Part 3 (1/2)

I walked in, and he left me, shutting the door. It then struck me that I had neither given him my name nor mentioned the ma.s.s of smoke and sparks which I had seen vomited from the tower. I sprang to the door again, meaning to call after the man a word of warning in regard to the fire, but he was already out of sight. He could not have gone back the way that he had come, or I should certainly have seen him walking down the dimly-lighted pa.s.sage, there being no door save that at the extreme end, which he would not yet have had time to reach. I did not see how he could have disappeared so suddenly, but returning whence I had come, I looked about in vain for a bell.

I was sure now that this room must be situated in that part of the new wing which adjoined the tower. In glancing at the house from outside, I had fancied that the square, squat wall must be that of a studio, as there were no windows, but a high, domed skylight on top. Now I saw that though the outer building was square, the room within was octagon in shape. It was, perhaps, a studio, as I had fancied, but there was something of the free-and-easy negligence of an Oriental smoking-room about it.

The walls were hung with embroidered Indian materials, and a low divan ran down part way. Between the hangings were panels of sandal-wood, ornamented with bits of mirror in the Burmese fas.h.i.+on, and half hidden with curious foreign weapons, daggers, swords, and spears, and even a Zulu a.s.segai or two. On the floor stood a hookah, and on a small inlaid table were a couple of curious little objects which I knew to be opium pipes. In one corner, as though it had been pushed aside, stood an easel with a canvas upon it, which was half covered with a piece of drapery.

The skylight was partly concealed with red silk blinds, drawn across the staring gla.s.s, and from the centre of the dome was suspended a large jewelled lamp. It was from this that all the light in the studio proceeded at present, and though there was no fireplace, the room was warm--indeed, insufferably hot. This fact, taken together with the studio's proximity to the tower, made me feel more certain than before that some flue in this modern portion of the house had caught fire. I searched the panels for a bell, but found none, and at last lifted several of the curtains that draped the larger part of the octagonal walls. Under the first two that I raised only a blank s.p.a.ce of dark wood was visible, but under the third I was surprised to find a small, secretive-looking door.

There was no k.n.o.b or ring by way of handle, but close to the edge, and about half-way between top and bottom, I distinguished a diminutive keyhole, outlined with s.h.i.+ning metal. I let the curtain drop again, though lingeringly. It could be only a cupboard, or a particularly secure wine cellar, perhaps, behind this dwarfish door, yet had I discovered it in a house not English, but of a country less conventionally civilised than our own, I should have told myself that I had chanced upon the clue to a secret.

There was still a fourth curtained s.p.a.ce (the remaining half of the octagons being of the sandal-wood), and this, as it happened, was directly behind the draped easel.

I moved towards it, not intending to pry into Mr. Wildred's domestic economies, but still bent on unearthing an electric bell if I could do so, when my eyes fell upon the partially-covered picture.

It was but a pinky-white, uncovered shoulder that I could see, with a glimpse of red-gold hair at such a distance above as to suggest a ma.s.sive knot at the back of a woman's head, seen in profile. There was a fraction of fluffy tulle sleeve as well, revealing the outline of a rounded, girlish arm, and though the face was hidden by the drapery, I was as sure as if I had seen it, that should I push aside the curtain my eyes would fall upon the counterfeit presentment of Karine Cunningham.

With half-extended hand I paused. The painting was so far covered, and it was in another man's house. Had I a right to a.s.sure myself whether my supposition were correct? As I hesitated my ears were startled by what I can only describe as the beginning of a sound.

It was low and inarticulate, yet it seemed to me that it was uttered by human lips. It commenced with a tremulous, vibrating noise, such as might have been made by a man groaning with closed mouth and between set teeth.

I started, and looked over my shoulder, so close did it seem, that I could almost fancy it had proceeded from a corner of the room behind me.

Still it went on, monotonously, and then suddenly rose with ever-increasing volume to a yell of utmost agony.

Never had I heard such a shriek, not even in battle, when men were stabbed or shot, or blown to pieces. So horrible, so long-drawn was it, that I found myself strangely awe-struck and appalled.

”Great heaven!” I exclaimed aloud, sure now that close at hand fire must be raging, and have claimed some inmate of the house as its victim.

Though I knew not where to find the servant who had admitted me, or any other person, I flung open the door through which I had come, and ran down the pa.s.sage leading towards the main part of the house. In through the second and wider one I went, opening a door here and there, but finding only darkness and emptiness beyond.

I reached the large entrance hall at last, and shouted loudly--”Here, you! John, James!”--not knowing in the absence of the master and his guest whom to call upon.

No one answered, and after the horror of the unearthly cry that I had heard, and now the sound of my own l.u.s.ty voice, the silence that fell seemed curiously brooding and ominous.

I shouted a second time, and was then rewarded by the sight of the respectable-looking butler. His face appeared--or I imagined it,--even more smug than before in its expression, and there was something suggestive of injured dignity as well.

”Did you call, sir?” he inquired with an irritating meekness.

”I did, indeed,” I returned rather sharply. ”I've been looking everywhere for a bell, but couldn't find one. I have every reason to believe that this house is on fire, somewhere in the left wing, near the room into which you took me, and it is certain that someone has got caught in the flames. For heaven's sake, show me the entrance to the tower, and come with me to do what can be done!”

The smug look was gone, chased away by one of blank amazement, which did not, however, seem the sort of horrified surprise that might have been expected to follow on my startling announcement.

”I'm sure you must be entirely mistaken, sir,” he said. ”There is no fire, I'm quite certain of that. There--there may have been a cry, for as it happens there's just been an accident--in the kitchen.”

”An accident in the kitchen?” I echoed, incredulously.

”Yes, sir. You see, it was this way, sir” (the fellow stammered and breathed hard between his words, as though he were anxious to gain time for himself, I thought): ”The cook--an awkward woman--set some methylated spirit on fire, and upset the stuff over her foot. She--I'm afraid she did give a scream, sir. You know what women are at such times. But it's all right now. The flames were put out on the instant, sir, and one of the other servants is helping cook bind up her foot.

Very kind of you to take this trouble and be anxious, sir, I'm sure.”

He was glib enough now, but his s.h.i.+fty eyes were moving about, as though looking with a certain apprehension for someone to arrive.