The Lost Million Part 37

His words were surely not those of an enemy. No, more than ever was I convinced of his devotion to the girl who, as a tiny child, he had adopted as his own daughter.

Mention of Nicholson, however, afforded me opportunity to tell him how tardily I had received a letter from the dead man.

"It was written only an hour before he died," I added.

"Written, I suppose, after his guests had left, eh?" asked Shaw, his face a little hard and changed, I thought. "He mentioned me. What did he say? What did he tell you?"

"Nothing," I replied, sorry that I had spoken so injudiciously.

"Poor Guy didn't like me, I fear," declared my host quietly. "He didn't know what you know, and hence he viewed me with suspicion. I couldn't very well tell him the truth--or he would have cast poor little Asta aside."

"I quite understand," I said.

"Well, what did he say against me?" he asked, looking at me strangely with those small, mysterious eyes of his.

"Nothing whatever."

"You are deceiving me. I know what he has told you. He has revealed to you something--something--"

"He has revealed nothing," I declared. "Why should he?"

But the man lying back in his chair drew at his cigar hard and contemplatively, a strange smile overspreading his broad features. I saw that he was unconvinced, and that upon his countenance was a curious dark expression such as I had never before seen.

Yet it was only for an instant, for next moment he was smiling, and invited me, as I was, to remain there the night.

I, however, declined, for I expected some important business letters at home, and was compelled, therefore, to return to Upton End, towards which destination I set forth about ten o'clock.

I had travelled about ten miles, when three miles the other side of Corby village, a double calamity befell me. Not only did one of my back tyres burst, but something went wrong with my magneto. Hence in the darkness, and with rain beginning to fall, I was brought to a complete standstill. Midnight pa.s.sed. I was several miles from anywhere, and magnetos are tricky things. I could not get the car to budge, even though I had put on my Stepney wheel.

I must, I suppose, have been pottering about for fully three hours, and not a soul had pa.s.sed me in either direction. The distant chimes of a church somewhere had struck two, and when just about to give up the attempt to readjust the magneto, I suddenly heard the sound of a galloping horse approaching in the darkness.

As it came up I saw it was ridden by a youth, and I was just about to hail him and ask him to fetch a.s.sistance when, with the perversity of such instruments, the magneto started again quite merrily. Therefore I once again mounted at the wheel, and flas.h.i.+ng past the lonely horseman, pushed on through the rain over the many weary miles till I at last reached my own home.

Next morning, while seated alone at breakfast, I heard a sound, and, to my great surprise, recognised the same young horseman, muddy and wearied, coming up the drive. With curiosity I went forth to meet him, when he handed me a note, saying--

"Miss Seymour, of Lydford, asked me to bring this at once, sir. It is very important. I've been riding all night."

"Yes," I cried. "Why, I remember I pa.s.sed you in my car!"

I tore open the letter, and found in it some scribbled words in pencil, which read--

"_I am in deadly peril! If you are my friend come here at once, and save me_!--Asta."

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

IN THE BALANCE.

"How did you get this?" I asked the youth. "Who are you?"

"I'm John May, sir," was his answer. "I work in the gardens at Lydford, an' last night, soon after eleven, as I was a-comin' home from Rockingham, I met Miss Asta out in the drive. She was like a mad thing.

She 'ad the letter and wanted it delivered at once. So I went to the stables and, sayin' nothink, came away."

"Then she had written this note, and gone out in the hope of finding some one to deliver it?" I exclaimed, glancing at his horse, and noticing that it was absolutely done up after an all-night ride.

"I didn't know it was you, sir, that pa.s.sed me in a motor-car," the young gardener went on.

"No," I said, re-reading the mysterious summons for help. "But you and your horse must remain here and rest. I shall return to Lydford in the car."

Full of anxiety, I put on my mackintosh and cap, for it was raining steadily, and within a quarter of an hour of receiving the note I was already on my way along the autumn-tinted roads.

The morning was that of the first of November. Regardless of speed-limits or of police-traps, I tore along until, just before eleven, I again pulled up at the ancient stone porch of the Hall.

A maid-servant opened the door, and I eagerly inquired for Miss Seymour.

"She's very ill, sir," was the girl's reply. "Mr Shaw's been called on the Bench this morning, but he'll be back in an hour. Doctor Redwood is here, sir."

"Redwood! Then what's the matter?" I gasped.

"I hardly know, sir. But here's Mrs Howard!" and looking along the wide hall I saw the grave-faced woman in black standing out of the light.

"Oh, Mrs Howard?" I cried, walking up to her. "What's happened to Miss Asta? Tell me. Is she ill?"

"Very, I'm afraid, sir," replied the housekeeper in a low voice. "The doctor is upstairs with her. What happened in the night was most extraordinary and mysterious."

"Tell me--tell me all, I beg of you," I cried quickly.

"Well, sir, it was like this," said the woman. "Last night, about eleven, I heard Miss Asta go along the corridor past my room, and downstairs into the servants' quarters. She was gone, perhaps, twenty minutes, and then I heard her repa.s.s again to her room and lock the door. I know she did that, because I heard it lock distinctly. Miss Asta sleeps at the other end of the corridor to where I sleep--just at the corner as you go round to the front staircase. Well, I suppose, after that I must have dropped off to sleep. But just after two o'clock we were all awakened by hearing loud, piercing screams of terror. At the first moment of awakening I was too frightened to move, but realising that it was Miss Asta I jumped up instantly, slipped on a dressing-gown, and ran along to the door of her room. Several of the other servants, awakened by the cries, were out in the corridor. She had, however, locked her door, and we could not get in. I shouted to her to open it, for she was still shrieking, but she did not do so. At that moment Mr Shaw came along in his dressing-gown, greatly alarmed, and with his a.s.sistance we burst in the door."

"Then he helped you to do that?"

"Yes, sir," replied the woman. "Inside, we found the poor young lady in her nightdress crouched down on the floor by the ottoman at the foot of the bed. She was still crying hysterically and quivering with fear from head to foot. I bent, and taking her in my arms asked her what was the matter, for as we had entered, somebody had switched on the electric light. For a moment she looked at me fixedly with a strange intense expression, as though she did not recognise me. Then she gasped the words: `Death!--hand!--hand!' That was all. Next moment she fell back in my arms, and I thought her dead. Mr Shaw was beside himself with grief. He helped to lift her on to her bed and tried all he could to restore her with brandy and sal volatile, but without avail. In the meanwhile I had telephoned to Doctor Redwood, who arrived about half an hour later, and he's been here ever since."

"And how is Miss Asta now?" I inquired eagerly. "Still unconscious.

The doctor has, I fear, but little hope of her recovery, sir. She has, he declared, received some great and terrible shock which has affected her heart."

The circ.u.mstances were strangely parallel with those of Guy Nicholson's mysterious end.

"No one has formed any conclusion of what caused the shock?"

"No, sir. None of us, not even the doctor, can guess what `hand' and `death' could signify more than the usual figure of speech," the woman replied. "To me, when she spoke, she seemed to be strangely altered.

Her poor face seemed thin, pinched, and utterly bloodless, and when she fell back into my arms I was convinced that the poor thing had gone."

"You are quite certain the door of her room was locked?"

"Absolutely. I heard her lock it, as was her habit, and being the first person there on hearing the screams for help, I tried the door and found it still secured on the inside. Mr Shaw is half demented, and would not at first leave the poor young lady's side--until compelled to go to the Petty Sessions. It seems that there is an important case, and no other magistrate is at home to take his place on such short notice. But I'm expecting him back at any moment now."

"And is Miss Asta still in her room?" I asked. "I think you said that the door was broken open."

"Yes, sir. For that reason we've carried her into the green guest-room, which is lower down the corridor, nearer to my own."