The Riddle of the Spinning Wheel Part 8

Something had happened out there in that grim darkness beyond the rim of hill and valley in that great, gaunt edifice of mediaeval stone, something so serious that she had signalled for him to come, as she said she would.

He drew out his spot--light, and sent it zigzagging in the direction of the red light, just to let her know she had been seen and understood.

Then, swinging round swiftly, he caught up his dark overcoat, slipped his arms into it, drew a cap low down over his head, and was off into the shadows and pelting away down the narrow tortuous lane as fast as his swift feet could carry him.

CHAPTER VIII

WHEN THE BLOW FELL

It was not an easy road Cleek traversed, for in the darkness and in the utter absence of lamps of any sort the lane became a thing of stones and pitfalls for the unwary traveller, and there were many times when he was down upon his hands and knees in the soft, sweet-smelling, heather-thatched hillside, having lost footing with the road altogether, and only his pocket-lamp kept him from absolute downfall and disaster.

But the great gates were reached at last, and he saw that they had been set ajar, so that he could slip in undisturbed, if he wished--a little forethought on Maud Duggan's part for which he silently thanked her.

He slid in between them, glanced a moment up at Rhea's great bronze figure etched out against the moonlit sky and taking on a supernatural lifelikeness which was eery beyond words, and then darted up the driveway, groping his way in the shadows toward the great house which of a sudden seemed to be blazing with light from every window, as though the soul of it had suddenly been awakened out of its sleep and it had come to life in one huge simultaneous effort.

Under the tread of his light feet the gravel barely moved, and having got his bearings that same afternoon, he pelted up in the darkness toward the front door, stopped suddenly, listened, darted leftward toward the lawns, and came--_phut!_--up against somebody who was running in the opposite direction, swift-breathing like a man pursued, and who, having met the impact of Cleek's tautened body, stationed there for just such a purpose, bounded back again and gave out an involuntary gasp of astonishment and ill-concealed irritation.

"Whew! I beg your pardon, I'm sure," said this stranger, as Cleek flashed on his lamp and sent its rays travelling up the man's slim figure from top to toe. "Who the--why the--what the----?"

"Awfully sorry, I'm sure," responded Cleek, with a light laugh, in his best blithering-idiot manner, "but I happened to be strollin' up in this direction to pay a call upon Miss Maud Duggan, and fell into you. So beastly dark in these parts, doncherknow. After London, a chap is likely to lose his bearin's. Exceedin'ly sorry and all that."

The man stopped suddenly and, bending forward, peered up under Cleek's tweed cap into the face beneath it. Cleek saw him as a slim, handsome fellow of the leisure cla.s.ses, lithe of limb and athletic of body, and in that small ray of torch-light, augmented by the moon's pale gleams, liked the look of him, though he was startled by the meeting--that was obvious--and a little shaken as well.

"Eh? What's that? Miss Duggan, did you say? Then what's your name, may I ask? You're a stranger to these parts, I suppose?"

"Yes. Up for the salmon-fis.h.i.+n', doncherknow. Strollin' back to the Castle, are you? We'll go together. My name's Deland--Arthur Deland. Am I permitted to know yours?"

"Certainly. But I'm not--going to the Castle to-night. I've--I've just--come from there, you see, and was on my way home again when we cannoned into each other. My name's Macdonald, Angus Fletcher Macdonald.

I'm a--particular friend of Miss Duggan's.... But time's getting along, and I've a good distance to go. So I'll be off, if you don't mind.

Good-night."

"Good-night."

Cleek nodded to him in the half dark, then as the man swung away from him down the wide drive, turned in his tracks and watched him till the moon, hiding under a cloud, hid him, too.

"Macdonald, eh? The unfortunate lover whom the father will not countenance. H'm. Wonder what he was doing here at this time of night?

Rather nervous, I should say, at our encounter. And why the d.i.c.kens--if anything's happened--didn't he know something about it? It's a good twenty minutes since she signalled to me, and if he's just come from the house----"

Of a sudden he stopped short and sucked in his breath as a new thought penetrated itself into that perfectly pigeon-holed and regulated mentality of his. "Gad! surely _he_ hasn't---- Well! I ought to have detained him and brought him back on some pretext--if anything really _has_ happened to cause her to want me at this hour of the night....

Well, I'll nip along and find out. And if anything's really wrong, I shan't forget _that_ gentleman in a hurry."

He reached the house without further adventure, and rang the door-bell with a steady hand. But he was hardly prepared for its response. For at the sound of it Maud Duggan came running toward him, her face white as a dead face, her eyes wild, her hair untidy, and clutching him by the arm fairly hauled him into the hallway, just as the butler--stung out of his calm demeanour by the happenings of that night--appeared from the end of the hall and came toward them.

"Oh, I'm so glad you came, so glad, Mr. Deland!" she shrilled out in a high-pitched, terrified voice. "It was lucky you turned up as--as you promised. But I'm afraid our game of c-cards cannot take place.

Because--oh, how can I say it? How? A terrible thing has happened, Mr.

Deland, and that which I feared has come to pa.s.s, only in a much more awful manner! My--my f-father has been murdered, in full sight of us all, right there in the library, just as he was about to draw up a new will to disinherit Ross. Foully ... murdered ... poor darling!"

Then the sobs caught in her throat, and she turned away a moment and hid her face in her handkerchief, while Cleek, mastering his curiosity and amazement at this curious and amazing statement, waited a moment for her to regain her composure. Then:

"My dear young lady!" he cried in a low-pitched, even voice. "Murdered!

And in the presence of you all! Then of course you know who his murderer is."

"I don't, I don't! We none of us know! None of us!" she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, shutting her hands together and lifting a tear-stained, haggard face to his. "Oh, Mr. Deland, that is the terrible, the mysterious part of it all. It happened in a flash. Suddenly the lights went out; we heard the wheel humming, just as the Peasant Girl said it would hum, and then ...

then ... the lights came up again, and there he lay, shot through the temple and stabbed to the heart, quite, quite dead!"

"Whew! Rather a marvellous happening, I must say," gave out Cleek, laying a hand upon her shaking shoulder and edging her tenderly toward the open door of that little ante-room into which he had been shown only that morning, when the old laird himself had entered upon their conversation, with his lady in attendance. And now he was dead!

murdered! It seemed indeed hardly credible. "Sit down awhile, and then tell me at your leisure all the happenings which took place. Got any brandy in the house? Or have you had some? No? Well, I've always a flask handy. Now, take a pull at this, and then lean back in that chair and close your eyes. You'll be a different person, I a.s.sure you. Here's my flask. Make it a good peg, too."

Dumbly she did as she was bidden, acting as a sick child does, without question, and thankful only for a directing hand. Meanwhile, Cleek stood over her, watching how the colour ebbed slowly back into her pallid cheeks and the red crept again into her blue lips, and congratulating himself that he had been just in time, and no more, before she would have fainted.

She shut her eyes as he had told her, and when a few minutes had elapsed, Cleek leaned forward and touched her gently upon the wrist.

"Now let's hear all about it--if you're able. Where is your stepmother?"

"Upstairs in her room--prostrate." She spat the words out with positive venom. "Ross is with his father, bowed down with grief, poor old boy; while his fiancee, Cynthia Debenham, who came back with him, and her cousin, Catherine Dowd, are in the house somewhere, seeing to the necessary household arrangements."

"And you've telephoned the police?"

"Yes. And then signalled to you. They'll be along presently, I suppose?"

"Possibly--yes. I'd have brought my own man if I had only known. Mr.

Narkom will be here in the morning to take charge of affairs. I sent for him to-day. And the rest of the household?"

"Cyril is with his mother. Wakened up out of his sleep, poor boy, by all the commotion, and of course hardly aware yet of what a terrible tragedy has happened here in his own home. The servants are huddled together like frightened rabbits, and the women refuse to put in any appearance at all. Miss McCall has been trying to get them in hand--she's so quiet and yet so resourceful, you know, Mr. Deland--and she has helped us such a lot in that way."

"And that accounts for every one, then? No one left the house since the--the thing took place?"

"Not a soul. There was no reason to, you see. And no one has been here, either. Callers to Aygon Castle are few and far between, Mr. Deland, as you can imagine. We're so very far from civilization."

"I see. And no one's been to the place at all, you say? Beyond the immediate family, and this Miss--Miss Dowd and your brother's fiancee?

They returned with him, I suppose, after having persuaded him not to take such a foolhardy view of the case which I heard this morning? Well, I'm glad he came back, if only--for this. Poor chap! it will ease his conscience, at any rate. And those are the only people who have entered this place to-night, Miss Duggan? You are positive of that?"

She lifted wide eyes to his face. There was conviction in every line of her own.

"Absolutely positive, Mr. Deland."

"Well, that's all right, then." Cleek nodded slowly at her but his lips were grim. Either _she_ or Macdonald had lied. For he had heard him say, in that broken, staccato voice of his, "I've just--come from there, you see, and was on my way home again." And a dollar to a ducat that _she_ was not at fault. Well, the man Macdonald would want watching. And if he _had_ "done a bunk," as the boys say, he would know his man instantly and scout all Britain over for him--though at present his motive for connection with the crime was certainly unknown.

He sent his keen eyes over her wan face, and came to his own conclusions. Here was no liar, if he knew the signs. Then he leaned toward her.

"Now," said he, "just tell me--what happened. All about it. Don't leave anything out--not the veriest little thing. How did you all happen to be in the library in the first place?"

"As I told you, Father had summoned us all there for the purpose of disinheriting Ross by crossing his name from his will, and in the presence of witnesses subst.i.tuting another instead."

"And whose name, may I ask?"

She bent her head suddenly, and put one hand against her cheek.