The Black Abbot
Harry was one of the best--you don’t mind me calling him Harry, do
you, dear?” And, when Leslie shook her head: “I can’t say that I was
fond of him as a young girl ought to be fond of a man she loves, but
he was very nice. He had his tempers, the same as the rest of us, but
they were only his high spirits. I could never understand why he hated
Mr. Alford.”
Leslie looked at her incredulously.
“Hated Mr. Alford?” she repeated. “Surely you’re mistaken? They were
very good friends.”
Mary shook her head.
“No, they weren’t,” she said. “It all arose out of her ladyship’s
picture.”
“The late Lady Chelford?”
“That was the lady,” nodded Mary. “It happened three years ago. Dick
Alford suggested that the portrait should be moved to the gallery. I
think he was silly to say it, knowing how Harry adored his mother, and
when he said the picture was depressing--and that was the silliest
thing of all--Harry got right up in the air! It was dreadful, the
things he said to Mr. Alford--and before me, too! Dick Alford realized
his mistake: I could see that, and he tried to pacify Harry, but for a
fortnight they didn’t speak.”
Leslie was silent. Slowly the inner life of Fossaway Manor was
beginning to reveal itself to her; she had seen nothing of these
cross-currents, had not suspected, even dimly, the conflicting
antagonism which must have been visible to Harry Chelford’s secretary.
“They were very friendly sometimes. You’d think that Harry was fond of
him, and I think he was,” Mary continued; “but the quarrels used to
break out every now and then, once because Dick always stood with his
back to the picture, and never looked at it at all. He hated it, I’m
sure of that. Of course, he never took me into his confidence. We were
not what you might term good friends. I suppose it was foolish of me
to take up Harry’s quarrel, but I never liked Dick--you don’t mind me
calling him Dick?--after that.”
She glanced nervously through the window. The sun had set, and dusk
was creeping over the great park.
“If I get any sleep to-night I’ll be lucky,” she said. “Do you mind if
I leave my door open and keep a light burning?”
“Why, of course not,” smiled Leslie.
“There is a lock on the door, and I asked Glover to find me the key,”
Miss Wenner went on. “And I’ll tell you frankly, Leslie, that if he
hadn’t found it I wouldn’t have stayed, not for all the money in the
world.”
Leslie felt that it would be indiscreet to offer encouragement to a
further discussion of this subject, for she was as reluctant to spend
the night under that roof as her new-found friend.
XLIX
Though she waited up till nearly eleven, she did not see Dick, and,
in response to the repeated hints of the girl, they went upstairs
together.
The Manor was lighted by a power plant which was accommodated in a
small shed midway between the house and the Ravensrill, and owed its
installation to Dick’s enterprise.
Harry had always had candles in his room, Mary told her, but had
accepted the lighting of his library as a compromise.
“It’s a very strange thing,” said Mary from her inner room, “but Harry
was afraid of electricity. In thunderstorms he always went down into
the cellar and stayed there until they were over. He used to have a
bed which was made every day in the summer, in case of a storm coming
on in the night, and----”
At that moment all the lights in the room went out.
“Have you turned the lights off?” asked Mary’s anxious voice.
“No, I haven’t been near the switch; I expect a fuse has gone,” said
the girl.
There were matches and candles on the dressing table, she remembered,
and, groping her way to the table, she lit the two candles. Mary was
standing in the doorway, very pale and wide-eyed.
“What was the meaning of that?” she asked, her voice sharp with fear,
which was beginning to communicate itself to Leslie.
She forced a smile.
“That happens in the best regulated houses,” she said, with spurious
gaiety. “The door is locked, so there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
And then she heard footsteps in the corridor; there was a knock at the
door that made Mary jump.
“Are you there, Leslie?” It was Dick’s voice. “Something has gone
wrong with the lighting arrangements; we’ll put it right in a minute
or two.”
“Are the lights out everywhere?” asked Mary, but he was gone.
Twenty minutes passed and again Leslie heard his footsteps
approaching.
“I’m afraid we sha’n’t be able to fix up the lights till the morning.
Have you candles? Did Glover put a flash light for you?”
“We’ve everything we want,” said Leslie. “Don’t worry about us: we
shall be asleep in ten minutes.”
“Not me,” murmured Miss Wenner tremulously. “I sha’n’t sleep a wink!”
By the light of her candle she had replaced most of the garments she
had discarded when the lights went out.
“I knew I oughtn’t to have stayed--there’s somebody coming along the
corridor!”
“It is only Mr. Alford.”
But her ears caught the sound of two pairs of feet, and presently
Dick’s voice spoke.
“Do you mind if I leave one of Puttler’s men outside your door?” he
asked. “Don’t be alarmed if you hear him walking about in the night.”
“Is anything wrong, Dick?”
“No, no, nothing wrong; only I knew Miss Wenner was rather nervous.”
“I am,” quavered Miss Wenner loudly. “It’s very good of you, Mr.
Alford.”
“You had better keep your windows fastened,” said Dick. “There is a
system of ventilation in the room, so you needn’t be afraid of waking
with a headache. Good-night.”
When he had gone, Mary Wenner looked solemnly at her companion.
“Did you hear what he said about keeping the windows shut?” she asked
hollowly. “My Gawd!”
“Don’t be silly, Mary.”
Leslie was past feeling comfortable, but she had need to set an
example.
“Come along, I’ll help you fasten the windows.”
“‘Keep the windows fastened,’” repeated Mary Wenner. “There’s
something doing!”
They went from one to the other of the leaded windows, closed them and
pressed down the catches. Suddenly Mary clutched the girl’s arm
fiercely.
“There’s a man under my bed!” she gasped, staring wildly at the
drooping counterpane.
With a fluttering heart Leslie lifted the cover, and pulled out a pair
of riding boots, the soles of which the frightened secretary had seen,
and they both laughed hysterically.
“I wish I could bring my bed into your room.” Mary looked helplessly
at the heavy four-poster to which she had been assigned.
“You can come and sleep with me,” said Leslie. “I’ve got a big bed.”
And this offer was most gratefully accepted.
“Have a look under your bed first,” said Miss Wenner nervously, and
not till this ritual had been observed did she commence very slowly to
undress.
Down below in the library, Dick was in consultation with Puttler, who
had just returned from a hasty visit to Scotland Yard.
“The batteries were smashed, and an attempt had been made to cut the
main cable,” reported Dick. “I got to the power house just after it
happened, but I saw nobody.”
Puttler pulled at his comic little nose and there was a look of
trouble in his brown eyes.
“The Commissioner thinks you ought to have a dozen men down here and
make a clean-up,” he said. “I’ve brought three, and I think they all
ought to be inside the house. One we’ve got in the east wing, another
in the west, and a patrol in the hall. That will leave you and me and
the local ‘flatties’ for the grounds. Though I think we might as well
stay here--you want a battalion to patrol the estate properly. By the
way, when I was looking round early this morning I found a great mound
of earth in the northeast corner of the estate, near the river. One of
your gamekeepers told me it was called Chelford Greed. What is the
idea?”
Dick was not in an archæological mood, but he explained.
“One of my ancestors--I don’t know which one--planned and carried out
a big steal. You probably know that the charter by which we received
these lands from King Henry confines the northern boundary of the
estate to the course of the Ravensrill, and the ingenious Chelford of
the times had the idea of changing the course of the Ravensrill so
that the estate would embrace another thousand acres. The Chelford
Greed was the dam he built. The natural course of the Ravensrill runs
through the Long Meadow. It was one of those clever little pieces of
robbery that have made us landed proprietors what we are! As I say, I
don’t know which of the Chelfords planned this piece of larceny,
because there is no written record, and the legend has come down from
mouth to mouth, so to speak.”
He looked up at the big portrait above the fireplace and shook his
head.
“Lady,” he said softly, “you’ve given me a lot of trouble!”
Puttler was interested.
“As how?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you one of these days,” said Dick. “I wonder if those girls
are asleep?”
He stole quietly up the stairs. The man on duty in the corridor
flashed a lamp upon him as he approached.
“No sound,” he whispered, and Dick crept downstairs again.
It was arranged that he and Puttler should snatch a few hours’ sleep
in turn, the other patrolling round and round the block of buildings.
At two o’clock in the morning he was aroused from a deep slumber to
feel Puttler shaking gently at his shoulder.
“Nothing has happened,” said the detective, eyeing with a friendly
look the sofa from which Dick struggled. “I’ve warmed up some grub for
you.”
A spirit stove was burning on the desk and the kettle above was
steaming. Dick poured the black coffee into a glass and scalded
himself to wakefulness.
“One of the local men thought he saw somebody moving and challenged,”
reported Puttler, settling himself down with a luxurious sigh. “But it
was probably only a bush. These birds are jumpy--they see a Black
Abbot in every shadow!”
Dick sipped at the boiling fluid and broke a biscuit with his
disengaged hand.
“Thank God, this can’t go on much longer!” he said. “By the way, did
you bring those papers from London?”
“I gave them to you in the library: they were in the blue envelope.”
Dick put down the glass.
“I’d better keep them in my safe,” he said. “I don’t want the servants
to see them.”
He crossed the hall, unlocked the door of the library and went in,
mechanically switching on the light, and only then remembering that
for the time being Fossaway Manor was denied the service of the little
power house. He went back to the study and got his lamp and picked his
way across the room to the desk. The envelope was where he had put it,
and he slipped this into his pocket. As he did so, he was aware that a
cold wind was blowing. He sent his light along the windows. That at
the end was open; one of the curtains, which had been drawn across lay
in a heap on the ground.
He went to the door and called Puttler softly and the detective joined
him.
“Somebody has been here,” he said, and pointed to the curtain and the
twisted pole that had supported it.
It was easy to see how the intruder had made his way into the library.
Two of the panes near the iron handle which fastened one leaf of the
window had been broken, and evidently the midnight visitor, in
entering, must have fallen and, catching hold of the curtain to save
himself, brought it to the ground, breaking away the pole which was
hanging drunkenly.
“I passed here ten minutes ago, and the window was shut then,” said
Puttler.
“He may have been inside at the moment,” replied Dick thoughtfully. “I
wonder what has been taken?”
He examined the desk. Evidently the intruder had not opened any of the
drawers, though, if he had done so, his labours would have been in
vain, since Dick had cleared every document out of the room early in
the day. As they circulated the room, Puttler stumbled over something.