Part 37 (2/2)

”It's a wild bit of country, this, and I admit that men might search it for weeks without finding anything, but those gentlemen from Scotland Yard, sir, if you'll excuse my making the remark, and hoping that this gentleman,” he added, looking at Quest, ”is in no way connected with them--well, they don't know everything, and that's a fact.”

”This gentleman is from the United States,” Lord Ashleigh reminded him, ”so your criticism doesn't affect him. By-the-by, Middleton, I heard this morning that you'd been airing your opinions down in the village. You seem to rather fancy yourself as a thief-catcher.”

”I wouldn't go so far as that, my lord,” the man replied respectfully, ”but still, I hope I may say that I've as much common sense as most people. You see, sir,” he went on, turning to Quest, ”the spots where he could emerge from this track of country are pretty well guarded, and he'll be in a fine mess, when he does put in an appearance, to show himself upon a public road. Yet by this time I should say he must be nigh starved.

Sooner or later he'll have to come out for food. I've a little scheme of my own, sir, I don't mind admitting,” the man concluded, with a twinkle in his keen brown eyes. ”I'm not giving it away. If I catch him for you, that's all that's wanted, I imagine, and we shan't be any the nearer to it for letting any one into my little secret.”

His master smiled.

”You shall have your rise out of the police, if you can, Middleton,” he observed. ”It seems queer, though, to believe that the fellow's still in hiding round here.”

As though by common consent, they all stood, for a moment, perfectly still, looking across the stretch of marshland with its boggy places, its scrubby plantations, its cl.u.s.tering ma.s.ses of tall gra.s.ses and bullrushes.

The grey twilight had become even more p.r.o.nounced during the last few minutes. Little wreaths of white mist hung over the damp places.

Everywhere was a queer silence. The very air seemed breathless. The Professor s.h.i.+vered and turned away.

”My nerves,” he declared, ”are scarcely what they were. I have listened in a primeval forest, listened for the soft rustling of a snake in the undergrowth, or the distant roar of some beast of prey. I have listened then with curiosity. I have not known fear. It seems to me, somehow, that in this place there is something different afoot. I don't like it, George--I don't like it. We will go home, if you please.”

They made their way, single file, to the road and up to the house. Lord Ashleigh did his best to dispel a queer little sensation of uneasiness which seemed to have arisen in the minds of all of them.

”Come,” he said, ”we must put aside our disappointment for the present, and remember that after all the chances are that Craig will never make his escape alive. Let us forget him for a little while.... Mr. Quest,” he added, a few minutes later, as they reached the hall, ”Moreton here will show you to your room and look after you. Please let me know if you will take an aperitif. I can recommend my sherry. We dine at eight o'clock.

Edgar, you know your way. The blue room, of course. I am coming up with you myself. Her ladys.h.i.+p back yet, Moreton?”

”Not yet, my lord.”

”Lady Ashleigh,” her husband explained, ”has gone to the other side of the county to open a bazaar. She is looking forward to the pleasure of welcoming you at dinner-time.”

Dinner, served, out of compliment to their transatlantic visitor, in the great banqueting hall, was to Quest especially a most impressive meal.

They sat at a small round table lit by shaded lights, in the centre of an apartment which was large in reality, and which seemed vast by reason of the shadows which hovered around the unlit s.p.a.ces. From the walls frowned down a long succession of family portraits--Ashleighs in the queer Tudor costume of Henry the Seventh; Ashleighs in chain armour, sword in hand, a charger waiting, regardless of perspective, in the near distance; Ashleighs befrilled and bewigged; Ashleighs in the Court dress of the Georges--judges, sailors, statesmen and soldiers. A collection of armour which would have gladdened the eye of many an antiquarian, was ranged along the black-panelled walls. Everything was in harmony, even the grave precision of the solemn-faced butler and the powdered hair of the two footmen. Quest, perhaps for the first time in his life, felt almost lost, hopelessly out of touch with his surroundings, an alien and a struggling figure. Nevertheless, he entertained the little party with many stories.

He struggled all the time against that queer sensation of anachronism which now and then became almost oppressive.

The Professor's pleasure at finding himself once more amongst these familiar surroundings was obvious and intense. The conversation between him and his brother never flagged. There were tenants and neighbours to be asked after, matters concerning the estate on which he demanded information. Even the very servants' names he remembered.

”It was a queer turn of fate, George,” he declared, as he held out before him a wonderfully chased gla.s.s filled with amber wine, ”which sent you into the world a few seconds before me and made you Lord of Ashleigh and me a struggling scientific man.”

”The world has benefited by it,” Lord Ashleigh remarked, with more than fraternal courtesy. ”We hear great things of you over here, Edgar. We hear that you have been on the point of proving most unpleasant things with regard to our origin.”

”Oh! there is no doubt about that,” the Professor observed. ”Where we came from and where we are going to are questions which no longer afford room for the slightest doubt to the really scientific mind. What sometimes does elude us is the nature of our tendencies while we are here on earth.”

”Mine, I fancy, are obvious enough,” Lord Ashleigh interposed.

”Superficially, I grant it,” his brother acknowledged. ”As a matter of scientific fact, I recognize the probability of your actually being a person utterly different from what you appear. Man becomes what he is according to the circ.u.mstances by which he is a.s.sailed. Now your life here, George, must be a singularly uneventful one.”

”Not during the last six months,” Lord Ashleigh remarked, with a sigh.

”Even these last few days have been exciting enough. I must confess that they have left me with a queer sort of nervousness. I find myself listening intently sometimes,--conscious, as it were, of the influence or presence of some indefinite danger.”

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