Cursed be the treasure
that's what you've been making of me!"
I didn't understand, and said so; realizing as I turned to look
concernedly into his face that he was white with anger.
"House-breaker! That's it!" he exclaimed.
"Why, Worthing!" I cried, not knowing what to say.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked fiercely.
"Tell you?"
"That your father had gone."
"Why, I didn't know."
"Didn't know?"
"Honestly I didn't know. I thought he was coming back."
"Oh, well, then," was all he replied as we entered the gates.
But I could understand something of what his feelings must be. He to be
ranked among the law-breakers!
My conscience was made of different stuff, and for me the search had by
no means ended.
CHAPTER XIII
TRAPPED
Accordingly, when I set out again, well provided with a coil of rope
concealed around me under my cloak, a stout steel hook for grappling,
a lantern, and my pistol, I didn't invite Worthing to accompany me.
I tried to slink away from school unobserved, but Worthing must have
guessed what was brewing in my mind, and outside the school gate I came
face to face with him.
He gripped my hand, and looking straight into my eyes said, "Don't go,
Tommy."
I laughed, and shook myself free.
"Don't go," he repeated. "You know now that the house isn't yours."
"But the secret will soon be mine," I replied.
He looked at me quietly for a moment, and said very decidedly, "Tommy,
you're a fool."
Somehow I felt suddenly annoyed with him, though as a rule I could bear
his rebukes without ill-feeling. It seemed so absurd to stick at such
a trifle. What if the house was not mine! I hadn't been trained to
the creed of _meum_ and _tuum_. And the challenge of a mystery to be
solved was one that I couldn't refuse. Romance, adventure, this was my
life-breath; and if there were pedants and landlords and other petty
obstructions of authority to break through, so much the better.
"I'm a fool, am I?" I said, and added stupidly, "Well, I think you're a
coward."
He stiffened, and turned on his heel; and my anger died down like a
flame beneath a drench of water.
"Worthing," I cried; but he walked on. And then I remembered how he
had spent that night alone in the haunted room; and I had called him a
coward.... I knew I had merely done so under that foolish impulse of
self-justification which makes us whiten our own conduct by blackening
that of those who oppose us. As he walked away I was in two minds
whether to follow him or not. But my business was urgent, and I told
myself I could easily unsay the silly word later on. So I pushed
forward, and had soon forgotten the little tiff.
I took precautions this time not to enter the grounds where I was
likely to be seen, and I was soon among the ruins climbing up to the
roof by a way I knew well through long experience. Then came the real
obstacle, the wall of the false stack, high, smooth, and with no
foothold, approached by a steep, slanting roof which would throw me
to the ground far below if I slipped. And owing partly to the ruinous
state of the house, and partly to its original disposition, this was
the only way of reaching the stack in which I knew lay concealed the
entrance to the secret chamber. I crawled out on to the sloping roof,
keeping to the edge where I could get a certain purchase for my feet
against the level eaves, and when under the stack I lay flat on my
stomach and looked upward along the slates slanting away above me to
the wall standing stiffly up beyond.
I surveyed it for a moment, and felt just the least apprehension; but
taking a grip on my nerve I bound the hook firmly to the rope and slung
it up over the wall, then pulled in to see if it had gripped. It wasn't
an easy matter to throw at all in such a position, and the first
attempt was unsuccessful; but at the third throw the rope held. It was
difficult to test it properly by taking the strain, for I was obliged
to cling with one hand to the slates, and if I tugged at the rope and
it came away suddenly I should probably lose my grip and be sent over
the edge. However, I jerked it three or four times, and it seemed firm
enough; then summoning my courage I took the rope in both hands, pulled
myself slowly up along the slanting slates, and was soon at the foot of
the wall. Before ascending I again jerked at the rope to test it for
the last time, and feeling reassured began climbing up hand over hand.
But I had scarcely mounted a couple of feet before I felt something
give, and for a dizzying moment I hung in mid air expecting to fall,
and gazing frenziedly for some possible crevice in the roof beneath
me to catch my fingers in if the rope should slip. But it seemed to
be steady enough now, and cautiously I recommenced the ascent. I was
half-way up, when again there came that sickening jerk as though
something were breaking loose; but knowing now that my only chance was
to reach the top of the wall, for if I fell it would be with too great
a force to stay myself, I scrambled on with desperate speed, the rope
seeming to slip with every heave upward of my body. And it was just
as I reached the top, the fingers of one hand clutching at the stone,
that the rope came away in the other hand, while I swung perilously,
gripping at the wall with the bare tips of my fingers. But with a leap
upward I caught at the top with my free hand, though I had to drop my
rope to do so, and was soon safe astride the barrier looking down on
the other side.
If I had been met by a blank roof I should have been in a perilous
predicament indeed, perched up there, with no rope to descend by. But
my gamble with fortune proved a lucky one, for enclosed within the
walls of the stack, and only a few feet below me, was the window I had
hoped to find; or skylight rather, for such it was, like a shallow dome
looking up at me with a great round eye.
Before dropping down I gave another look to the way I had come, and
saw, caught in a broken slate of the sloping roof below me, the rope I
had dropped; but the greater length of it was hanging over the eaves.
The thought came to me that somehow I must climb back and recover
it before I left, otherwise it would remain as a tell-tale witness
against me. And then I remember speeding a fleeting glance across the
moors. I had never climbed as high as this before, and the prospect
was wonderful. For winding far away I saw the Rancey River flowing out
to sea, and I called to mind how I had seemed to sniff the brine when
first I had come to Sunset Towers.
And with that I was over the edge, and examining the skylight for an
entrance. Nor was I long about it, for it opened quite easily, leaving
ample room for me to slip through. But I had to risk a drop, for there
was no means of climbing down. I looked beneath me, swinging from the
open casement; and judging the distance as well as I could in the
shadowy room, dropped, and fell unhurt, though on all fours. And it
wasn't till I was well in the trap that the realization came to me that
if I couldn't find the secret of the doors from the inside I would be
buried alive there; for to climb back the way I had come without a rope
was utterly impossible. And then the memory of the skeleton came to me.
Had another been trapped there too? And was that the end of it all? I
shuddered.
But these thoughts were momentary merely, for I wasn't given to
brooding. I think it was the hollow echo of my feet in that secret and
deserted chamber that brought the horrid fear to my mind. I was soon
glancing about me, taking stock of my surroundings. And with the first
look round I was both relieved and dismayed. For the room, bare for the
most part, was evidently occupied, or being prepared for occupation.
In one corner was a small bed with posts and canopy; an old remnant of
furniture, it seemed. But on it was flung a bundle of bedding which
looked fresh enough, as though the bed were to be used that night
though not yet laid ready.
This puzzled me, and I fingered the stuff, but could find no name.
Nor was there anything else in the chamber to suggest occupation. The
mantelshelf lay thick in dust; and the skylight above was so dirty that
the light came through but weakly, leaving the panelled room in a half
shadow.
I lit my lantern and turned to examine the entrances. One was quite
obvious: a narrow slip of a door, opening, it seemed, into the side
of the chimney. I guessed at once that this led down to the old oak
wardrobe in the great bedroom below. I knew now where that apparition
had come from and vanished to, and my first thought was to descend and
investigate. But it occurred to me that there must be another entrance
opening into the passage of the skeleton, as I thought of it. But
there was nothing to show which panel hid the secret. Indeed I should
probably have been searching for an hour or more if I hadn't noticed
the marks of feet on the dusty floor disappearing into the wall; and
tugging at the panel there it came open in my hands. If I had tapped
for it I shouldn't have found it, for it was too solid to sound hollow
to the knuckles.
I was growing more and more excited with my discoveries, but through
my excitement I felt apprehensive, for it was clear that some one had
been in the chamber very recently, and might come back again. If so I
should be trapped like a rat in a drain, with no way to turn. Still, I
decided to examine the passage first, and holding out my lantern before
me ventured into the dark, trying to remember by the plan Worthing had
drawn up what turns and stairways to expect. But there was little need
for this; for, though the passage twisted and climbed and descended,
there was no chance of losing the way, for there was only one way to
take.
I pressed on step by step with the utmost caution, gazing intently into
the darkness ahead, and testing every step before I moved forward;
and so intent was I on the process that I didn't notice what was on
either hand till I suddenly became aware of a figure in a niche beside
me standing very still. I turned quickly, and stifled a faint cry.
For there was the skeleton; and at its feet lay my candle. I held up
my lantern and examined the dismal thing. There were chains about its
wrists and chest and feet, fixing it to the wall. It hadn't lost its
way then and perished in the darkness, but had been imprisoned there
by an enemy and left to die slowly and alone. I had enough imagination
to picture the terrible deed: the mockery of the triumphant foe as the
chains clanked into the staples; the cries of the victim, the frantic
curses and appeals; the dying away of the footsteps, and the closing of
the door; the terrible secrecy of the darkness, with death creeping out
of the shadow by lingering degrees; the screams of growing madness, the
sobs weakening into moans, the frenzied struggling at the bonds, the
prayers, the mutterings, the hours of dumb silence.... I stood there
fascinated by the horrid details of that slow agony, realizing more
vividly than before something of the meaning of the crime of the Mad
Captain in my father's story. Little wonder, it seemed to me, that with
such a picture in his mind of not one only but many of his comrades
perishing so, and he the author of it all, little wonder if sleep
forsook him, and his dreams grew frightful with avenging phantoms, and
the light brought only troubled memories to torment him.
Then before I could move forward I heard a sound in the darkness ahead
of me. I knew at once what it meant. The secret door was opening.
I turned and hurried back; and it was fortunate for me that the passage
was a tangle of turnings, for otherwise I should have had to put out my
lantern, or expose myself to the stranger. And something told me that