Part 12 (2/2)

The ghostly light of the lantern flickered upon the grey walls of the tower, casting the long shadow of the man upon it in grotesque shapes. For a moment Joyce paused, then, turning towards us, began to walk, counting the paces as he went. At the thirty-second he set the lantern down, and, plying his spade with great vigour, sent the soil in all directions, some of the dirt falling close to us.

For over an hour he delved, till his laboured breathing showed how great his efforts were. Five feet down he dug, till the heap of soil hid him from us.

”Now!” whispered Felgate, laying his hand on his swordhilt.

”Nay! He has found naught. Let him enjoy his disappointment for a while.”

Muttering curses at his want of success, Joyce dragged himself out of the pit and walked towards the castle, leaving the lantern on the ground. Then he began to pace afresh, but in a different direction, till his form was lost in the darkness.

For a while no sound save the occasional hoot of an owl and the rapidly dying breeze broke the stillness as we waited for some signs of the renewed efforts of the treasure seeker.

Suddenly a hideous cry, so terrifying that it caused the blood to freeze in our veins, echoed through the silence of the night. Accustomed though we were to scenes of bloodshed and violence, this weird outburst, the concentrated expression of mortal agony, held us spellbound.

Drake was the first to recover himself, and, springing to his feet with a shout, he drew his sword and dashed across the open s.p.a.ce of gra.s.s, while we followed close at his heels.

Stopping but for a moment to possess himself of the lantern, he made his way in the direction from which the sound had come.

Something compelled him to halt, and we stopped too. At our feet flowed the stream, its weed-enc.u.mbered waters looking black and forbidding in the dim light of the lantern, as with silent eddies it swirled between the steep rush-lined banks.

”Aubrey, that man is beyond your vengeance; a Higher Power has claimed him,” exclaimed Greville, pointing with his weapon at a dark object that, arrested by a dense growth of weeds, floated in the centre of the stream. It was the hat of the doomed man, but not a bubble marked the spot where he had sunk.

In the presence of Death, that great leveller of rank and persons, we removed our hats and stood in silence, our eyes riveted on the spot under which the remains of my mortal enemy lay hidden from our view.

Then, extinguis.h.i.+ng the lantern, we made our way through the wood, regained the road, and returned to the inn.

CHAPTER XXI.

--Our Search for the Treasure.

The excitement of the previous night banished sleep from our eyes, and rising betimes we formed our plans for the day's work. Now that Joyce had gone to his last account there was no longer need for caution or concealment of our plans, and to the utmost astonishment of the crafty host of the Wentworth Inn, I was presented to him as the rightful lord of Holwick.

We thereupon breakfasted, and then made our way to the castle grounds. Viewed by daylight the whole scene was changed. The grey old tower, blackened by powder and fire, was so badly damaged as to be useless as a place of abode, little tendrils of ivy already serving to clothe the ruin with a kindly garb. The stream that looked so black in the darkness now glittered in the warm sunlight, as if unmindful of the tragedy that had been enacted but a few hours before.

A careful search amid the dense ma.s.ses of weed failed to give any clue to the mysterious disappearance of the double-dyed villain, so we concluded that his body must have escaped the tenacious grip of the thick vegetable growth.

On all sides rose little mounds of excavated earth, showing how vigorously Joyce had pursued his quest for the hidden treasure, each mound being thirty-two paces from the wall.

”Now, Aubrey, let's to work,” exclaimed Felgate, throwing off his cloak and vest and rolling up his sleeves in a manner that showed his enthusiasm.

”Here, take the doc.u.ment and apply the directions to the actual place,” I remarked. ”This is the west side; yonder are two tall fir trees. Now, measure off thirty-two paces.”

Felgate commenced to do so, Drake following at his heels.

”... Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty---- Ha!”

For the thirtieth pace had brought him to the edge of the stream, and the thirty-second would be as near as anything right in the centre of the river bed.

For a moment we stood aghast. Surely there must be some mistake! Then Drake, slapping me soundly on the back, exclaimed in excited tones: ”Bethink thee, Aubrey, the old hag's words: 'Till the waters run dry'!”

”And what of that?” I replied, dull of comprehension.

”Simply that the treasure lies in the bed of the stream. We must divert its course and the hiding place will be revealed.”

”Let me try,” exclaimed the impetuous Felgate, and in spite of our protests he waded into the water, which seemingly rose no higher than his knees.

At the third step he suddenly lurched forward, threw out his arms in a frantic effort to regain his balance, then disappeared beneath the surface.

The next instant he reappeared; but though he kept his head above the water, his legs were held by the weeds, and a look of horror overspread his face when he realized the danger of his position.

Had we not been there, his fate would have been sealed; but, cautiously wading in, Drake holding my left hand, I extended my right arm towards him.

I grasped him with a great effort, and we dragged him out of the hole, his jack boot being wrenched from his foot by the unrelenting grip of the tendrils.

”You are right, Drake,” he panted. ”There's a deep hole there, and the treasure lies in it.”

”Come, then, at once,” said Drake, ”to the village, and enrol every man who can use mattock and spade. We'll have a channel cut here” (indicating a semicircle of about forty yards in diameter), ”and dam the stream on each side of this hole.”

There was no need to go as far as the village. Already the strange tidings had spread, and a motley throng of villagers were gathered around the entrance to the estate, curious, yet loath to come nearer.

They raised a cheer at our approach, and when we told them of our wants there was a general stampede on the part of the men folk for digging implements.

While we awaited their return, a man having the air of petty authority stepped up to us and, addressing me, said: ”You are Sir Aubrey Wentworth, I am told.”

I a.s.sented, and at the same time asked the fellow his business.

”In me you see the lawful representative of the sheriff of York. Before you delve, or take possession of, any portion of this land, I must have his authority. For aught I know, saving your presence, ye may be adventurers of low degree, outlaws, or the like.”

”And where is your authority?” I demanded, wroth at being interfered with on my own land.

For answer he pulled a parchment from his pouch and held it up for my inspection.

”And have you any proof, sir, that you are lord of Holwick?” he continued.

Save for a few papers relating to the finding of the treasure I had none; even the t.i.tle deeds, though close at hand, were not to be produced till the stream had been diverted; so I shook my head. Surely it was a pretty pa.s.s--a knight without a sc.r.a.p of script to prove himself such!

”Then, till you get authority from the sheriff I cannot allow you to tarry here,” said the bailiff in a deferential yet decisive tone.

”Then there remains but for me to journey to York,” I replied. ”How far lies the city?”

<script>