The Heath Hover Mystery

a blanket was all he needed.And Mervyn perforce had to acquiesce. The latter smiled queerly tohimself at his own thoughts while doing so. If the mysterious one werea burglar--only he did not look like it--why the most professional ofburglars would hardly burgle a man who had just pulled him out of thejaws of death, and--more potent argument still perhaps to the hardenedcynic--here was nothing worth burgling.

  But--when he was in his own room, and was disposing himself comfortablyto sleep, with the little black kitten as usual curled up on his feetoutside the counterpane, he reflected complacently that the door of hisroom owned a very strong lock, and that a Browning pistol reposed besidehis watch under his pillow.

  But these precautions--especially in this instance--had nothing to dowith burglars or burgling.

  CHAPTER THREE.

  THE HOUSE BY THE POND.

  Heath Hover was a long, two-storeyed house built in the shape of theletter E with the centre bar left out. Nobody knew exactly how it hadever come to be built at all. The property on which it stood hadchanged hands several times right up to date, and tradition on thesubject was obscure. It could never have been intended for a farmstead,if only that it was situated right in the middle of woods, nor werethere any traces of yard or outbuildings in the very limited and slopingspace immediately behind it. Some were of opinion that it had beenbuilt as a dower house to one or other of the succeeding owners ofSotherby Hall, others that it had been a separate demesne altogether.

  As we have said, it stood low--the chimneys being below the level of thesluice which regulated the custody of the great mass of water pentwithin the long triangular pond which was the scene of the midnightincident. It was situated at the open end of the V formed by this andby a sweep of oakwoods on either side, flowing down to the water's edge.In summer it was a delightfully picturesque and inviting retreat,nestling in the heart of its sylvan surroundings, and never failed tocatch the attention of the users of the not very good public road whichran along the sluice, whether motorists or cycle riders. In the darkermonths, when the cloud-murk hung grey and gloomy, and no sound broke theawful stillness of the moist air but that of the dripping woods, whythen the impression conveyed to the onlookers was dismal and desolate tothe last degree. Then it seemed to live up to its sinister reputation,for in the opinion of the countryside Heath Hover was a very badlyhaunted house indeed.

  Its present occupant awoke the next morning later than usual, andfeeling by no means best pleased with himself and the world at large.To begin with he had passed a bad night. Whether it was owing to theexcitement of the strange midnight adventure which might so easily haveculminated in tragedy, or that he had been wrought up by the weirdphenomenon of the opening door--which, try as he would, he could notaltogether persuade himself was a sheer optical delusion--certain it wasthat hour followed upon hour before sleep would come. When it did itbrought with it strange dreams, or rather imaginings. Once he couldhave sworn that his own bedroom door was opening, then that themysterious stranger whom he had so opportunely rescued, was standing byhis bedside, bending over him with stealthy enquiring gaze; and hisfingers had closed round the butt of the deadly weapon which reposedbeneath his pillow. But no; there was nothing. The moon tempered thedarkness of the room sufficiently to render visible anything movingwithin the same. Still, when he did doze off there was always thathaunting apprehension of some impending peril and something which he hadthought buried, and which had suddenly started to life to dog him downand threaten him in this out-of-the-world retreat. And it, somehow orother, was closely connected with his unexpected guest, sleepingpeacefully in the room below.

  Stay. As to the latter, was he sleeping so peacefully? Moved by anunaccountable impulse Mervyn decided that he would make sure of that,and was in the act of rising with that intent when a sudden wake ofdrowsiness swept over him, and he fell back and slept hard untilmorning.

  The late sun was just rising, a red ball above the tree-tops. Theground lay shrouded in whiteness, and the dark firs and naked oak boughswere picked out in snow patterns, and the window panes were crusted withthe delicate lacework of a hard frost. Mervyn shivered, and wonderedapprehensively if he had caught cold in his undertaking of the night.He dressed quickly and went downstairs.

  He opened the door noiselessly and looked in. The room was insemi-darkness, for the blinds were still down. His guest was stillasleep apparently, for there on the couch he lay, the rug drawn over hishead. Noiselessly still, Mervyn closed the door, and went out. Then,through the back kitchen--for he would not open the front door lest thegrating of the bolts should disturb the sleeper--he passed into the openair.

  The exhilaration of it in a measure braced him. The sun, mountinghigher and higher, had emerged from the red ball stage into radiatingbeams, which touched the frosty particles on ground and tree alike intomyriads of faceted diamonds. Mechanically he mounted the staircase-likepath which led up to the sluice. The ice lay, a pure white triangle,narrowing away to the distantly converging woods; the break, now frozenover and newly coated with snow, hardly showing. But to this he tookhis way.

  Heavens! it was a mystery the man had escaped the frozen death--a marvelthat he himself should have been aroused just in the very nick of timeto rescue him--he now told himself standing on the bank andcontemplating the spot in broad daylight. The ladder lay where it hadbeen left, but now frozen fast into the ice. It resisted his efforts tomove it. Well, it could stay where it was for the present. When oldJoe turned up--by the way, the old rascal was late this morning--theywould be able to move it between them, and the ice was thicker for thenight's frost, and would bear easily.

  He retraced his steps along the woodland path. The leaves crackledcrisply under his tread, and hungry blackbirds shot out swiftly from thehollies, uttering alarmed cachinnations. A little red squirrel claweditself up a tree bole, and squatting in a fork chirked angrily andimpudently at him from its place of safety. But as he walked, he waspuzzling hard over the strange and sinister impression which the adventof his unknown guest had instilled within his mind. In the cheery andbracing morning light and air, this seemed to strike him as sheer fancy,sheer unreasonable imagining. The man was probably quite all right; hisappearance and manner were certainly not unprepossessing. He wouldpersuade him to stay on a few days and relieve his loneliness. Why not?He was becoming altogether too self-centred, as he had told himself thenight before.

  Thus musing he gained the sluice and looked down at his dwelling. Theblinds of the living-room were still down. Clearly his guest was"taking it out," and small blame to him, after his experiences of thenight before. At the bottom of the stair path, the unit previouslyreferred to as old Joe came round the end of the house.

  Old Joe, surnamed Sayers, was his outdoor male factotum--gardener--though there wasn't much of a garden--make-himself-generally-useful, andso on. Old Judy--otherwise Christian-named Judith--was his indoor andfemale factotum; cook, general-do-everything there was to be done. JoeSayers was an ancient rustic, normally towards crisp surliness inclined,except when full of extra ale--and Joe could carry a great deal of extraale--and then he would wax confidential, not to say friendly. On himhis master now opened.

  "Hard morning, Joe?"

  "Sure-ly," came the laconic assent.

  "Is the gentleman in the sitting-room awake yet?"

  "Gemmun in settin' room? I see nought o' he."

  "Well, the blinds are still down. I thought Judy might have disturbedhim, not knowing he was here."

  "She's t'whoam. Got roomatics. Tarr'ble hard marnin' t'is."

  This ancient couple only gave their services during the hours ofdaylight; no consideration on earth would have availed to keep themwithin the precincts of Heath Hover during those of darkness. Theyinhabited one of the labourers' cottages referred to on the other sideof the wooded hill and half a mile distant by road.

  "Can't she come to-day then, Joe?"

  "Not to-day," was the answer, with a very decided shake of the head."May-b
e not to-marrer neither."

  Mervyn felt vexed. How could he ask the stranger to prolong his staywhen there was nobody on the premises to so much as boil a potato. Andhe had rather reckoned that the other would prolong his stay. In facthe wanted him to, and that, paradoxically, on all fours with that vague,undefinable instinct of apprehension which had been upon him duringthose sleepless night hours.

  "Look up the pond, Joe," he said. "See that break in the ice, awaythere, by the two hanging ash trees. Well, I got him out of there inthe middle of the night. I had to lug the ladder along to do it--we'llhave to haul it back again presently, by the way. He'd have beendrowned but for it."

  "That he would, sure-ly." Then the intense rustic suspicion ofeverything and everybody unknown asserted itself--"What be he a doingthere--on the ice--middle of the night? Poachin' may be?"