The Riddle of the Spinning Wheel

  CHAPTER V

  A STARTLING DISCOVERY

  Within one short hour Cleek had explored the Castle from end to end, incompany with a tireless girl for whom every stick and stone of the grandold place held a memory that was as sacred to her as the church is tothe priest who has passed all his days in the service of it. But theymet no other members of the family just then. Only, as they passedthrough the left wing, where the servants' quarters lay beyond, Cleekwas introduced to Johanna McCall--paid hireling and companion of LadyPaula, and not too pleased with her job, either, if all he read in thatfrightened face of hers was true.

  He found her a little pale slip of a thing, with wide, anxious eyes setin an ivory-tinted, utterly colourless face, and with hair that was"mousey" and straight, and a mouth that might tremble at an unkind wordas a child's does.

  She bowed to him timidly and extended a slender hand.

  "How do you do," she said, in a soft, toneless sort of voice whichmatched her poor, toneless, utterly downtrodden personality. "Yourstepmother, Miss Duggan? She is in the study, I suppose? I have herembroidery silks, and she wanted them immediately. But it took such atime to get them disentangled. Master Cyril was playing with them lastnight. I--oh, I do hope she won't be angry!"

  "Don't worry, Miss McCall. Rome won't fall, you know, even if she doesspeak an unkind word to you in her hasty fashion," gave back MaudDuggan, with a kindly pressure of one hand upon the frail girl's arm."And she's busy just now with Sir Andrew. Looking over some accounts, Ibelieve. I should wait for her in her boudoir, if I were you. She'sbound to ring if she wants you."

  "Yes, perhaps that would be better."

  Miss McCall hurried down the corridor, silent-footed, as a paidcompanion should always be, and Cleek shook his head as she vanishedthrough an open door at the end of the passage.

  "Poor little frightened thing!" he said softly. "And all for a pittancewhich, in her sort of profession, must necessarily be small!"

  "Yes, and she works like a black for it, too," gave back Maud Dugganheatedly. "Slogs away all the day long, running errandsfor--_her_--sewing, darning, mending, writing interminable letters whichPaula tears up afterward and decides not to send. And gets not a crumbof comfort for her pains. Paula is terribly hard upon her, Mr. Deland.I wonder the girl stands it; only--there's an attraction."

  "And you women are endurance personified--in those circumstances!" heresponded with a little significant laugh. "When your hearts areinvolved, your common sense vanishes to make room for it. I've seen it athousand times before.... Really, Miss Duggan, you have been anindefatigable guide. I don't believe there's a nook or cranny of thisplace which I haven't seen, is there?"

  "Only the cellars--or, properly speaking, the dungeons. And they're ofno interest to anybody. Father keeps the wines down there, of course,and anything that does not require too much storage. But, excepting forthe cellar, the place is never entered from one year's end to another.Not a servant would go down into them for double wages. The peasant-girlis supposed to stay there when she is not out on her nightly prowl forthe man who abducted her!"

  "Indeed? That's interesting. I suppose I couldn't go down? Dungeons area perfect passion with me, for I've an insatiable curiosity, and alwayswant to go poking my nose where no one else does. Sort of brand of myprofession, I suppose. Do you think you could find energy enough to takeme down?"

  "Certainly."

  She led the way down an L-shaped passage, which led past the kitchensand the servants' hall, and gave out upon a little stone courtyard setapart from the house and bounded about with a high wall through whicharrow-slits gave the true mediaeval touch, and then down to the right ofthis through a huge oaken door which opened noiselessly, showing aflight of steep, uneven stone steps leading down into a dark,damp-smelling interior.

  At the top of the steps she paused and looked back at him over the curveof her shoulder, making a wry face.

  "You still want to go?" she asked jestingly. "I'm a brave woman, Mr.Deland, but I wouldn't undertake this journey alone for anything!There's--_rats_!"

  "As well as ghosts? But this is morning, and Scotland, and the twentiethcentury--so lead on, Macduff," he answered her in the same jestingspirit. "Or would you like me to go first?"

  She shivered and twitched up her shoulders.

  "No; I'll do the honours properly. This way. If you've a torch on you,you'll need it at the bottom of these stairs. It's as dark as pitch."

  "I have."

  Cleek produced it, and they proceeded upon the uncanny journey. Thesteps led down, down, into what seemed the very bowels of the earth(which indeed they were), until they reached a little square openingfrom which iron-grilled doorways looked out upon them from every side,saving for one oak door on the left, which Miss Duggan pointed out asthe wine-cellar.

  "H'm! And smells like it, too," put in Cleek, with a sniff--"What'sbehind that door is worth a fortune, I'll be bound. Hello! here's acandle-end stuck in a bottle! Now, who the dickens uses that, I wonder?"

  "The servants, I suppose. They come down through their own stairs, Mr.Deland--over there on the left--you can see them if you look hardenough. They're wooden ones, and were put in by my father's grandsire,for the convenience of the house. The servants don't like this way atall. They prefer to come through the butler's pantry."

  "And those stairs lead up there? I see. Hello! Here's a chain attachedto this iron post. What's that?"

  "The prisoner's chain. This room here"--she pointed to the grilled dooropening next to the cellar "was kept for political prisoners, I believe.And those two across the way were for personal enemies of the family."

  "And are there any others?"

  "Yes--through that first door on the right--but you won't get _me_ to gointo them," she responded with a laugh. "It's horrible in there. There'sa rack and one or two thumbscrews and other articles which belong to theSpanish Inquisition period; as well as rats innumerable. My braveryvanishes at this point. I'll not go a step farther!"

  "But you don't mind if I do?"

  "Not a bit. I'll wait here. But there's nothing to see--really. And it'sgetting perilously near lunch-time."

  Cleek cocked his head persuasively at her.

  "I won't be a minute--really. But that thumbscrew has got me guessing,as our American cousins say. I suppose there's no lock on the door? Gad!but it opens easily enough. Been fairly recently oiled, I take it?"

  "Not that I know of. In fact, I don't believe any one's been in theplace since Ross came down here, three months ago, to show a friendround. Perhaps he oiled it then."

  "Perhaps. I won't be a minute, really. And I've another torch, if you'dlike it. Here." He tossed it to her, and, keeping his spotlight aheadof him, entered the dark, dank, evil-smelling place, his footstepsringing upon the stone flooring and sending the echoes scampering intothe corners, together with more tangible--and verminous--things. Therewas nothing in the first room, but beyond it he came upon the TortureChamber and all those instruments of cruelty which marked a less kindlyperiod of the world's history. And this Chamber was larger than theother cell. Rusty hooks hung from the ceiling, of incredible size andsuggesting unthinkable horrors, and over all hung the odour of damp anddecay, mingled with something more modern, which caused Cleek to stopsuddenly and sniff like a terrier scenting a rat.

  "Strange!" he said to the silence and the solitude of that awful place,"but she said the cellars were over there! But if someone hasn't beendrinking spirits here a short time ago, I miss my guess! And, what'smore, someone _has_! A solitary debauch, I suppose. Now, who the dickenswould have thought it?"

  His torch caught a glimmer of something that shone like glass--which_was_ glass, in fact, and resolved itself into a cracked tumbler besidewhich stood a syphon of soda and an empty bottle smelling strongly ofwhisky.

  "Whew! Nice little place for a quiet read and a smoke--I _don't_ think!"he apostrophized it. "With rats in the corners and ghosts allaround--brrh! He's a strange fellow who likes this sort of company, Imust s
ay. But there's nothing to be nosed out here in this pleasantlittle den. I'll just take a glimpse through the next one, and then getback to Miss Duggan, or she'll be getting the creeps and run."

  He had started back, and had just swung his torch through the doorwaybeyond, when of a sudden he stopped, sucked in his breath, and fairlyran into the place, head down, nose to the ground, like a dog, everyfaculty alert.

  What he saw there is not recorded, for just at that moment he heardMiss Duggan's clear voice calling him, and he had perforce to answer.But he had time to stoop suddenly and swoop down upon something whitebut slightly bloodstained which lay on the ground before him, dart ahasty glance at it, and cram it into his pocket, before swinging roundupon his heel and answering her summons; and all the time saying tohimself: "Who'd have thought it? Now who the dickens would have thoughtit?"

  Meanwhile he fingered the slightly bloodstained handkerchief which hehad picked up, and upon which by the light of his torch he had remarkedthe initials "R. D." embroidered in one corner. And he laughed softlyand joyfully clapped his hands together.