The Black Abbot
detectives. You’ll tell him you saw me, will you, and I asked you not
to go to the house unless you had business?”
Evidently these were the policeman’s instructions; Gilder promised
faithfully to supply this exoneration, and continued up the drive.
There was nobody to meet him when he pulled up before the old carved
porch, but he had hardly alighted when a long-armed, queer-faced man
came from nowhere.
“Good-morning,” said the visitor.
“Good-morning, Mr. Gilder,” said Puttler. “Mr. Alford has had to go to
town.”
“I want to see Miss Gwyn,” said Gilder, watching the man closely.
If he had expected an experienced detective-sergeant to betray
himself, he was to be disappointed. Puttler did no more than fix him
with his melancholy eyes.
“Want to see Miss Gwyn, do you? I’m afraid she’s not at home either.”
“Then perhaps I could see Miss Wenner?”
The sergeant scratched his chin.
“She’s not very well,” he said; “in fact, she’s lying down, and the
doctor says she’s not to be disturbed.”
“Is there anything wrong with her?”
“No, there’s nothing very much wrong with her. At the same time,” said
Puttler juridically, “there’s nothing very much right with her! It has
rather got on her nerves sleeping in this place, and I can’t very well
blame her.”
“Do you know where Miss Gwyn has gone?”
Puttler shook his head.
“No,” he said truthfully, “I can’t tell you that; she didn’t tell me.”
“Perhaps you will answer this question,” said the exasperated man:
“Has anything happened to her?”
“So far as I know,” said the imperturbable officer, “nothing whatever
has happened to her. Are you a friend of hers?”
“I am her fiancé,” said Gilder, on the spur of the moment.
Here he had the satisfaction of seeing that the sergeant was startled.
“Oh, yes, of course, you’re the gentleman she isn’t going to marry.”
It was said in all innocence, without any trace of impertinence, but
Mr. Gilder went red and white.
“You see, Mr. Gilder,” the sergeant went on, “I’ve heard quite a lot
about--affairs in this neighbourhood; in fact, I’m an authority upon
all the gossip and scandal for the past twenty years. And I’m very
glad you came, because there are one or two questions I wanted to ask
you. For example, I wanted to know how it came about that you placed
your cottage at the disposal of an ex-convict. Thomas Luck--so
called.”
But here Gilder was ready with his answer.
“I had no idea the man was an ex-convict,” he said. “He told me he had
been discharged from the Manor, and as I wanted a caretaker, and he
offered to come for a very small sum, I employed him. I was terribly
surprised and shocked to hear of his death, but even more shocked to
learn of his character.”
Puttler was politely interested. But if he thought that he was going
to get rid of Gilder so easily, it was because he did not know the
man’s pertinacity.
“I think I must see Miss Wenner before I go,” he said. “At any rate,
I’d be glad if you’d send up my name----”
Puttler shook his head.
“It can’t be done, Mr. Gilder,” he said almost cheerfully. “Just now
I’m a combination of the Earl of Chelford and the family doctor. In
other words, I’m in charge during Mr. Alford’s absence. If you care to
wait until he comes back, the drawing-room is at your disposal, but
you understand, Mr. Gilder, that you are not in any circumstances to
question the servants. I am a great admirer of amateur detectives in
my leisure moments, but this is one of my busy days and I can’t afford
to have any interference in this case, however well meant it may be.”
Gilder had to accept this invitation. He was determined not to leave
the house until he had learned the truth about Leslie Gwyn. The
detective conducted him to the drawing-room, the long windows of which
were open.
“I’ll ask you not to leave here until Mr. Alford arrives,” he said.
“If you require anything, perhaps you will ring?” And, seeing the
light in Gilder’s eyes, he added: “One of my men, who is a first-class
footman, will attend to you.”
He had not long to wait, as it happened. Dick, who had torn up to
town, breaking every speed rule, and so intent upon the object of his
visit that he had forgotten even that he had put the bag in the boot,
was lucky enough to get through with his interview in a quarter of an
hour. It was a very important interview: one on which his own future
very largely depended; and there were too many things to think about
for him to give a thought to the bag and its contents. His car, white
with dust, sped up the drive and came to a halt in the wide space
before the porch. He identified the other car and recognized it as the
machine that had nearly brought about a nasty accident that morning.
“Gilder, is it?” he said, as he got down.
“Gilder it is, and full of interrogation marks. You saw the
secretary?”
Dick nodded.
“Yes. He was very kind, but rather vague. He has given me twelve hours
to find Harry, dead or alive.”
“Did you tell him about Miss Gwyn?”
“He wasn’t even interested,” said Dick, with a hard laugh. “Harry, the
estate, the title--everything except Leslie! That was the burden of
his conversation. In twelve hours I must find him--and believe me,
Puttler, in twelve hours I will!”
He went into the drawing-room and greeted Gilder curtly.
“You wanted to see me?”
“I wanted to know what has happened to Leslie Gwyn,” said Gilder.
“I wish to God I knew!” said Dick.
The man stared at him.
“Nothing bad has happened?” he asked in a low voice, and Dick forgave
him everything for the sincerity of his concern.
“I’m afraid it is something very unpleasant,” he said, and told the
story.
As he did so, he saw the man’s face change and a sceptical smile
curved his lips.
“I’ve got something to say to you, and I’d like to say it before a
witness, Alford.”
“To me?” said Dick, in surprise, and called over his shoulder to
Puttler, who was passing the door. “Mr. Gilder has something he wants
to say--I presume it’s something of an unpleasant character,” he said.
“Perhaps you had better listen to this, Puttler.”
“Alford has just told me that Miss Gwyn has disappeared, and the
inference is, of course, that the Black Abbot has spirited her away. I
think that is extremely likely, because the Black Abbot has every
interest in holding fast to that young lady.”
“Sensation,” murmured the detective, but Gilder did not notice the
interruption.
“For some time past there’s been a queer spook haunting this
countryside, an object of terror to Lord Chelford, designed, if
anything, to cover the series of outrages which have recently been
committed. Chelford’s a weakling--you know that, Alford--but weaklings
have children, and once a child is born to Harry Chelford your hope of
succession went like that!” He snapped his fingers.
“What are you suggesting?” asked Dick steadily.
“I’m suggesting that you are the Black Abbot!”
Not by so much as a flicker of his eyelid did Dick betray himself.
“I not only suggest it, but I’m prepared to prove it. On your way to
town this morning you nearly collided with my car. As you skidded,
your bag fell out of the dickey. I picked it up, threw it in the car
and found it was open. In that bag was the robe of the Black Abbot,
well worn, often used! Do you deny that?”
“You’ve got to bring proof of this.” It was Puttler who spoke.
“Proof!” cried the other triumphantly. “I’ll give you proof!”
He walked rapidly through the hall to where his car was, the two men
following him. He had left the bag under a rug at the back of the car.
“There is the bag,” he said, as he pulled the rug from its place. “And
here”--he snapped open the bag----
It was empty!
“And here?” said Puttler encouragingly.
“It was there a few minutes ago: I saw it before I came into the
grounds. Somebody has taken it. You!” he accused Dick.
Dick smiled.
“Sergeant Puttler will testify that I came straight from my car into
your august presence,” he said sarcastically.
“Why don’t you accuse me?” asked Puttler. “I was out here all the
time.”
The baffled man looked from one to the other. It was impossible to
believe that these two were in league. He knew Puttler by name to be
one of the best officers Scotland Yard had ever had. He shrugged his
shoulders and dropped his hands to his sides.
“You’ve beaten me, Alford,” he said, “for the time being. But I’m
satisfied the girl is within a mile from this house, and I’m not going
to rest until she is found. Heaven knows why you’ve done it--she’s
fond of you, and there was no need----”
“Don’t be a fool, Gilder,” said Dick roughly. “If you want to help,
help! But you’re not going to help by thinking that I’ve raised my
hand against Leslie Gwyn. I don’t care whether you’re a friend or
whether you are an enemy, but if you can help us bring her back safely
I will go on my knees to you!”
Dick’s voice was trembling, vibrant; there was a look in his eyes
which not even Gilder, for all his prejudice, could mistake. He held
out his hand and Dick Alford took it with a grip that made him wince.
LIII
Despite all her gloomy prognostications as to her sleepless night,
the head of Miss Wenner had hardly touched the pillow than her
breathing became regular and even noticeable. Leslie Gwyn smiled to
herself as she turned over and stealthily extinguished the candle. She
had not been lying ten minutes before she realized, from past
experience, that many a weary hour would pass before her eyes closed
in sleep.
She had the alternative of relighting the candle and reading, or
counting myriads of sheep, and the first plan was somewhat hampered in
its achievement by the fact that there was nothing in the room to
read, and she dare not disturb the sentry, because that would probably
wake Mary. So she lay perfectly still, overcoming a mad desire to turn
every few minutes, trying to make her mind an absolute blank.
With so much to occupy her thoughts, with the past twenty-four hours
and all the terrible shocks they had brought, her effort to turn her
mind into a cabbage was a hopeless failure.
She heard a distant village clock striking the half-hours and the
hours and was grateful when one o’clock chimed, for she felt she had
turned the hill of the night and was approaching the blessed day.
There were queer creaks and noises in this old house: strange,
stealthy footsteps that seemed very real; fingers brushing along
wainscotings, queer little chatterings as of laughter. In spite of her
courage, Leslie got up and lit the candle again and felt happier.
She lay on her back, gazing at the ceiling, striving to concentrate
upon one little crack that ran from corner to corner; and it seemed as
though, as she looked, the room went perceptibly darker, and was
filled with a strange unearthly light.
And then she saw behind the door a great steel clothes hook that she
did not remember having seen before; and attached was a cord and a
shapeless something that hung with terrible limpness… a woman! She
opened her eyes wide, almost screamed, but put her hand before her
mouth in time.
She had been dreaming, she realized, and she reached out for her
handkerchief to wipe her damp face. There was no hook behind the
door--nothing. She shivered and turned on her side, looked for the
twentieth time at her watch. Twenty-five minutes past one.
_Tap, tap!_
That was distinct enough. It came from the room which Mary Wenner was
to have occupied.
A silence, and then the unmistakable sound of gravel being thrown
against a window. Perhaps it was Dick and he wanted to see her. She
slipped out of bed, pulled a dressing gown about her, opened the door
of the dark room and went in. The windows were closed, but as she
entered the room she was startled by a third handful of gravel that