In Jeopardy
tufted knuckles, knotted about a blackthorn cudgel.
"You were speaking, I think, of interesting possibilities," he
continued, looking at each of us in turn, "Perhaps I could add something
of value to the discussion."
"You have already contributed Exhibit A," said Warriner, handing him the
handkerchief. As he spoke, he rose to his feet, and it seemed to me that
just before doing so he picked up a small object from the ground, and
kept it concealed in the hollow of his hand. But the action had been so
swift that I could not be sure.
John Thaneford took and pocketed his handkerchief with the utmost
sangfroid. "Thanks," he said carelessly. "I must have left it here by
inadvertence, and nowadays even a few inches of real Irish linen is a
possession not to be despised. It is certainly mine, and, moreover, it
was found on Thaneford property. Under the circumstances you will hardly
be justified in putting in a claim for treasure-trove." This with a
sneer that fully bared his close set teeth.
I was feeling rather uncomfortable, but Warriner's cool urbanity never
failed him. "Glad to have obliged you," he said easily. "The next strong
wind probably would have blown it down the cliff. Lovely view, isn't
it?"
And indeed it was a charming prospect--the silver ripples of the shallow
Whippany edging the emerald meadows that stretched up to meet the shaven
lawn of the "Hundred"; the massive ochre bulk of the house, with its
roofs of dark gray slate; and, beyond, the copper glow from a clump of
purple beeches melting insensibly into the sombre hues of pine and
hemlock; in the middle distance, the golden ocean of the wheat; and
still farther on, a battery of motor tractors moving snail-like but
inexorably against the gallant green lances of the haying
fields--"Hildebrand Hundred" in all its glory.
"A _belvedere_ in quite the proper sense," commented Warriner. "I dare
say you are rather fond of coming here--by way of viewing the promised
land, as it were." He smiled provokingly.
John Thaneford was not nimble witted, and he found no fitting rejoinder
to Warriner's sarcasm. "I don't know that it is any of your damned
business," he barked out, flushing redly.
It was time for me to intervene, for clearly our position was not a
tenable one; we were trespassers. "I am sorry to have intruded for the
second time within a week," I said evenly. "Unintentional of course."
He made no definite reply, and I swung round. "Get to heel, Gyp," I
ordered.
"One moment," demanded Thaneford, "I've been intending to tell you that
I shall go back to 'Thane Court' this evening; I mean for good. I'm
afraid that my father"--he gulped at something in his throat--"can't be
moved for the present."
"Mr. Thaneford will be welcome to the hospitality of the 'Hundred' so
long as the emergency exists," I returned smilingly. "I would say as
much for yourself, but of course you will do as you please."
"I always intend to," he countered instantly. Then, as though a bit
ashamed of his boorishness, he added: "You will have no objection, I
suppose, to my coming over to the 'Hundred' to see him?"
"Surely not. And there is also the telephone. I promise that you will be
kept fully informed. Good day, Mr. Thaneford."
"Mr. Thaneford!" he echoed. "My dear Cousin Hugh, are you oblivious of
the fact that this is the South, and that we are kin?"
"Even if a little less than kind," put in Warriner.
"Cousin John, then," I amended, determined to give no open ground for
offence. "Shall I have your traps sent over to the 'Court?'"
"Thanks, but I'm looking in on father around five o'clock, and so won't
have to bother you. Down, Vixen!" he added, dealing the collie a hearty
cuff as she snapped at Gyp, discreetly paddling at my heels. Warriner
started to say something civil, but was ignored, and we passed on
without another word.
"Sulky brute!" offered Warriner, but I merely nodded.
"Did you notice that no allusion was made, on either side, to that
singular metal rest?" he persisted.
"What was there to say?"
"True for you; but I still contend that the possibilities are
interesting--perhaps infinitely so. For instance----" he opened his hand
and showed me what lay snugly ensconced within.
"Looks like a piece of glass."
"Man, don't you know a telescopic lens when you see it!"
Warriner produced a silk handkerchief, and with it carefully cleaned and
polished what I now fully recognized as a bit of some optical apparatus.
He held it up to his eye, and squinted through it. "Do you know there is
something peculiar about this blooming lens," he said at length. "I
think I'll drive over to Calverton after luncheon, and make a laboratory
test. Who knows...."
"What?"
"Tell you later--if there is anything to tell." And not another word on
the subject could I get out of him.
* * * * *
Mrs. Anthony and Betty had been over to the cemetery all morning, and
they did not appear at luncheon. Miss Trevor, looking as implacable as a
Medusa-head, a comparison inevitably invited by the snaky black ringlets
depending on either cheek (an ante-bellum monstrosity which she seemed
to affect out of sheer perversity), presided at the table, and most of
the conversation was carried on in monosyllables. The poor girl did look
wretchedly careworn, and I had the uneasy consciousness of being in part
a confidant of her unhappiness through my involuntary espionage in the
affair of the whispering gallery. But there was nothing that I could say
or do to relieve the tension of the situation. How much did she know
concerning the mystery of Francis Graeme's death? To what extent was she
an accessory to the crime, if crime it could be proved? When she handed
me my tea it was quite in the grand Lucrezia Borgia manner, and it was
as certain as anything could be that she and I must remain antagonists
until the end of time. But I could make allowances. Eunice Trevor had
played the part of poor relation all her life, and the bread of
dependence is both a dry and a bitter morsel in the mouth. Not that
Betty Graeme would ever have said or done anything to emphasize the
obligation under which her cousin's daily existence was passed; on the
contrary, I knew that she treated Eunice with unvarying kindness and
consideration. But when one is living on the broken meats of charity it
is destructive to be always nibbling, between meals, at one's own heart.
Warriner went off to Calverton, and I had a horse saddled in order to
ride over the farm and so get a general idea of my inheritance. And
indeed it was a glorious one; insensibly a new and stimulating ichor
entered into my veins; this was my own country, the chosen home of my
forebears: this gracious and beautiful land was part of myself; deep
down in its generous bosom went the essential roots of my being, and I
thrilled with the consciousness of a new life, a life far more
satisfying and abundant than I had ever known before; I was Hildebrand
of the "Hundred."
Late in the afternoon I returned, and ran upstairs to freshen my
appearance before joining the ladies for a cup of tea on the library
terrace. As I passed the sick room I heard the sounds of a violent
altercation, and I recognized the voices as belonging to Eunice Trevor
and John Thaneford; how indecent for them to be quarrelling in the
presence of a man actually moribund! I had no taste for more
eavesdropping, but the door was partially ajar, and I could not help
overhearing one significant sentence. Eunice Trevor was speaking.
"As for Betty Graeme, there is no chance there for recouping your
fortunes. How do I know? I am a woman myself."
I went on quickly and reached my room. But my blood was hot within me.
That surly, brutal boor!
All the time I was changing my clothes I could hear the discussion
proceeding, although the words themselves were inaudible. Then came the
clumping of heavy boots on the staircase. I looked out of my window,
which commanded a view of the carriage sweep, and saw John Thaneford's
disreputable old dog-cart waiting before the front door. Presently
Thaneford himself appeared, carrying a couple of handbags; he threw the
luggage in the cart, mounted, and drove away.
On my own way down I had to go by the room occupied by the elder
Thaneford. Quite involuntarily I glanced through the half-opened door; a
curious feeling possessed me that the sick man was being dealt with
unfairly, that he needed the protection which a guest has a right to
expect from his host.
Fielding Thaneford lay, immense and quiescent, in the old-fashioned,
canopied bed. He was not asleep, for his eyes were open and rolling
restlessly, while the infantile pink and white of his complexion had
darkened to a dull crimson; it was plain that he was uneasy, suffering
even. And then I realized the source of his discomfort.
Eunice Trevor sat in a highbacked chair at the foot of the bedstead,
gazing intently at the helpless man. I used to think that the
metaphorical, "If looks could kill!" was mere rhetoric, but now I knew
that there may be a deadliness in pure hatred which needs neither
spoken word nor overt act for its vehicle of expression. The Medusa-head
again, an incarnation of implacable malignity; no wonder that Fielding
Thaneford's big, babyish cheeks were beaded with sweat and that his
breath came and went in short gasps. One thought involuntarily of the
mediaeval sorceress sticking her lethal pins into the waxen image of her
victim. Only that in this instance the counterfeit presentment was not
necessary; the man himself lay bound hand and foot, delivered to the
tormentors as they that go down quick into hell. Unable to move or speak
he must remain in his physical straitjacket while this tigerish woman
was doing him to death, at her leisure, with the invisible knife-thrusts
of a great and consuming hatred It was unbearable, and I entered the
room with the merest apology for a knock; instantly the eyes of the
basilisk were veiled.
"I was looking for Mr. Thaneford's nurse," I began awkwardly.
"Miss Davenport is off duty from two until five o'clock," answered Miss
Trevor with entire composure. "I told Betty that I would take the relief
on alternate days. Here is Miss Davenport now."
I turned to greet the pleasant-faced, capable looking young woman who
entered, and Miss Trevor glided away without another word. I made the
usual inquiries about the patient's condition. "Not quite so well,
perhaps," I suggested.
"He does seem a little flushed and restless," answered the nurse,
producing her clinical thermometer. "I don't understand it, for he was
decidedly better this morning."
"Possibly some outside disturbing influence," I ventured. "Mr. John
Thaneford was with his father late this afternoon, and I suspect there
was some sort of family jar."
"That big, black man!" said Miss Davenport indignantly. "I can't abide
him!" She looked around sharply. "Where is he?"
"I believe he has returned to 'Thane Court.'"
"Well, I shan't let him in the room again if he can't behave himself.
See that!" and she showed me the thermometer, which registered a
two-degree rise over normal. "Shameful I call it! and I won't have any
interference with my patient, no matter who it is."
"I'll back you up there. And perhaps we had better make some other
arrangements for the afternoon relief. Miss Trevor has been very
obliging, but I'm not sure that she has the proper--well, call it the
necessary temperament."
"I know it 'ud give me the creeps to have that slinky, black shadow
hovering over me," returned the downright-minded Miss Davenport. "I
think I'll put a stop-order on her from this time on."
"I dare say Miss Graeme and I can share the duty between us; at least
until it is possible to get hold of another nurse. I'll speak to my