In Jeopardy
"Evidently a seat perilous," he said sardonically. "No wonder you do not
choose to occupy it."
I don't know what mad, foolish impulse moved me to go and sit down in
the big, swivel-chair, but there I presently found myself, my face
reddening a trifle under the quizzical stare of John Thaneford's dull,
black eyes. Effingham entered with the whiskey and glasses, and I bade
him put the tray on the desk and fetch a chair for Mr. Thaneford.
"Good medicine!" approved my guest as he tossed off his glass. There was
a plate of biscuit at his elbow; he took one of the little round
crackers and bit into it; then, with a smothered ejaculation, he spewed
forth the half masticated fragments. I looked my natural surprise.
"I never could abide those damned saltines," he explained, with a touch
of his old glowering sulkiness. "I'll drink with you, Cousin Hugh, till
the swallows homeward fly, but I'll not taste your salt; I reserve the
right to withdraw the flag of truce without notice."
Well, I should have had warning a-plenty by this time, but it was all to
no purpose; I had the full realization that I was treading a dangerous
path, and yet it was not in my conscious power to take one single step
toward safety. Call it fatalism if you will, or the pure recklessness
engendered by the growing conviction that Betty was lost to me for good
and all; whatever the secret springs of my present course of action,
the outcome inevitably must have been the same; a Scotchman would have
said that I was fey. And perhaps I was.
I never had been what you call a drinking man, but to-night I was
matching glass for glass with "Black Jack" Thaneford, who could put any
man, yes any three men in King William County, under the table. The
night came on apace, and twice Effingham had been ordered to bring in
another supply of spirits. Suddenly John Thaneford broke away from the
trivial subjects which we had been discussing.
"Some two years ago, Cousin Hugh," he began, "I gave you a choice--Betty
Graeme or the 'Hundred.' Do you remember?"
"I remember," I answered steadily.
"But you would not make it; you took them both."
"What right had you to force such an issue?" I demanded hotly.
"That is beside the point. I did force it."
"Well?"
"I'll give you the final opportunity."
"Possibly, you have forgotten that Betty is now my wife?"
"I have not forgotten it."
"And as for the 'Hundred'----"
"The 'Hundred,'" he repeated, a dull, red flush dyeing his high
forehead.
"There is another interest now besides my own that I am bound to
protect; I have a son."
"Ah, I had not heard. Of course that does make a difference."
"All the difference. See here, Thaneford," I went on impulsively, "I
don't want to play an ungenerous part, and I can see something of your
side of the case. I am prepared to make some provision, indeed an ample
one; but the 'Hundred' must remain where it is."
"And that is your last word?" he queried almost indifferently.
"My last word," I answered, looking him straight in the eye.
"Then we know where we are," he responded. "The bottle stands with you,
Cousin Hugh."
We renewed our potations, but thenceforth in silence; for the space of
an hour and more not another word passed between us.
And the silence was an hostile one, the quiet of watchful and eternal
enmity. I know that I hated John Thaneford and that he hated me;
moreover, this condition could never change or alter until the end of
time itself. Well, anything was better than the false cordiality of
conventional speech; at least we knew where we stood. And still our grim
wassail went on.
* * * * *
I can't recall falling to sleep in the great chair, but now, with a
sudden, painful start, I awoke to realize that it was broad
daylight--Friday, the twenty-second of June. My head was aching
frightfully, and my arms and legs seemed singularly cramped and
constricted. Then I came face to face with the ugly fact that I was
bound fast in my chair by stout cords that secured my shoulders, wrists,
and ankles; I could move my head a trifle to one side or the other and
that was all.
John Thaneford sat opposite me, smoking a cigarette and looking as
though he had remained entirely unaffected by the amount of liquor he
had consumed. Seeing that I was awake he rose, came over to where I sat,
and examined carefully the various ligatures that constrained my
movements. Not a word was uttered on either side, and indeed there was
no need for any speech between us. Doubtless I should be informed in due
time of whatever fate might be in store for me; and, for the present, I
could only wait with what show of patience it were possible to muster.
A discreet knock sounded on the closed door leading to the corridor.
Thaneford snapped back the locking-bolt and stepped across the
threshold; I realized that Effingham was standing there, but the leather
screen prevented my seeing him, and of course it hid, in turn, my
mortifying predicament. Now I might have called out, shouted for help,
raised the very roof in indignant protest at the humiliation to which I
had been subjected. And yet I did none of these obvious things, and I
think John Thaneford was shrewd enough to know that my tongue would be
held out of very shame; otherwise, he would have taken the precaution to
slip a gag into my mouth.
I heard Thaneford tell Effingham, speaking of course in my name, to
bring a large pot of black coffee and a plate of crackers. "The unsalted
kind," he added, as though actuated by an afterthought whose
significance became instantly clear to my own mind. "Or better yet," he
continued, "some of those big, round biscuits that they call 'pilot
bread.' No, Mr. Hildebrand doesn't care for any tea this morning--what's
that! a telegram? Then why the devil didn't you say so! Give it here,
and mind you hurry up that coffee--hot and black, and strong as sheol."
The door swung to, and I could hear Effingham's carpet slippers padding
softly away. Too late now, I regretted that I had not given the alarm.
Even if Thaneford had used violent means to silence Effingham my voice
would have rung all through the lower part of the house, prompting some
sort of inquiry and a probable rescue. But that chance was gone.
Thaneford returned to my immediate vicinity, the buff telegram envelope
in his hand. I could see that it was addressed to me, but he broke the
seal without even the pretense of hesitation, and glanced over the
message. His lips curled into a genial sneer (if one can imagine such a
combination); then he deliberately held up the sheet for me to read.
_If indeed you still care for me, don't enter library again under any
consideration or for any purpose. Coming._
The message was signed with my dear girl's initials, and it was plain
that it had been written under stress of emotion. In spite of my
equivocal position (for really I could not bring myself to believe that
John Thaneford intended actual personal violence), and the extreme
discomfort of being trussed up like a hog going to the slaughter pen, I
was conscious that, after all these months of alienation, some
mysterious barrier had fallen and the long misunderstanding was in a
fair way of being cleared up. And so, although my temples were thumping
like a steam engine and the pain in my arms and legs was deadening to a
terrifying numbness, my spirits rebounded to an extravagant height; my
heart sang again.
"If you still care for me!" And then that wonderful word: "Coming." I
was wildly, deliriously happy, for now everything must come right. What
a fool I had been through all these doleful months! how wholeheartedly
would I make my confession; how tender and generous would be my
absolution--but a sudden realization of things as they really were
checked, like a cold douche, my satisfying glow of well-being. If danger
actually existed for me within the library walls I was ill prepared to
meet it, sitting fast bound in my chair with "Black Jack" Thaneford
opposite me, an evil smile upon his lips and the glint of a spark in the
dead blackness of his half-closed eyes.
And then, of a sudden, I became horribly afraid. Not of John Thaneford,
for all that he hated me and had me in his power, but of the Terror,
unknown, unseen, and unheard, that lurked within the circle of these
walls; whose coming none could foresee and none prevent; for whose
appearance the ultimate stage had been set and the final watch posted.
Remember, I had nothing tangible upon which to base even a fragment of
theory, and all of our original clues had proved worthless. Here were
neither dim, midnight spaces, nor hollow walls, nor underlying abysses.
Just a big, almost empty room, devoid of alcoves and odd corners, and
withal flooded with the sunshine of a perfect June day. The only feature
out of the common was the secret outlet behind the chimney-breast, and
some time ago I had replaced the original lock by one of the latest,
burglar proof pattern. There were only two keys, one on my own bunch and
the other in Betty's possession; certainly the peril was not likely to
appear in that quarter; that would have been too obvious, even
amateurish.
The morning dragged on. When Marcus knocked at the door, seeking
admission to carry in the breakfast tray, he was roughly ordered to set
it down on the threshold and take himself off. Thaneford, waiting until
the house-boy was well out of hearing, unlocked the door and carried in
the tray for himself; evidently, he did not intend to give me a second
opportunity to send out any S. O. S. calls. With the massive door once
more _in situ_ I might halloo and shout until I burst my bellows,
without anyone being the wiser.
Thaneford, in quick succession, drank two big cups of the coffee. He
did not go through the form of offering me a taste of the beverage, and
much as I longed for its comforting ministrations, I was hardly ready to
ask the boon of my jailor. Effingham must have been unable to find any
of the unsalted pilot bread, for he had provided, in its stead, several
rounds of buttered toast and a dish of scrambled eggs. But Thaneford
would have none of these forbidden viands. Strange! that he should balk
upon the purely academic question of a few grains of salt. But we all
enjoy our pet inconsistencies. So he finished the pot of coffee and fell
to smoking again, while I continued to speculate, a little grimly, upon
the chances of ever getting clear of this infernal coil. Apparently,
there was nothing for either of us to do but to go on waiting, waiting.
The hours dragged along and now it was hard upon high noon, as I could
see by Thaneford's gold repeater that lay on the desk between us; with
an indescribable thrill I realized that he, too, was watching the minute
hand as it slowly traveled upward to the sign of the Roman numerals,
XII. Unquestionably, some fateful moment was approaching, and yet there
was nothing in the physical surroundings to give rise to uneasiness
even, let alone apprehension; nothing unless it were the occasional
rumble of distant thunder, a sullen drone underneath the pleasant song
of the birds and the cheerful humming of bees among the rose bushes.
Through the painted window, depicting the flight of the Hebrew spies,
the sunshine poured in full volume, the white light transformed to
gorgeous color by the medium through which it passed. One broad bar lay
close at hand upon the oaken floor, a riotous splash of red from Rahab's
scarlet cord intermingled with purple blotches from the circular bosses
that simulated the huge grapes of the Promised Land: I watched the
variegated band of color as it crept slowly toward my chair; at present,
it lay to the right, but as the sun approached the zenith it swung