was writing with only a slight frown upon his calm, serene face.

"Let Mr. Richards--or whatever the fellow's name is--be given to understand that I distinctly refuse to see him," he said quietly. "If he has any business with me he can write."

I repeated this and then took up my cap to go. Mr. Ravenor put down his pen and walked with me to the door. I had expected that he would have offered me his hand, but he did not. He nodded, kindly enough and held the door open while I pa.s.sed out. So I went.

As I walked across the great hall on my way out I came face to face with Lady Silchester, who was thoughtfully contemplating one of a long line of oil-paintings dark with age, yet vivid still with the marvellous colouring of an old master. To my surprise she stopped me.

"Are you a judge of pictures, Mr. Morton?" she asked. "I was wondering whether that was a genuine Reynolds." And she pointed to the picture which she had been examining.

I shook my head, briefly acknowledging that I knew nothing whatever about them. I was quite conscious at the time that the question was only a feint. What was a farmer's son likely to know of the old masters?

"Ah, never mind!" she remarked, shutting up her eyegla.s.ses with a snap.

"I can ask Mr. Ravenor this evening. I thought, perhaps, that as you were here so often he might have talked to you about them. I know that he is very proud of his pictures."

"Had I been here often he might have done so," I answered. "As it happens, however, this is my first visit to Ravenor Castle."

"Indeed? And yet Mr. Ravenor seems to take a great interest in you. Why?"

I hesitated and wished that I could get away; but Lady Silchester was standing immediately in front of me.

"Your ladys.h.i.+p will pardon me," I said, "but might not your question be better addressed to Mr. Ravenor?"

She bit her lip and moved haughtily to one side. I made a movement as though to pa.s.s her, but she turned suddenly and prevented me.

"Mr. Morton," she said, a little nervously, "my brother said that you were going to Dr. Randall's, I believe?"

I admitted that such was the fact.

"I daresay you know that my son is there," she continued, "and I am afraid he's not behaving exactly as he should. Of course, we don't hear anything definite; but Cecil is very good-natured, easily led into anything, and I am a little doubtful about his companions there. Now, Mr.

Morton, you're not much more than a boy yourself, of course; but you don't look as though you would care for the sort of thing that I'm afraid Cecil gets led into. I do wish that you and he could be friends, and that--that--"

She broke off, as though expecting me to say something, and I felt a little awkward.

"It's very kind of you to think so well of me, when you don't know anything about me," I said, twirling my cap in my hands; "but you forget that I am only a farmer's son, and perhaps your son would not care to be friends with me."

"My son, whatever his faults may be, has all the instincts of a gentleman," Lady Silchester answered proudly; "and if he liked you for yourself, it would make no difference, even if you were a tradesman's son. Promise me that, if you have the opportunity, you will do what you can?"

"Oh, yes; I'll promise that, with pleasure!" I a.s.sured her.

Lady Silchester smiled, and while the smile lasted I thought that I had never seen a more beautiful woman. Then she held out a delicate little hand, sparkling with rings, and placed it in mine, which in those days was as brown as a berry and not very soft.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Morton."

She looked up at me quite kindly for a moment. Then suddenly her manner completely--changed. She withdrew her eyes from my face, with a slight flush in her cheeks, and turned abruptly away.

"Good evening, Mr. Morton. I am much obliged to you for your promise,"

she said, in a colder tone.

I drew myself up, unconscious of having said or done anything which could possibly offend her, and feeling boyishly hurt at her change of manner.

"Good evening, Lady Silchester," I answered, with all the dignity I could command. Then I turned away and left the Castle.

I walked down the broad avenue slowly, casting many glances behind me at the vast, gloomy pile, around which the late evening mists were rising from the damp ground. Many lights were twinkling from the upper windows and from the east wing, where the servants' quarters were situated, but the lower part of the building lay in a deep obscurity, unilluminated, save by one faint light from Mr. Ravenor's study. There seemed something unnatural, almost ghostly, about the place, which chilled while it fascinated me.

What was that? I stood suddenly still in the middle of the drive and listened. A faint, m.u.f.fled cry, which seemed to me at first to be a human cry, had broken the deep evening stillness. I held my breath and remained quite motionless, with strained hearing. There was no repet.i.tion of it, no other sound. I was puzzled; more than half inclined to be alarmed. It might have been the crying of a hare, or the squealing of a rabbit caught by a stoat. But my first impression had been a strong one, improbable though it seemed. Poachers, however daring, would scarcely be likely to invade the closely-guarded inner grounds, where the preserves were fewer and the risk of capture far greater than outside the park. Besides, there had been no discharge of firearms, no commotion, no loud cries; only that one m.u.f.fled, despairing moan. What could it mean?

A steep ascent lay before me. After a moment's hesitation I hurried forward and did not pause until I reached the summit and had clear view around through the hazy twilight.

CHAPTER XII.

A DARK CORNER IN THE AVENUE.

Far away below me--for Ravenor Castle stood on the highest point in the country--a dull-red glow in the sky, and many twinkling lights stretched far and wide, marked the place where a great town lay. On my right hand was a smooth stretch of green turf, dotted all over with thickly growing spreading oak trees. On the left was a straggling plantation, bounded by a low greystone wall, which sloped down gradually to one of the bracken-covered, disused slate-quarries, with which the neighbourhood abounded.

Breathless, I stood still and looked searchingly around. Save in the immediate vicinity, the fast falling night had blotted out the view, reducing fields, woods, and rocks to one blurred chaotic ma.s.s. But where my eye could pierce the darkness I could see no sign of any moving object. By degrees my apprehension grew less strong. The cry, if it had not been wholly a trick of the imagination, must have been the cry of some animal. I drew a long breath of relief and moved forward again.

Immediately in front of me the avenue curved through a small plantation of fir trees, which, growing thick and black on either side, made it appear almost as though I were confronted with a tunnel; around its mouth the darkness was intense, but my eyesight, always good, had by this time become quite accustomed to the uncertain light, and just as I was entering it I fancied that I could see something moving only a few yards in front of me. I stopped short at once and waited, peering forwards into the gloom with straining eyes and beating heart. My suspense, though keen, was not of long duration, for almost immediately the dark shape resolved itself into the figure of a man moving swiftly towards me.

My first impulse was, I am afraid, to turn and run for it, my next to give the advancing figure as wide a berth as possible. With that idea I stepped swiftly on one side and leaned right back against the ring fence which bordered the drive. But I was too late, or too clumsy in my movements, to escape notice. With a quick, startled exclamation, the man whom I had nearly run into stopped and, just at that moment the moon, which had been struggling up from behind a thick ma.s.s of angry clouds, shone feebly out and showed me the white, scared face of Mr. Ravenor's secretary.

"Good heavens!"

It seemed to me as though the e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n was hurled out from those trembling lips. Then, with a sudden start, he recovered himself, and so changed was his manner that I could almost have fancied that his first emotion of terror had been imagination on my part.

"Am I so formidable that you should leap out of my way as though you had seen a ghost?" he said, with a short laugh. "Come, come; a young man of your size should have more pluck than that."

I felt rather ashamed of myself, but I answered him as carelessly as possible.

"I don't think I was any more startled than you were. We came upon one another suddenly, and it's a very dark night."

"Dark! Dark is not the word. This part of the drive is a veritable Hades."

"By-the-bye, Mr. Marx," I remarked, "I fancied that I heard a cry a few min----"

"A cry! What sort of a cry?" he interrupted sharply, in an altered tone.