The Copper House A detective story
was quite certain. He began to wonder whether the girl by his side
had given him the full explanation of the scene in the wood, but his
thoughts took another turn, for now, through the thick foliage, he had
a glimpse of the ponderous gables of the house, looking as though they
were moulded in green copper. The house, at all events, had not changed
in appearance. He stopped on the terrace with its crumbling balustrade,
and his eyes drank in the familiar scene, till the dust of years was
blown away, and he was a boy once more. There was the square, massive
building, its walls weather-stained and gray with age, supporting the
steep copper-sheathed roof, which, from its queer slope, seemed half
as high as the house, and looked like a mediæval helmet, profaned by
two tiers of windows; there were the two copper statues of Fortune with
her cornucopia, and Mercury with his winged heels, a forgotten figure
on either side of the steps, gazing blankly and silently at one another
from their never-changing positions.
CHAPTER V
_In which it is obvious that the owner is a guest in his own house_
Leonard Grath entered the Copper House like a visitor, hat in hand. A
sunbeam lay right across the polished oak floor of the hall, and in the
middle of the patch of light stood a tall, old lady, as upright as a
grenadier, and as thin and dark as a Bedouin, who fixed a penetrating
glance upon the new-comer. She went on crocheting a piece of lace, the
other end of which was hidden in an old-fashioned basket-work satchel
that hung on her left arm.
Leo stopped short, as though her look was an actual barrier, and bowed.
"Sonia Andreievna," said the old lady, in the tone of a drill sergeant
on parade, "where have you been?"
The girl shot a covert glance at the young man, and threw down her
riding-whip.
"Aunt Lona," she replied meekly, "this gentleman has just been mistaken
for a squirrel...."
"Sonia Andreievna" ... the sharp voice interrupted, "speak sensibly;
you know that I detest riddles."
"My name is Leonard Grath," the latter interposed, hastily, bowing
again and feeling somewhat embarrassed.
The crochet-needles came to a standstill, and their owner took two
strides towards him, and stared unblinkingly into his eyes. He noticed
that, in spite of her iron-gray hair and lean, dried-up looks, she
could hardly be more than sixty. Her imperious eyes still flashed with
youthful energy, every movement betokened strength, and her whole
bearing was that of a well-bred lady, even though she might be a bit
of a martinet. Like her niece, she was plainly dressed in black, with
white ruffles, and a necklace of jet beads, which clicked gently as she
moved.
"Leonard Grath," she echoed; "the owner?"
"Yes, I am afraid I have arrived rather unexpectedly, and if I have in
any way...."
"Sonia Andreievna! pick up your whip at once" (the young man was quite
startled) "and put it in its place. Yes, Mr. Grath, I cannot deny that
you _have_ taken us by surprise."
"Oh dear, I certainly never meant...."
"Sonia Andreievna! Do you see what time it is? Have I not told you a
thousand times that we have a fixed hour for dinner?"
Her remarks seemed to Leo to be emphasized by a perfect regiment of
exclamation-points, and he did not wonder that the girl darted away
like an arrow from a bow. But to his surprise, no sooner were they
alone, than the old lady's tone became almost cordial.
"I am Lona Ivanovna Bernin, and as your tenant I bid you welcome to the
Copper House. You will give us the pleasure of your company at dinner?
Good, let us have a cigarette while we are waiting."
Still wondering, Leo allowed himself to be ushered to an armchair in
the familiar old Empire drawing-room on the left side of the hall.
Lona Ivanovna offered him a cigarette case, and herself took a Russian
cigarette, which she lighted with one hand. Leo was thinking what to
say next, when she forestalled him.
"Have you come from abroad?"
"Yes, from California."
"Ah, California; a magnificent climate, I believe. No doubt you have
become tired of living out there?"
"Not exactly, but I felt inclined to come home."
"Hm--Do you think of making a long stay?"
"That depends. You see, it isn't a question of climate, exactly...."
She pursed up her mouth and frowned.
"In my opinion, the climate of California is far preferable," she
remarked, looking sharply at him.
"Very possibly, but this visit will be quite a change for me."
"How so?"
"Oh, there is so much that is new, I mean ... a whole lot of
strange ... well, in short...."
Leo stopped short in confusion, and puffed away furiously at his
cigarette. The old lady blew a perfect ring, looked quizzically at him
through it, and said dryly: "Young man, whatever you do, don't go and
fall in love with Sonia!"
Leo stared dumbfounded at his cigarette. The conversation dropped, and
silence reigned in the room, broken only by the buzzing of a stray bee
on the window pane.
* * * * *
Dinner was over, and Leonard Grath the richer by several experiences.
First of all, he had proved the truth of the old adage that: "guests
are hosts in the host's house," for was not he a guest and stranger,
and moreover a thoroughly unwelcome one, in his own home? It seemed to
him as though the girl and her aunt took it in turns to keep an eye on
him: he could see them exchanging glances and whispers whose meaning
was unintelligible to him, and, what struck him as strangest of all,
in the whole of that spacious house and its adjoining buildings there
appeared to be no living creature except the two ladies. He inquired,
as a matter of politeness, for Mr. Andrei Bernin, who was stated to be
in bed in his own room, and far too unwell to see the honored guest.
As soon as the dinner was over, Sonia, obeying a signal from her aunt,
proposed a turn round the garden, and the two young people strolled
along for a while in silence. It was getting towards sunset, and the
rural orchestra was in full chorus: birds were fluting in a medley of
youthful emulation, bumble-bees droned in their drowsy baritones,
and in the grass the crickets added their violin notes to the evening
concert.
Now that Sonia Bernin in the flesh was alongside of him, Leo found her
ten times more interesting than when he had first seen her portrait on
Wallion's table; her boyish unconstraint, added to a lissom, almost
kitten-like grace, and her ready wit, gave him a delightful sensation
of comradeship--but the minute he attempted to strike a note of
intimacy, he ran up against a barrier of chilly reserve, and the pose
of the boyish, black head became all of a sudden alarmingly ladylike.
Whatever the reason might be, she appeared totally unimpressed by his
masculine superiority, and this was a very novel experience for the
spoilt young man.
At length he remarked: "I had thought of staying some time at the
Copper House, but it seems to me I am rather 'de trop' here."
She twisted a leaf between her lips like a cigarette: "How so?" she
inquired.
"Oh, there's no doubt about it. The man at the gate showed it quite
unmistakably--for one."
"With his gun, you mean? It _was_ too bad; but you see, he naturally
took you for an impostor, having heard that the owner of the Copper
House was in America. I expect he will be discharged, in any case," she
added.
"And you told me yourself to go away, as soon as ever you knew who I
was," he continued.
"Wasn't it kind of me to warn you, when it is so dull here?" laughed
the girl.
"It is not dull here, and that is not why you warned me," he retorted.
She looked up, and their eyes met: for the second time that day, Leo
saw hers dilate and darken. She did not reply, but hurried on a little,
as though to evade him, but he kept step with her, and proceeded:
"As you know, your father wants to buy this property; it is a pity I
can't have a talk with him about it. Your aunt is reticent, and you are
mysterious. Won't you have a little pity on me?"
They had walked to the top of a slight rise, from which they could see
down the greater part of the avenue. The girl stood still, panting a
little. Suddenly she asked:
"Have you seen Mr. Tassler?"
Leo shook his head, and they were silent again. The girl seemed to
be listening to something, rather uneasily. Far off in the sunlit
stillness a rhythmical throbbing sound became audible; it approached
with uncanny rapidity, getting louder every minute, then suddenly
ceased altogether.
"Did you hear that?" whispered the girl.
"Yes," he answered. "A motor cycle has apparently stopped at Karka
gates; it's a pity we can't see them from here, it must be someone from
Stockholm."
As he said this, he remembered the young man with the attaché-case,
whom he had so unintentionally startled with Sonia's photograph, but
as he was about to tell her of the occurrence, there was a dramatic
interruption. A shot was fired at the gate, and it was followed by a
long, thrilling cry. A few seconds later, a man came dashing up the
avenue as though he was running for his life. Leo at once recognized
his fellow passenger, and the girl cried out in a voice of terrified
dismay: "Sergius, Sergius!"
The fugitive raised his face, which was deathly pale, and without
stopping, he exclaimed: "Rastakov!"
The girl turned round to Leo, and said in a rapid stifled voice: "Hide
yourself; and, mind, you have seen nothing!"
With that, she sprang down from the little hill, followed by the
fugitive, and both disappeared. Almost immediately afterwards, two more
men came running up the avenue: one was the porter who had threatened
Leo with the same gun that he still carried in his hand, the other was
a tall fellow, dressed as a motor cyclist. They also vanished in the
direction of the house.
Without further delay, Leo hastened back along the same path by which
he had come, and in five seconds he came in sight of the terrace in
front of the Copper House. He saw the man with the case run up the
steps, hesitate for a moment, then dash into the house. The girl
followed on his heels, and the porter and the cyclist reached the
terrace to find it deserted. Then, as though by the touch of a magic
wand, some more men appeared from both sides of the house. These, with
the two men already mentioned, made a party of nine, of whom four
carried guns. They approached the house at the double. The cyclist
called out some order in a commanding voice, and began to mount the
terrace-steps. Leo reached the spot at the same moment, and exclaimed:
"What's wrong?"
The motor cyclist took no notice of him.
Again a shot rang out, this time inside the Copper House; most of the
men had passed out of earshot on the other side of the house, but the
cyclist, the porter, and one other unknown man, ran into the hall,
together with Leo.
The old lady advanced to meet them, with a revolver in her hand. She
looked firmly and menacingly at the intruder and said: "Rastakov, did I
invite you to come in?"
The cyclist halted.
"Who fired, Lona Ivanovna?" he demanded.
"I did."
"Where is he?"
"Whom do you mean?"
"Oh, you know perfectly well, that thief Bernard Jenin; what have you
done with him?"
Lona Ivanovna thrust the revolver into her workbag, looked resignedly
at the cyclist, and said: "You may look for him."
Leo, who understood nothing of this hurried interchange of questions,
looked on bewildered. Rastakov caught sight of the fugitive's case
lying open on the floor, caught it up, and flung it against the wall
with an oath, for it was empty.
"I will have him, dead or alive," he shouted, "and the damned document
too!"
He ran half-way up the stairs to the first floor, but turned round as