The House 'Round the Corner

  CHAPTER IX

  SHOWING THE REAL STRENGTH OF AN ILLUSION

  Armathwaite went straight to Farmer Burt's house. He reasoned that Burtwould be a likely possessor of a smart cob, and that among the farmhands would exist at least one boy of sufficient intelligence to carrythrough a simple commission without error. He was lucky in finding thefarmer at home, watering his stock before completing the hay-makingoperations. In the bleak North the agriculturist wastes no time when theweather is propitious. If need be, Burt and his men would work tillnearly midnight, and feel well pleased if thereby the last rick of dry,sweet-smelling hay was covered with a tarpaulin.

  Explanation, backed by ample payment, produced both the boy and the cob.In the result, the following telegram was handed in at Bellerbypost-office ten minutes before the closing hour of eight:

  "Postmaster, York,--Kindly give this telegram and accompanying ten pounds to proprietor of principal garage in York. I want to hire powerful and reliable car with experienced chauffeur for one week at least. Will pay full rates on condition that car reaches me by noon to-morrow, Friday. Chauffeur should bring ample supply of petrol, as none available here. I send ten pounds as guarantee for order, and will remit balance of first week's charge in accordance with instructions conveyed by chauffeur. Owner of car will oblige by telegraphing acceptance of offer, with name and address, early to-morrow, paying porterage, which will be refunded.--ARMATHWAITE, The Grange, Elmdale, via Bellerby."

  It was a singular fact that the really effective means of burkinginquiry by the local authorities only occurred to Armathwaite'sperplexed brain as he was hurrying back to the Grange. When all was saidand done, who in Elmdale actually knew that the erstwhile Stephen Garthwas living? His daughter and Percy Whittaker! He, Armathwaite, could noteven be certain that Whittaker had ever seen the man. Well, then,Marguerite had only to vow that her earlier statement was a sheerinvention, a species of joke inspired by the worst possible taste--andStephen Garth would rest quietly in his grave! The pretense left themystery insoluble as ever where the girl herself was concerned, butthat phase of the difficulty might be dealt with in the privacy of herown home. The chief draw-back--an official inquiry, with itsfar-reaching developments--would be surmounted. The Jacksons might betrusted to forget everything they had heard that day. There remainedJames Walker. Well, his evidence was discredited at the outset.Armathwaite himself would be a most convincing witness against Walker.It would be easy to show that the pushful and amorous youth who hadbluffed his way into the house in order to insult a lady who would havenothing to do with him, and was forcibly ejected by the new tenant, hadfallen into a singular and most amazing blunder when he said thatMarguerite Garth had told him that her father was still alive.

  The more Armathwaite reviewed this possible way out of a reallythreatening situation the more he liked it. The surprising thing wasthat he had not thought of it sooner. Even Percy Whittaker's confoundedimpertinence in telegraphing to his sister was robbed of its sting.Suppose the police got wind of the message, they would make little ofit. How did it run? "Meg greatly disturbed by rumors concerning deathwhich occurred in Grange two years ago." It was awkwardly phrased,perhaps, but was capable of explanation. She was "disturbed" by the"rumors." What rumors? Not that her father was not dead, but that someother man had died and been buried in his place! Who had spread therumors? Why, Walker himself! Had he not jeered at Marguerite, andendeavored to palliate his offense by repeating the absurd tittle-tattleto the man who had kicked him out of the house? Thin ice, this; but itmight bear if not pressed unduly. By rare luck Whittaker had asked hissister to communicate with the girl's mother. There was no reference toher father. In effect, a friend of long standing had recognized the factthat she had only one parent left.

  Armathwaite was bothered by no scruples in this matter. He had promisedMarguerite Ogilvey his help in her efforts to safeguard the father whomshe held so dear, and he would fulfill his bond to the letter.Personally, he ran no risk. His acquaintance with Elmdale and itsstrange tragedy was only a day old. As for Marguerite herself, no juryin the land would punish a daughter who lied to protect her own father.There remained Percy Whittaker. What crooked line would thatcuriously-constituted youth take? He could be bribed into acquiescence;but what terms would he exact? Armathwaite felt a certain tightening ofhis lips when he answered his own question. At any rate, the vitallyimportant thing now was to gain time, and he was confident that a boldfront would carry a most attractive and winsome girl past the dangers ofthe morrow.

  Oddly enough, as he neared the Grange, the old house itself seemed tosmile at him in a friendly and encouraging way. The setting sun lentwarmth to its gray walls and glinted cheerfully from its windows. Onepane of glass in particular--probably because it had a slightly convexsurface--a pane in one of the windows of Meg's bedroom, winkedcontinuously as his body swayed with each onward stride. It might havebeen saying:

  "Leave it to me! Leave it to me! I've watched ten generations of men andwomen passing beneath, and I know how gently Time deals with humanity'ssorrows."

  The idea so obsessed him that he loitered inside the gate, and glancedup to see if, by any chance, Marguerite might be in the room and havenoticed his approach. Yes, she was there! She threw open the window,which, in view of what happened within the next half-minute, movedupward with a noiseless ease that was absolutely uncanny.

  "Dinner is just coming in," she said. "Betty has put some hot water inyour bedroom, the one opposite this, and you must hurry over yourtoilet."

  "I also have good news," he answered gayly. "I've hit on a plan thatshould rout the enemy."

  "Which enemy?" she asked in a lower tone.

  "The powers that be," and he waved a comprehensive arm to indicate theworld at large. "By putting back the clock twenty-four hours we defeatevery sort of combination that can take the field against us. I'llpropound the scheme at dinner, so prepare to feast with a light heart."

  With expressive pantomime she inquired if Percy Whittaker was to sharetheir council, and he replied with a nod. He was loth to deprive hiseyes of the perfect picture she offered there, with her elbows restingon the window-sill, her head and shoulders set, as it were, in a frame,and the last rays of the sun brightening her pallid cheeks and weavingstrands of spun gold in her brown hair. But the summons from the kitchenwas not to be flouted, so he made for the door.

  It will be remembered that the hall was lighted directly from the upperpart of the front door, and the stained-glass window on the half-landingof the stairs. Indirectly, its gloom could be dissipated by any one ofthree interior doors, but all of them happened to be closed. Thus, whenArmathwaite's tall figure appeared in the porch, it effectually withdrewthe light gained through the glass in the front door until the dooritself was opened.

  He had his hand on the handle when he heard a most weird groaning andshrieking caused by the closing of the bedroom window. Practically inthe same instant he caught an affrighted yell from inside the house, andsome one shot violently down the stairs and into the hall, falling in ahuddled heap on the floor. Armathwaite had the door open in a second,and found Percy Whittaker lying at the foot of the stairs, whileMarguerite's voice came in a cry of alarm:

  "What is it? What has happened? Percy, is that you?"

  By that time Armathwaite had partly raised the fallen man, who did notseem to have an atom of breath left in his body. Mrs. Jackson, too, camefrom the kitchen with a lamp, and Marguerite appeared on the stairs.

  "What's the matter?" she cried again. "Did Percy fall? Is he hurt?"

  "I imagine he missed his footing on the stairs," said Armathwaitecoolly. "At any rate, he struck the floor with such a thump that he iswinded.... Now, old chap, pull yourself together! Can't you stand?Shall I carry you to a chair?"

  In a dazed way Whittaker endeavored to stand upright. At once he uttereda croak of agony, and would have collapsed once more if Armathwaite werenot supporting him.

  "By Jove!" excl
aimed the other, "I'm afraid he is more damaged than Ithought. Show a light here, Mrs. Jackson. Now, go ahead, and open thedoor of Mr. Whittaker's room if it is closed. I'll take him there, andfind out the extent of the mischief."

  Even in the confusion of the moment Armathwaite noticed that Percy wasgazing at the wall near the clock with the distended eyes of fear. Mrs.Jackson saw it, too, and with the outspokenness of her class, did nothesitate to put her thought into words.

  "Eh, my, but t' poor young man'll hae seen t' ghost," she cried.

  "I--I saw some spook," muttered Whittaker weakly. "Where is it? What wasit? I'm sure I saw something."

  "Go upstairs," Armathwaite commanded Mrs. Jackson angrily. "Or, betterstill, hand the lamp to Miss Meg, and stop talking nonsense."

  Quickly he had Whittaker stretched on a bed, and soon ascertained thatthe trouble, whatever it might be, lay in the right ankle. The suffererhad taken off the patent-leather boots, and was wearing felt slippers,so examination of his injury was no difficult matter. Armathwaite,evidently no novice in such emergencies, shook his head when Whittakerflinched or cried aloud in pain if a tendon was touched or an effortmade to twist the foot slightly.

  "Put that lamp down," he said to Mrs. Jackson, "and bring me a basin ofcold water. You, Meg," he went on, "might tear a sheet, or any piece ofstrong linen, into strips about three inches wide. Be as quick as youcan, please! Every minute saved now may mean a week afterwards."

  "What's gone wrong?" whispered Whittaker, when the women had flown. "Isit a smash?"

  "No, thank goodness! You'd not get over a broken ankle in a hurry. Butyou've collected a very nasty sprain, and possibly lacerated someligaments as well. Fortunately, I know what to do before the joint hastime to swell. How in the world did you contrive to pitch downstairs?The steps are broad, and the grade less than the average."

  "I--I didn't fall. That is, I mean I didn't trip or stumble overanything. I saw that thing--the ghost--and simply crumpled up. I think Imust have nearly fainted."

  "But, my dear fellow, what you took for a ghost was merely thereflection of a painted figure in a stained-glass window."

  "It was more than that. I'm not quite a fool. I never saw anything soghastly in my life. Didn't you say that the man was found hanging in thehall near the clock? Well, I saw him, I tell you. I had turned thecorner of the stairs when suddenly the beastly thing loomed up right infront of my eyes. Then it groaned most horribly. I couldn't be mistaken.I was thinking of nothing of the sort. In fact, I was wondering whetherMeg would take a sensible view of things, and agree that I did right ingetting Edie to send for her mater. Then that cursed vision appeared. IfI didn't see it I'm going dotty. Why, I felt my hair rising, and Idropped as though I'd been shot."

  "Of course, I can't convince you now," said Armathwaite, "but when youare able to get about again I'll show you just what happened."

  "Get about again? You don't mean to say I'm crocked for any length oftime?"

  "For a day or two, at least," came the diplomatic assurance. "As soon asI've tied a rough bandage we'll send for a doctor, and he will be ableto give you a definite opinion."

  Whittaker groaned, and his eyelids closed wearily over the gray-greeneyes.

  "Oh, d----n this house!" he muttered. "It's bewitched! Why the devil didI ever come here?"

  Armathwaite bound the injured limb tightly, and enjoined on Whittakerthe necessity of remaining prone till a doctor arrived. There was littlecall for any such insistence. The unfortunate Percy was suffering enoughpain already without adding to it by movement. He was persuaded to drinksome milk, but the mere raising of his head to put a glass to his lipscaused exquisite torture. Then Armathwaite left him, meaning to appealto Farmer Burt for further assistance. Dinner was not to be thought ofuntil a messenger was sent to Dr. Scaife, at Bellerby, and Meg and Mrs.Jackson remained with Whittaker in the meantime.

  While descending the stairs, Armathwaite gave special heed to the shadowcast by the window. It was dimly visible, but it seemed almostunbelievable that any person of ordinary intelligence could mistake itfor a ghostly manifestation. Suddenly a thought struck him, and hesummoned Betty Jackson.

  "Would you mind walking to the front door and standing close to it, soas to block the light which enters through the upper portion?" he saidwhen she came.

  Wondering what he was driving at, she obeyed. Then the true cause ofWhittaker's fright was revealed. The natural light through the plainglass of the door nearly overcame the weaker rays which filtered throughthe colored panes, but, as soon as the doorway was blocked, the figureof the Black Prince leaped into a prominence that was almost astounding,even to one who looked for some such development. The artist who hadfashioned the window had followed the canons of medieval art. Thearmored knight, whose face gleamed palely through a raised visor, waspoised as though standing on tip-toe, and a rib of the window rosestraightly above his head. Thus, the reflection on the wall bore a moststriking resemblance to a man hanging from the hook in the china shelf,while the sinister shadow deepened markedly when light was excluded fromthe only other source. The discovery of this simple fact not onlyexplained the apparition which had sent Percy Whittaker headlong downthe stairs, but also showed why gaping rustics could terrify themselvesat will. The closer they peered the more visible became the "ghost."Even Betty understood what was happening, though she had not heard theorchestral effect of the complaining window-sash.

  "Mercy on us!" she whispered in a scared way. "Who'd ever ha' thought ofthe like of that? You must have bin comin' in, sir, the very minnit thepoor young gentleman put foot on the second flight o' steps, an' thatthing just lepped at him."

  "Between us, at any rate, we have laid the ghost, Betty," saidArmathwaite. "If Mr. Whittaker complains of increased pain while I amout, tell your mother or Miss Meg to pour cold water over the bandage.That will give him relief. Perhaps, later, warm fomentations may berequired, but he is all right now till the doctor sees him."

  As he walked a second time to Burt's farm-house, his mind dwelt on thesingular coincidence that produced the shadow on the wall about the veryanniversary of the suicide--or murder--which had vexed the peace ofElmdale two years ago. To one who was wont to relieve the long nights ofduty in an Indian frontier station by a good deal of varied scientificreading, the mystery of the vision in the Grange was dissipated as soonas it was understood. Its occurrence was possible only during a fewevenings before and after the summer solstice, when the sun had traveledfarthest north in the northern hemisphere. Its duration was limited toten minutes at the utmost, because the sun sinks rapidly when nearingthe horizon, and the specter's visits were further curtailed by clouds,since strong sunlight and a clear sky were indispensable conditions toits appearance.

  But, without posing as an authority on stained glass, Armathwaite wasconvinced that the window which had produced this disturbing phenomenonwas not modern. The elder Walker had spoken of the Grange as a"seventeenth-century dwelling," and there was every likelihood that thepainted effigy of the hero of Crecy had been installed by the originalbuilder, who might have cherished the belief that he was a descendant ofthe gallant Edward and the Fair Maid of Kent.

  If that was so, the "ghost" has existed, not two Junes, but nearer threehundred, and must have been observed and commented upon countless times.It was odd that Marguerite Ogilvey had not mentioned the factspecifically. It was still more odd that a man should have been foundhanged in that exact spot. Somehow, Armathwaite thrilled with a sense ofdiscovery when that phase of the problem dawned on him. He was stillturning it over in his thoughts when he reached Burt's farm.

  Here he was again fortunate. Some chance had kept the farmer at home,and, although the latter had neither man nor horse to spare for a secondjourney to Bellerby, he dispatched a messenger to a laborer in thevillage who owned a bicycle, and was always ready to ride the six milesfor half a crown.

  Armathwaite, of course, had told Burt of the accident, and the farmershook his head sapiently when he heard its cause.
/>
  "Ay!" he said. "If I owned yon place I'd rive that window out by t'roots. It's done a fair share of mischief in its time--it has, an' all!"

  "Do you mean that it has been responsible for other mishaps?" was thenatural query.

  "Yes, sir; three in my time, an' I'm the right side o' sixty yet."

  "What were they?"

  "I don't remember t' first, because I was nobbut a little 'un, but I'veheerd my faither tell on 't. Some folk o' t' neam o' Faulkner livedthere then, an' one o' their gells, who'd married a man called Ogilvey,I think, kem yam (came home) to have her first bairn where her mothercould look after her. This Mrs. Ogilvey must h' known t' hoos an' itsways well enough, but yon spook gev her a bad start one evenin', for allthat, an' her bairn was born afore time, and she nearly lost her life."

  "Are you sure the name was Ogilvey?" broke in Armathwaite.

  "Oh, ay! I mind it well, because I've got a dictionary in t' hoose by aman o't same neam."

  "What became of this Mrs. Ogilvey?"

  "By gum, she cleared off as soon as she and t' youngster could get intoa carriage, an' never showed her nose i' Elmdale again. Owd Faulknertook te drink in his last years, an' had a notion that he and the BlackPrince could finish a bottle of wine together. One night he was suppin'his share as usual on t' stairs, an' he fell backwards over, an' brukhis neck. Then there was poor Mr. Garth's case, which ye'll hae heerdaboot, mebbe?"

  "Yes, I've heard of it," said Armathwaite. "How did Mr. Garth come intothe property?"

  "I don't rightly ken, but folk said it was through yan (one) o'Faulkner's married daughters. Gosh! He might ha' bin yon bairn. But, no!his neam 'ud be Ogilvey then."

  "Were you ever told why the window should be erected in memory of theBlack Prince?"

  "Ay; the story is that the man who dug the first sod out o' thefoundations broke ground on the fifteenth o' June, an' some larned owdcodger said the fifteenth was t' Black Prince's birthday."

  "It seems to be rather a slight excuse for such an elaborate window."

  Burt looked around cautiously, lest he should be overheard.

  "There was queer folk livin' when that hoos was built," he muttered."Happen there's more 'n one sort o' Black Prince. I'm thinking meselfthat mebbe some rascal of a pirate had Owd Nick in his mind when heplanned yon article."

  Armathwaite laughed. He was aware that a belief in witchcraft stilllingered in these remote Yorkshire dales, but he was not prepared tofind traces of devil-worship so far afield.

  "It's a very interesting matter," he said, "and, when I've got theinvalid off my hands, I'll inquire further into the historical side ofit. You see, the style of coloring and craftsmanship should enable anexpert to date the window within very few years of its actual period.Ah, here's your man! I hope he found the bicyclist at home?"

  Assurance on that head was soon forthcoming. Armathwaite returned to theGrange, and, while going to Whittaker's room, he glanced curiously atthe wall near the clock. Though a sufficiency of light still camethrough the window, and the mellow colors in a vignette border weresurprisingly bright, there was not the slightest semblance of anapparition in the hall.

  But, such was the force of suggestion, after Burt's hint at bygonepractice of the black arts within those ancient walls, he found now thatthe face framed in the open visor was cadaverous in the extreme, and hada sinister and repellent aspect.

  Cynic though he was in some respects, as he mounted the creaking stairs,he wondered.