Part 2 (1/2)

When the unknown figure was gone he regained his voice, and in loud tones cried out, ”Who is there?” But no reply came save the echoing repet.i.tion of his own words, which died away gently in the swaying tree-tops.

He waited, glaring at the darkness. Then by chance his eye lighted upon one of the windows of the desolate Dene. It was a bow window, thickly curtained and draped with black. But what the midnight watcher saw--what filled him with a sudden coldness and an incomprehensible sense of horror--was that at one corner the curtain had been carefully drawn aside, and that a face with the nose pressed white against the pane was framed in the window and lighted by the moon's pale rays--a face as brutal and awe-inspiring as it was sinister and uncanny. Only for one moment did it remain before being withdrawn as suddenly as it had come.

With his nerves disturbed by the events of the night, Laurence vainly endeavoured to persuade himself that all he had seen had merely figured in his imagination. But the memory of the silent being among the trees and the strange face at the window was not to be effaced. And, still pondering on these irregular nocturnal events, the young man turned on his heel, and, reaching the Manse, was glad to place the stout oak door of his home between himself and the weird noises and shadows of the outside world.

CHAPTER IV

GOOD NEWS AND BAD

The Squire, with his marked punctuality, was down in the dining-room when Laurence appeared next morning. He was pale and moody, carefully avoiding any allusion to the event of the previous night. His son could not help noticing the bulge in his coat, that betrayed the hiding-place of Mr. Carrington's revolver. He was inclined to smile at the idea of the old gentleman attempting to defend himself, for he had made no effort to do so the night before.

After breakfast, Laurence made his way into the garden for a smoke. The day had brightened up, and the sun had made a welcome appearance in the heavens.

The Manse gardener was working outside one of the greenhouses, and respectfully saluted young Carrington as he strolled up to him.

”Well, Head,” Laurence remarked, ”seen anything of our mysterious neighbours?”

He had been careful to impress upon Kingsford and Moggin the necessity of keeping silent about the attempt on the Squire's life, and merely asked the question because it was one which interested him and the gardener also.

”Yes, sir,” responded Head promptly, ”we're beginning to learn something about them. Either Major Jones, or his seckitary, or the hodd man rides a bicycle.”

Laurence could not help staring at this intelligence. The gardener, however, did not notice his young master's movement, and proceeded.

”Well, you see, sir, it was this way. My little girl, she tumbled into the nettles late last evening, and, lor! wasn't there a s.h.i.+ndy! The wife doctored the stings as best she could, and put the youngster to bed, she and I following soon after. Well, about half-past ten the poor child, not being able to sleep because of the blisters caused by the nettles, my wife said to me, 'Head,' she says, 'just you run out and gather some dock weed to lay on the blisters.' Up I got to do as she asked me, and went out. You know my house, sir? Well, I was going along the hedge at the bottom of the garden, just by the road, when I spied a cl.u.s.ter of docks at the corner by the fence that cuts our garden off from the Dene.

As I was gathering some large leaves, what should I happen to do but look over the wall and see a queer man creeping along on the other side leading a bicycle. He jumps through a gap in the hedge, bicycle and all, and rides off down the road. Of course in the dark I couldn't hascertain what his features were like, sir.”

”Indeed,” broke in Laurence, in a tone which was meant to signify that the incident did not interest him so much as it really did, ”and this bicyclist of yours, from which direction did he come?”

”I suppose he came from the house, sir; where else? Though it did strike me as funny that he should go out of his way as he did, for he started off in the direction of the East Cave and the Markiss's.”

”And you saw no more of him?”

”No, sir.”

Laurence moved away in the direction of the house, whence simultaneously there emerged old Mr. Carrington and his watch-dog, Kingsford.

”My dear Laurence,” said the former, in evident consternation, ”read this. The Marquis has just sent it over by special messenger.” He handed his son a pencil-scrawled note as he spoke. This Laurence took, and found that it read as follows:

”Dear CARRINGTON,--

”A terrible event occurred at my place last night. Shortly after you left an alarm of 'Fire' was raised. You can imagine the scene of disorder that resulted! I managed to get everyone out of the way, when we found that the house was blazing in half a dozen places. How it caught fire I cannot even dream, but I know that, were it not for the fact that I am well insured, I should be the most miserable creature on earth! Nothing but blackened ruins is left of the scene of yesterday's festivities! I am asking you to put up Mrs. Knox and her niece, Miss Scott, since I am unable to accommodate them. They were to be my guests for a fortnight, and cannot return home, as their own house is in the hands of the painter. Would you be so kind as to endeavour to manage at least a shake-down for the two ladies for a few days, as I do not wish to make them incur the inevitable annoyance and expense of an hotel existence? I am staying, and intend to do so, with Crooker, my agent, and have sent the wife to Southsea to stay with her sister. Let me know if you can oblige me. I believe you have met Mrs. Knox several times at my house.--Yours,

”MOORLAND.”

Laurence perused the letter with a faint smile on his handsome face.