CHAPTER III.
A FEARFUL DISCOVERY.
APRIL 3, 1791.
I]
It is sixteen years since I wrote the preceding chapters of this historyof mystery and crime. When the pen dropped from my hand--why did itdrop? Was it because of some noise I heard?
I imagine so now, and tremble. I did not anticipate ever adding a lineto the words I had written. The impulse which had led me to put uponpaper my doubts concerning the two Urquharts soon passed, and as nothingever occurred to recall this couple to my mind, I gradually allowedtheir name and memory to vanish from my thoughts, only remembering themwhen chance led me into the oak parlor. Then, indeed, I recollectedtheir manner and my fears, and then I also felt repeated, though everytime with fainter and fainter power, the old thrill of undefined terrorwhich stopped my record of that day with the half-finished question asto who had uttered the shriek that had startled me the night before.To-day I again take up my pen. Why? Because to-day, and only sinceto-day, can I answer this question.
Sixteen years ago! which makes me sixteen years older. My house, too,has aged, and the oak parlor--I never refurnished it--is darker,gloomier, and more forbidding than it was then, and in truth, why shouldit not be? When I remember what was revealed to me a week ago, I wonderthat its walls did not drop fungi, and its chill strike death throughthe man or woman who was brave enough to enter it. Horrible, horribleroom! You shall be torn from my house if the rest of the structure goeswith you. Neither I nor another shall ever enter your fatal portalagain.
It was a week ago to-day that the coach from New York set down at mydoor a stranger of fine and quaint appearance, whose white hairbetokened him to be aged, but whose alert and energetic movementsshowed that, if he had passed the line of fourscore, he had still enoughof the fire of youth remaining to make his presence welcome in whateverplace he chose to enter. As had happened sixteen years before, I waslooking out of the window when the coach drove up, and, being at onceattracted by the stranger's person and manner, I watched him closelywhile he was alighting, and was surprised to observe what intent andsearching glances he cast at the house.
"He could not be more interested if he were returning to the home of hisfathers," I murmured involuntarily to myself, and hastened to the doorin order to receive him.
He came forward courteously. But after the first few words between us heturned again and gazed with marked curiosity up and down the road andagain at the house.
"You seem to be acquainted with these parts," I ventured. He smiled.
"This is an old house," he answered, "and you are young." (I amfifty-five.) "There must have been owners of the place before you. Doyou know their names?"
"I bought the place of Dan Forsyth, and he of one Hammond. I don't knowas I can go back any further than that. Originally the house was theproperty of an Englishman. There were strange stories about him, but itwas so long ago that they are almost forgotten."
The stranger smiled again, and followed me into the house. Here hisinterest seemed to redouble.
Instantly a thought flashed through my brain.
"He is its ancient owner, the Englishman. I am standing in the presenceof--"
"You wish to know my name," interrupted his genial voice. "It isTamworth. I am a Virginian, and hope to stay at your inn one night. Whatkind of a room have you to offer me?"
There was a twinkle in his eyes I did not understand. He was lookingdown the hall, and I thought his gaze rested on the corridor leading tothe oak parlor.
"I should like to sleep on the ground floor," he added.
"I have but one room," I began.
"And one is all I want," he smiled. Then, with a quick glance at myface: "I suppose you are a little particular whom you put into the oakparlor. It is not every one who can appreciate such romanticsurroundings."
I surveyed him, completely puzzled. Whereupon he looked at me with anexpression of surprise and incredulity that added to the mystery of themoment.
"The room is gloomy and uninviting," I declared; "but beyond that, I donot know of any especial claim it has upon our interest."
"You astonish me," was his evidently sincere reply; and he walked on,very thoughtfully, straight to the room of which we were speaking. Atthe door he paused. "Don't you know the secret of this room," he asked,giving me a very bright and searching glance.
"If you mean anything concerning the Urquharts," I began doubtfully.
"Urquharts!" he carelessly repeated. "I do not know anything about them.I am speaking of an old tradition. I was told--let me see how long it isnow--well, it must be sixteen years at least--that this house containeda hidden chamber communicating with a certain oak parlor in the westwing. I thought it was curious, and--Why, madam, I beg your pardon; Idid not mean to distress you. Can it be possible that you were ignorantof this fact?--you, the owner of this house!"
"Are you sure it is a fact?" I gasped. I was trembling in every limb,but managed to close the door behind us before I sank into a chair. "Ihave lived in this house twenty years. I know its rooms and halls as Ido my own face, and never, never have I suspected that there was a nookor corner in it which was not open to the light of day. Yet--yet it istrue that the rooms on this floor are smaller than those above, this oneespecially." And I cast a horrified glance about me, that reminded me,even against my will, of the searching and peculiar look I had seen castin the same direction by Mr. Urquhart sixteen years before.
"I see that I have stumbled upon a bit of knowledge that has been keptfrom the purchasers of this property," observed the old gentleman."Well, that does not detract from the interest of the occasion. When Iknew I was to pass this way, I said to myself I shall certainly stop atthe old inn with the secret chamber in it, but I did not think I shouldbe the first one to disclose its secret to the present generation. Butmy information seems to affect you strangely. Is it such a disturbingthing to find that one's house has held a disused spot within it, thatmight have been made useful if you had known of its existence?"
I could not answer. I was enveloped in a strange horror, and was onlyconscious of the one wish--that Burritt had lived to help me through thedreadful hour I saw before me.
"Let us see if my information has been correct," continued Mr. Tamworth."Perhaps there has been some mistake. The secret chamber, if there isone, should be behind this chimney. Shall I hunt for an opening?"
I managed to shake my head. I had not strength for the experiment yet. Iwanted to prepare myself.
"Tell me first how you heard about this room?" I entreated.
He drew his chair nearer to mine with the greatest courtesy.
"There is no reason why I should not tell you," replied he, "and as Isee that you are in no mood for a long story, I shall make my words asfew as possible. Some years ago I had occasion to spend a night in aninn not unlike this, on Long Island. I was alone, but there was a merrycrowd in the tap room, and being fond of good company, I presently foundmyself joining in the conversation. The talk was of inns, and many astirring story of adventure in out-of-the-way taverns did I listen tothat night before the clock struck twelve. Each man present had somehumorous or thrilling experience to relate, with the exception of acertain glum and dark-browed gentleman, who sat somewhat apart from therest, and who said nothing. His reticence was in such marked contrast tothe volubility about him that he finally attracted universal attention,and more than one of the merry-makers near him asked if he had not someanecdote to add to the rest. But though he replied with sufficientpoliteness, it was evident that he had no intention of dropping hisreserve, and it was not till the party had broken up and the room wasnearly cleared that he deigned to address any one. Then he turned to me,and with a very peculiar smile, remarked:
"'A dull collection of tales, sir. Bah! if they had wanted to hear ofan inn that was really romantic, I could have told them--'
"'What?' I involuntarily ejaculated. 'You will not torture me bysuggesting a mystery you will not explain.'
"He looked ver
y indifferent.
"'It is nothing,' he declared, 'only I know of an inn--at least it isused for an inn now--which has in its interior a secret chamber sodeftly hidden away in the very heart of the house that I doubt if evenits present owner could find it without the minutest directions from theman who saw it built. I knew that man. He was an Englishman, and he hada fancy to make his fortune through the aid of smuggled goods. He didit; and though always suspected, was never convicted, owing to the factthat he kept all his goods in this hidden room. The place is sold now,but the room remains. I wonder if any forgotten treasures lie in it.Imagination could easily run riot over the supposition, do you not thinkso, sir?'
"I certainly did, especially as I imagined myself to detect in everyline of his able and crafty face that he bore a closer relation to theEnglishman than he would have me believe. I did not betray my feelings,however, but urged him to tell me how in a modern house, a room, or evena closet, could be so concealed as not to awaken any one's suspicion. Heanswered by taking out pencil and paper, and showing me, by a few lines,the secret of its construction. Then seeing me deeply interested, hewent on to say:
"'We find what we have been told to search for; but here is a case wherethe secret has been so well kept that in all possibility the question ofthis room's existence has never arisen. It is just as well.'
"Meantime I was studying the plan.
"'The hidden chamber lies,' said I, 'between this room,' designating onewith my forefinger, 'and these two others. From which is it entered?'
"He pointed at the one I had first indicated.
"'From this,' he affirmed. 'And a quaint, old-fashioned room it is, too,with a wainscoting of oak all around it as high as a man's head. It usedto be called the oak parlor, and many a time has its floor rung to thetread of the king's soldiers, who, disappointed in their search forhidden goods, consented to take a drink at their host's expense, littlerecking that, but a few feet away, behind the carven chimneypiece uponwhich they doubtless set down their glasses, there lay heaps and heapsof the richest goods, only awaiting their own departure to be scatteredthrough the length and breadth of the land.'
"'And this house is now an inn?' I remarked.
"'Yes.'
"'Curious. I should like nothing better than to visit that inn.'
"'You doubtless have.'
"'It is not this one?' I suddenly cried, looking uneasily about me.
"'Oh, no; it is on the Hudson River, not fifty miles this side ofAlbany. It is called the Happy-Go-Lucky, and is in a woman's hands atpresent; but it prospers, I believe. Perhaps because she has discoveredthe secret, and knows where to keep her stores.' And with a shrug of hisshoulders he dismissed the subject, with the remark: 'I don't know why Itold you of this. I never made it the subject of conversation before inmy life.'
"This was just before the outbreak in Lexington, sixteen years ago,ma'am, and this is the first time I have found myself in this regionsince that day. But I have never forgotten this story of a secret room,and when I took the coach this morning I made up my mind that I wouldspend the night here, and, if possible, see the famous oak parlor, withits mysterious adjunct; never dreaming that in all these years of youroccupancy you would have remained as ignorant of its existence as hehinted and you have now declared."
Mr. Tamworth paused, looking so benevolent that I summoned up mycourage, and quietly informed him that he had not told me what kind of alooking man this stranger was.
"Was he young?" I asked. "Had he a blond complexion?"
"On the contrary," interrupted Mr. Tamworth, "he was very dark, and, inyears, as old or nearly as old as myself."
I was disappointed. I had expected a different reply. As he talked ofthe stranger, I had, rightfully or wrongfully, with reason or withoutreason, seen before me the face of Mr. Urquhart, and this description ofa dark and well-nigh aged man completely disconcerted me.
"Are you certain this man was not in disguise?" I asked.
"Disguise?"
"Are you certain that he was not young, and blond, and--"
"Quite sure," was the dry interruption. "No disguise could transform ayoung blood into the man I saw that night. May I ask--"
In my turn I interrupted him. "Pardon me," I entreated, "but an anxietyI will presently explain forces another question from me. Were you andthis stranger alone in the room when you held this conversation? You saythat it had been full a few minutes before. Were there none of the crowdremaining besides your two selves?"
Mr. Tamworth looked thoughtful. "It is sixteen years ago," he replied,"but I have a dim remembrance of a man sitting at a table somewhat nearus, with his face thrown forward on his arms. He seemed to be asleep; Idid not notice him particularly."
"Did you not see his face?"
"No."
"Was he young?"
"I should say so."
"And blond?"
"That I cannot say."
"And he remained in that attitude all the time you were talking?"
"Yes, madam."
"And continued so when you left the room?"
"I think so."
"Was he within earshot? Near enough to hear all you said?"
"Most assuredly, if he listened."
"Mr. Tamworth," I now entreated, "try, if possible, to remember oneother fact. If each man present told a story that night, you must havehad ample opportunity of noting each man's face and observing how helooked. Now, of all that sat in the room, was there not one of an agenot exceeding thirty-five, of fair complexion and gentlemanlyappearance, yet with a dangerous look in his small blue eye, and asomething in his smile that took all the merriment out of it?"
"A short but telling description," commented my guest. "Let me see. Wasthere such a man among them? Really, I cannot remember."
"Think, think. Hair very thin above the temples, mustache heavy. When hespoke he invariably moved his hands; seemed to be nervous, and anxiousto hide it."
"I see him," was Mr. Tamworth's sudden remark. "That description of hishands recalls him to my mind. Yes; there was such a man in the room thatnight. I even recollect his story. It was coarse, but not without wit."
I advanced and surveyed Mr. Tamworth very earnestly. "The man youthought asleep--the man who was near enough to hear all the Englishmansaid--was he or was he not the same we have just been talking about?"
"I never thought of it before, but he did look something like him--hisfigure, I mean; I did not see his face."
"It was he," I murmured, with intense conviction, "and the villain--"But how did I know he was a villain? I paused and pointed to the hugemantel guarding the fireplace. "If you know how to enter the secretroom, do so. Only I should like to have a few witnesses present besidesmyself. Will you wait till I call one or two of my lodgers?"
He bowed with great urbanity. "If you wish to make the discoverypublic," said he, "I, of course, have no objection."
But I saw that he was disappointed.
"I can never confront the secret of that room alone," I insisted. "Imust have Dr. Kenyon here at least." And without waiting for my impulsesto cool, I sent a message to the doctor's room, and was rewarded in amoment by the appearance at the door of that excellent man.
It did not take many words for me to explain to him our intentions. Wewere going to search for a secret chamber which we had been told openedinto the room in which we then found ourselves. As I did not wish tomake any mystery of the affair, and as I naturally had my doubts as towhat the room might disclose, I asked the support of his presence.
He was gratified--the doctor always is gratified at any token ofappreciation--and perceiving that I had no further reason for delay, Imotioned to Mr. Tamworth to proceed.
How he discovered the one movable panel in that old-fashionedwainscoting, I have never inquired. When I saw him turn toward thefireplace and lay his ear to the wall, I withdrew in haste to thewindow, feeling as if I could not bear to watch him, or be the first tocatch a glimpse of the mysterious depths which in another moment musto
pen before his touch. What I feared I cannot say. As far as I couldreason on the subject, I had no cause to fear anything; and yet myshaking frame and unevenly throbbing heart were but the too sure tokensof an excessive and uncontrollable agitation. The view from the windowincreased it. Before me lay the river from whose banks sand and stonehad been taken sixteen years before to replace--what? I knew no morethis minute than I did then. I might know in the next. By the fainttapping that came to my ears I must--and it was this thought that sent achill through me, and made it so difficult for me to stand. And yet whyshould it? Was not that old theory of ours, that the Urquharts hadbrought treasure in their great box, still a plausible one? Nay, more,was it not even a probable one, since we had discovered that the househeld so excellent a hiding place, unknown to the world at large, butknown to this man, as Mr. Tamworth's story so plainly showed? Yes; andyet I started with uncontrollable forebodings, when I heard anexclamation of satisfaction behind me, and hardly found courage to turnaround, even when I knew that an opening had been effected, and thatthey were only waiting for my approach to enter it.
And it took courage, both on my part and on theirs; for the air whichrushed from the high and narrow slit of darkness before us was stiflingand almost deadly. But in a few minutes, after one or two experimentswith a lighted candle, Dr. Kenyon stepped through the opening, followedby Mr. Tamworth, and, in a long minute afterward, by myself.
Shall I ever forget my emotions as I looked about me and saw, by thelamp which the doctor carried, nothing more startling than an old oakchest in one corner, a pile of faded clothing in another, and in athird--Heavens! what is it? We all stare, and then a shriek escapes mylips as piercing and terror-stricken as any that ever disturbed thosefearful shadows; and I rush blindly from the spot, followed by Mr.Tamworth, whose face, as I turn to look at him, gives me another pang offear, so white and sick it looks in the sudden glare of day.
Worse than I had thought, worse than I had dreamed! I cannot speak, andfall into a chair, waiting in mortal terror for the doctor, who stayedsome minutes behind. When his kindly but not undisturbed countenanceshowed itself again in the gap at the side of the fireplace, I couldalmost have thrown myself at his feet.
"What is it?" I gasped. "Tell me at once. Is it a man or a woman or--"
"It is a woman. See! here is a lock of her hair. Beautiful, is it not?She must have been young."
I stared at it like one demented. It was of a peculiar reddish-brown,with a strange little kink and curl in it. Where had I seen such hairbefore? Somewhere. I remembered perfectly how the whole bright headlooked with the firelight playing over it. Oh, no, no, no, it was notthat of Mrs. Urquhart. Mrs. Urquhart went away from this house well andhappy. I am mad, or this strand of gleaming hair is a dream. It is nother head it recalls to me, and yet--my soul, it is!
The doctor, knowing me well, did not try to break the silence of thatfirst grewsome minute. But when he saw me ready to speak, he remarked:
"It is an old crime, perpetrated, probably, before you came into thehouse. I would not make any more of it than you can help, Mrs. Truax."
I scarcely heeded him.
"Is there no bit of clothing or jewelry left upon her by which we mighthope to identify her?" I asked, shuddering, as I caught Mr. Tamworth'seye, and realized the nature of the doubts I there beheld.
"Here is a ring I found upon the wedding finger," he replied. "It wasdoubtless too small to be drawn off at the time of her death, but itcame away easily enough now."
And he held out a plain gold circlet which I eagerly took, looked at,and fell at their feet as senseless as a stone.
On the inner surface I had discovered this legend:
E. U. to H. D. Jan. 27, 1775.