The Riddle of the Frozen Flame

  CHAPTER V

  THE SPECTRE AT THE FEAST

  Merriton, clad in his evening clothes and looking exceedingly handsome,stood by the smoking room door, with Tony West, short and thickset,wearing a suit that fitted badly and a collar which looked sizes toolarge for him (Merriton had long given up hope of making him visit adecent tailor) and waited for the sound of motor wheels which wouldannounce the arrival of further guests.

  It was the memorable Tuesday dinner, given in the first place for DacreWynne, as a sort of send off before he left for Cairo. In the secondMerriton intended to break it gently to the other chaps that he wasshortly to become a Benedict.

  Lester Stark and Tony West, very loyal and proven friends of NigelMerriton, had arrived the evening before. Dacre Wynne was coming down bythe seven o'clock train, Dicky Fordyce, Reginald Lefroy--both fellowofficers of Merriton's regiment, and home on leave from India--and mildold Dr. Bartholomew, whom everyone respected and few did not love, andwho was in attendance at most of the bachelor spreads in London and outof it, as being a dry old body with a wit as fine as a rapier-thrust,and a fund of delicate, subtle humour, made up the little party.

  The solemn front door bell of Merriton Towers clanged, and Borkins, verypompous and elegant, flung wide the door. Merriton saw Wynne's big,broad-shouldered figure swathed in the black evening cloak which heaffected upon such occasions, and which became him mightily, and with anopera hat set at the correct angle upon his closely-clipped dark hair,step into the lighted hallway, and begin taking off his gloves.

  Tony West's raspy voice chimed out a welcome, as Merriton went forward,his hand outstretched.

  "Hello, old man!" said Tony. "How goes it? Lookin' a bit white about thegills, aren't you, eh?... Whew! Merriton, old chap, that's my ribs, ifyou don't mind. I've no penchant for your bayonet-like elbow to goprodding into 'em!"

  Merriton raised an eyebrow, frowned heavily, and by every other methodunder the sun tried to make it plain to West that the topic was taboo.Wherefore West raised _his_ eyebrows, began to make a hasty exclamation,thought better of it, and then clapping his hand over his mouth brokeinto whistling the latest jazz tune, as though he had completelyextricated both feet from the unfortunate mire he had planted themin--but with very little success.

  Wynne was a frowning Hercules as he entered the pleasant smoke-filledroom. Merriton's arm lay upon his sleeve, and he endured because he hadto--that was all.

  "Hello!" he said, to Lester Stark's rather half-hearted greeting--LesterStark never had liked Dacre Wynne and they both knew it. "You here aswell? Merriton's giving me a send-off and no mistake. Gad! you chaps willbe envying me this time next week, I'll swear! Out on the briny for adecently long trip; plenty of pretty women--on which I'm bankin' ofcourse"--he gave Merriton a sudden, searching look, "and not a care inthe world. And the white lights of Cairo starin' at me across the water.Some picture, isn't it?"

  "You may keep it!" said Tony West with a shudder. "When you've smelledCairo, Wynne, old boy, you'll come skulkin' home with your tail betweenyour legs. A 'rose by any other name would smell as sweet,' butCairo--parts of it mind you--well, Cairo's the stinkin'st rose I everput my nose into, that's all!"

  "There are some things which offend the nostrils more than--odours!"threw back Wynne with a black look in Nigel's direction, and with asort of slur in his voice that showed he had been drinking more thanwas good for him that night. "I think I can endure the smells of Cairoafter--other things. Eh, Nigel?" He forced a laugh which was mirthlessand unpleasant, and Merriton, with a quick glance into his friends'faces, saw that they too had seen. Wynne was in one of his "devil"humours, and all the fun and joking and merriment in the world wouldnever get him out of it. His pity for the man suddenly died a naturaldeath. The very evident fact that Wynne had been drinking rather heavilymerely added a further distaste to it all. He wished heartily that hehad never ventured upon this act of unwanted friendliness and given adinner in his honour. Wynne was going to be the spectre at the feast, andit looked like being a poor sort of show after all.

  "Come, buck up, old chap!" broke out Tony West, the irrepressible. "Tryto look a little less like a soured lemon, if you can! Or we'll begin tothink that you've been and gone and done something you're sorry for, andare trying to work it off on us instead."

  "Hello, here's Doctor Johnson," as the venerable Bartholomew entered theroom. "How goes it to-night, sir? A fine night, what? Behold the king ofthe feast, his serene and mighty--oh extremely mighty!--highness PrinceDacre Wynne, world explorer and soon to be lord-high-sniffer of Cairo'ssmells! Don't envy him the task, do you?"

  He bowed with a flourish to the doctor who chuckled and his keen eyes,fringed with snow-white lashes, danced. He wore a rather long, extremelyuntidy beard, and his shirt-front as always was crumpled and worn.Anything more unlike a doctor it would be hard to imagine. But he was aclever one, nevertheless.

  "Well, my talkative young parrot," he greeted West affectionately, "andhow are you?... And who's party is this, anyhow? Yours or Merriton's?You seem to be putting yourself rather more to the fore than usual."

  "Well, I'll soon be goin' aft," retorted West with a wide grin. "When oldNigel gets his innings. He's as chockful of news as an egg is of meat."West was one of the chosen few who had already heard of Nigel'sengagement, and he was rather like a gossipy old woman--but his friendsforgave it in him.

  Merriton gave him a shove, and he fell back upon Wynne, emitting aportentous groan.

  "What the devil--?" began that gentleman, in a testy voice.

  Tony grinned.

  "Nigel was ever thus!" he murmured, with uplifted eyes.

  "Shut up!" thundered Stark, clapping a hand over West's mouth, and hesubsided as the doorbell rang again, and Borkins ushered in Fordyce andLefroy, two slim-hipped, dapper young gentlemen with the stamp of thearmy all over them. The party thus complete, Borkins gravely withdrew,and some fifteen minutes later the great gong in the hallway clangedout its summons. They streamed into the dining room, Doctor Bartholomewupon Tony West's fat little arm; Fordyce and Lefroy, side by side, handsin pockets and closely cropped heads nodding vigorously; Merriton andLester Stark sauntering one slightly behind the other, and exchangingpleasantries as they went; and just in front of them, Dacre Wynne,solitary, huge, sinister, and overbearing.

  Wynne sat in the seat of honour on Merriton's right. The rest sortedthemselves out as they wished, and made a good deal of noise and funabout it, too. Down the length of the long, exquisitely decorated tableMerriton looked at his guests and thought it wasn't going to be so dismalafter all.

  Champagne ran like water and spirits ran high. They joyfully toastedWynne, and later on the news that Merriton imparted to them. In vainDacre Wynne's low spirits were apparent. He must get over his grouch,that was all. Then once again the spirit of evil descended upon thegathering and it was Stark who precipitated its flight. "By the way,Nigel," he asked suddenly, "isn't there some ghost story or otherpertaining to your district? Give us a recital of it, old boy. Walnutsand wine and ghost stories, you know, are just the right sort of thingafter a dinner like this. Tony, switch off the lights. This old house ofyours is the very place for ghosts. Now let us have it."

  "Hold on," Nigel remonstrated. "Give me a chance to digest my dinner,and--dash it all, the thing's so deuced uncanny that it doesn't bear toomuch laughing at either!"

  "Come along!" Six voices echoed the cry. "We're waiting, Nigel."

  So Merriton had forthwith to oblige them. He, too, had had enough todrink--though drinking too heavily was not one of his vices--and hisflushed face showed the excitement that burned within him.

  "Come over here by the window and see the thing for yourselves, and thenyou shall hear the story," he began enigmatically.

  Nigel pushed back the heavy curtain and there, in the darknesswithout--it was getting on toward ten o'clock--gleamed and danced andflickered the little flames that had so often puzzled him, and filledhis soul with a strange sort of supernatural fear. Agains
t the blacknessbeyond they hung like a chain of diamonds irregularly strung, flickeringincessantly.

  Every man there, save one, and that one stood apart from the others likesome giant bull who deigns not to run with the herd--gave an involuntaryexclamation.

  "What a deuced pretty sight!" remarked Fordyce, in his pleasant drawl."What is it? Some sort of fair or other? Didn't know you had such thingsin these parts."

  "We don't." It was Merriton who spoke, rather curtly, for the remarksounded inane to his ears.

  "It is no fair you ass, it's--God knows what! That's the point of thewhole affair. What _are_ those flames, and where do they come from? Thatpart of the Fens is uninhabited, a boggy, marshy, ghostly spot which noone in the whole countryside will cross at night. The story goes thatthose who do--well they never come back."

  "Oh, go easy, Nigel!" struck in Tony West with a whistle of pretendedastonishment. "Champagne no doubt, but--"

  "It's the truth according to the villagers, anyhow!" returned Merriton,soberly. "That is how the story goes, my lad, and you chaps asked me forit. Those Frozen Flames--it's the villagers' name, not mine--they say aresupernatural phenomena, and any one, as I said before, crossing the placenear them at night disappears clean off the face of the earth. Then anew flame appears, the soul of the johnny who has 'gone out'."

  "Any proof?" inquired Doctor Bartholomew suddenly, stroking his beard,and arching his bushy eyebrows, as if trying to sympathize with hishost's obvious half belief in the story.

  Nigel wheeled and faced him in the dim light. The pupils of his eyes werea trifle dilated.

  "Yes, so I understand. Short time back a chap went out--fellow calledMyers--Will Myers. He was a bit drunk, I think, and thought he'd havea shot at makin' the village busybodies sit up and give 'em something totalk about. Anyhow, he went."

  "And he came back?" Unconsciously a little note of anxiety had crept intoTony West's voice.

  "No, on the contrary, he did _not_ come back. They searched for his bodyall over the marshes next day, but it had disappeared absolutely, and thechap who told me said he saw another light come out the next night, andjoin the rest of 'em.... There, there's your story, Lester, make what youlike of it. I've done my bit and told it anyway."

  For a moment there was silence. Then Stark shook himself.

  "Gad, what an uncanny story! Turn up the lights someone, and dispel thisgloom that seems to have settled on everyone! What do you make of it?"

  Suddenly Wynne's great, bulky figure swung free from the shadows. Therewere red glints in his eyes and a sneer curled his heavy lips. He suckedhis cigar and threw his head back.

  "What I make of it is a whole lot of old women's damn silly nonsense!" heannounced in a loud voice. "And how a sensible, decent thinkin' man cangive credence to the thing for one second beats me completely! Nigel'shead was always full of imaginations (of a sort) but how you other chapscan listen to the thing--Well, all I can say is you're the rottenest lotof idiots I've ever come across!"

  Merriton shut his lips tightly for a moment, and tried hard to rememberthat this man was a guest in his house. It was so obvious that Wynne wastrying for a row, Doctor Bartholomew turned round and lifted a protestinghand.

  "Don't you think your language is a trifle--er--overstrong, Wynne?" hesaid, in that quiet voice of his which made all men listen and wonder whythey did it.

  Wynne tossed his shoulders. His thick neck was rather red.

  "No, I'm damned if I do! You're men here--or supposed to be--not a packof weak-kneed women!... Afraid to go out and see what those lights are,are you? Well, I'm not. Look here. I'll have a bet with you boys. Fiftypounds that I get back safely, and dispel the morbid fancies from yourkindergarten brains by tellin' you that the things are glow-worms, orsome fool out for a practical joke on the neighbourhood--which has fallenfor it like this sort of one-horse hole-in-the-corner place would! Fiftypounds? What say you?"

  He glowered round upon each of them in turn, his sneering lips showingthe pointed dogs' teeth behind them, his whole arrogant personalitybrutally awake. "Who'll take it on? You Merriton? Fifty pounds, man,that I don't get back safely and report to you chaps at twelve o'clockto-night."

  Merriton's flushed face went a shade or two redder, and he took aninvoluntary step forward. It was only the doctor's fingers upon hiscoat-sleeve that restrained him. Then, too, he felt some anxiety thatthis drunken fool should attempt to do the very thing which anotherdrunken fool had attempted three months back. He couldn't bet on anotherman's chance of life, like he would on a race-horse!

  "You'll be a fool if you go, Wynne," he said, as quietly as hisexcitement would permit. "As my guest I ask you not to. The thing may beall rubbish--possibly is--but I'd rather you took no chances. Who it isthat hides out there and kills his victims or smuggles them away I don'tknow, but I'd rather you didn't, old chap. And I'm not betting on afellow's life. Have another drink man, and forget all about it."

  Wynne took this creditable effort at reconciliation with a harsh guffaw.He crossed to Nigel and put his big, heavy hands upon the slim shoulders,bending his flushed face down so that the eyes of both were almost upon alevel.

  "You little, white-livered sneak," he said in a deep rumbling voice thatwas like thunder in the still room. "Pull yourself together and try to bea man. Take on the bet or not, whichever you like. You're savin' up forthe housekeepin' I suppose. Well, take it or leave it--fifty pounds thatI get back safe in this house to-night. Are you on?"

  Merriton's teeth bit into his lips until the blood came in the effort atrepression. He shook Wynne's hands off his shoulders and laughed straightinto the other man's sneering face.

  "Well then go--and be damned to you!" he said fiercely. "And blame yourdrunken wits if you come to grief. I've done my best to dissuade you. Ifyou were less drunk I'd square the thing up and fight you. But I'm on,all right. Fifty pounds that you don't get back here--though I'm decentenough to hope I'll have to pay it. That satisfy you?"

  "All right." Wynne straightened himself, took an unsteady step forwardtoward the door, and it was then that they all realized how exceedinglydrunk the man was. He had come to the dinner in a state of partialintoxication, which merely made him bad-tempered, but now the spiritsthat he had partaken of so plentifully was burning itself into his verybrain.

  Doctor Bartholomew took a step toward him.

  "Dash it all!" he said under his breath and addressing no one inparticular, "he can't go like that. Can't some of us stop him?"

  "Try," put in Lester Stark sententiously, having had previous experiencesof Wynne's mood, so Doctor Bartholomew did try, and got cursed for hispains. Wynne was struggling into his great, picturesque cloak, a sinisterfigure of unsteady gait and blood-shot eye. As he went to the hall andswung open the front door, Merriton made one last effort to stop him.

  "Don't be a fool, Wynne," he said anxiously. "The game's not worth thecandle. Stay where you are and I'll put you up for the night, but inHeaven's name don't venture out across the Fens now."

  Wynne turned and showed him a reddened, congested face from which theeyes gleamed evilly. Merriton never forgot that picture of him, or thesudden tightening of the heart-strings that he experienced, the suddensensation of foreboding that swept over him.

  "Oh--go to hell!" Wynne said thickly. And plunged out into the darkness.