Chapter VIII
_Adventuring on "Sugar Loaf"_
It was a glorious summer morning, and as I descended the staircase Icould look through the wide opened door and see the rolling acres of"Hildebrand Hundred" lying gracious and fair under a cloudless sky. Beeswere humming among the flowers, and a whiff of new mown hay drifted inon a vagrant breeze. Yes, this old world is a pretty pleasant place tolive in, provided of course that one doesn't make a tactical mistake andsettle down too far East or West, as the case may be. But given theright place and the right people, and existence on this planet may bevery comfortable indeed.
Nobody seemed to be around, although it was nearly nine o'clock, and Iwalked into the library. There I found Chalmers Warriner bending over alarge glazed case which stood in a remote corner of the room.
"Good morning," he smiled. "I've been amusing myself in looking over thecollection of butterflies and moths made by your predecessor, oldRichard Hildebrand. I believe it is considered valuable."
I glanced carelessly at the rows of inanimate insects fixed in theirpainful museum attitudes. There can be no quarrelling with tastes, butmine do not run in this direction. I made some perfunctory assent toWarriner's glowing encomiums upon the quality of Uncle Richard's _magnumopus_ (it seems that our good Chalmers is himself an amateur ofdistinction in entomological science), and then haled him off forbreakfast.
Quite naturally we drifted back to the library. It was the pleasantestand most homelike room in the house, a characteristic that persisted forall that the shadow of a possible tragedy still rested there. But afterall, men must die somewhere, some time, and it would be impracticable totransform every death chamber into a mortuary chapel. Death is a naturalprocess; why try to invest it with unnatural terror. "My dear," said avery old woman to her blooming goddaughter, "you will some day come toknow that old age needs and desires death just as youth needs anddesires sleep."
Warriner started immediately upon a close and systematic examination ofthe apartment and its appurtenances. From his pocket he drew ageologist's hammer and a slender rod of steel, and for nearly an hour heoccupied himself in probing the wainscoting and walls and in making testknocks. I had expected to see him give particular attention to thesecret passage behind the fireplace, but he ignored it entirely. Iexpressed some surprise.
"It's told me already all it had to tell," he answered, and did notvouchsafe any further elucidation of his pronouncement. Nor did I askfor it; I realized that a man should be allowed to work in his own way.
Finally, Warriner asked me to sit down in the fixed revolving chair thatstood before the great, flat-topped library desk. I did so with someinward reluctance, for this was the seat _par excellence_ of the masterof "Hildebrand Hundred"; from this very coign of vantage Francis Graemehad toppled to his death. But as well now as ever, and accordingly Icomplied with the request.
At Warriner's further suggestion I bent forward as though engaged inwriting. Suddenly he appeared from behind the screen of stamped Spanishleather which stood between the table and the door leading to the greathall; instantly, I became aware of his presence; involuntarily I lookedup.
"Not so easy to surprise a man from this side, even if he were engagedin writing or study," mused Warriner as he walked over to the fireplace.
"Now suppose I had entered from this secret postern or side door," hewent on. "I should have no particular difficulty in stealing up behindyou and striking a fatal blow."
"Perhaps not," I assented. "The rug is deeply piled, and a man wouldhave to walk pretty heavily to be heard."
"A man--or a woman," amended Warriner. Of course I understood him, butit was none of my business to prejudice Eunice Trevor's case. The veryfact that I instinctively disliked her imposed its obligations.
Warriner motioned me to yield him the revolving chair, and I arose withalacrity. He sat down quite as though intent upon testing the smoothnessof the swivelling and the depth and comfort of the upholstery. Butpresently he swung round and faced the fireplace and windows. Then hedrew from his pocket a pair of French folding opera glasses andcontinued his observations for several minutes; finally, he glanced atme and beckoned. I went over to the big desk.
"From where I sit," began Warriner, "I can see an odd-appearing break inthe woods on 'Sugar Loaf.' Take the chair and I'll explain what I havein mind."
I obeyed and Warriner leaned over my shoulder, pointing. "Lookstraight," he said, "through that small, square panel in the window onthe left of the fireplace; it is called the pridella, I believe. Nowtake the glasses."
The window was the one depicting the rebellion of the sons of Korah; itwas a vivid representation of the earth opening under the feet of theguilty men, and was brilliant with yellow and crimson flames arisingfrom the abyss. Through the open pridella I could see "Sugar Loaf," thelatter a hill of a peculiar conical shape that rose directly from themeadows watered by the little river Whippany. Its distance from thehouse was about half a mile, and it was covered with a dense growth ofoaks and beeches.
Now that I had the glasses focussed I understood what Warriner wasdriving at. Framed in the square of the pridella was a small opening inthe leafy wall; it looked as though a shelf had been cut out of thecliff face, and evidently with a purpose. But what sort of a purpose?"An observation post," I hazarded.
Warriner nodded. "Something like that was in my own mind," he said."What do you say to our walking over there and making areconnaissance?"
"Just as you like," I assented. "Anyway it will be a pleasant stroll."
Supplying ourselves with the primal necessities of stout sticks andbrierwood pipes we set out. Gyp, an Irish terrier, looked longingly uponus, and Warriner, after a momentary hesitation, told him that he mightaccompany the expedition; whereupon there followed much staccato yelpingand the apparent vision of one small dog in several places at once.
The side of the hill facing the "Hundred" was rather too steep forcomfortable climbing; moreover, there seemed to be a wagon road, on theright hand slope, which promised a practicable means of ascent. Wewalked across the lawn and a horse paddock to the Whippany, followingthe bank of the stream to where it was crossed by a picturesque stonebridge. Straight on lay the road to Lynn C. H., while our woodland waybranched off to the left.
It was pleasantly cool in the woods, and inside of twenty minutes wewere well up on the hillside, and the library wing of the "Hundred" wasin plain view. But there was still no sign of "Warriner's Shelf," as Ichose to dub it, and I began to chaff him gently. However Gyp, by wayof repaying the favor of being allowed to join us, pushed an inquisitivenose into a mass of tangled wild grapevines. Here was plain token ofhuman progress, and we followed the narrow trail that presently dippeddown sharply and then around the shoulder of a big, square rock.
"Warriner's Shelf" at last, a natural bench in the escarpment, notlarger than ten feet by six, with a comparatively level floor, andpartially sheltered by the overhanging rock wall. The bushes and foliagein general had been cut away in front, leaving an irregular openingabout the height of a man and four or five feet in width. "I shouldnever have picked it out in the world," said Warriner, "but for thatglint of white." And as he spoke, he detached from a hazel twig a squareof cambric, a man's handkerchief. I followed the direction of hisglance, and read the initials in one corner--"J. T."
"What do you make of it?" I asked, feeling more than a little puzzled.
"A signal, of course. A sharp eye could pick it out from the terrace,particularly if a hand was waving it."
"Anyhow it is proof that John Thaneford knows of this eyrie and isaccustomed to visit it," I added.
"Perfectly. Do you realize, by the way, that we are now on Thanefordproperty?"
"How so?"
"The dividing line runs a few yards away, and you will find a monumentnear the base of that white pine. I came up here once with old RichardHildebrand, and he pointed it out to me. This side of Sugar Loaf belongsto 'Thane Court.'"
"Then we are trespassers."
&
nbsp; "In the technical sense I suppose we are."
"And John Thaneford doesn't welcome visitors," I remarked, recalling theincidents of our first meeting.
"Well, we're only looking around; no harm done."
Warriner reloaded his pipe leisurely. "What do you suppose is themeaning of that contraption?" he continued, indicating a singularframework of iron, painted green, that stood in the opening and pointeddirectly toward the house; we both examined it with keen attention.
It consisted of a narrow trough of metal--probably the half section of afour-inch pipe--and was some three feet in length. It was supported bytripods at either end, firmly fixed in the ground. The whole arrangementwas solidly put together, and seemed intended as a rest for some sortof instrument. Warriner seated himself on a flat stone, and sightedalong the trough. Then he supplemented his observations with thebinoculars.
"It appears to line exactly with the pridella opening of the 'Korah'window," he said at length. "Adjust a high-powered rifle in the trough,and it ought to be possible to send a bullet directly into the libraryat the 'Hundred'; yes, and it would strike pretty close to anyone whohappened to be occupying the swivel-chair at the big teakwood desk. Ofcourse, without instruments, I can't speak definitely about thetrajectory, but we must be a couple of hundred feet above the housewhich should compensate for the natural drop in the arc."
"The fatal objection to that theory," I retorted, "is the non-existentbullet. There can't be the slightest ground for thinking that FrancisGraeme came to his death through the agency of a gunshot wound."
"No, there isn't," admitted Warriner. "All the same, it opens up someinteresting possibilities."
"For example?" A third person was suddenly taking part in theconversation.
I turned quickly to see John Thaneford standing besides us. He wasaccompanied by a big collie, an ill-tempered brute, who eyed Gyp withdisdainful truculence. The like adjectival description might have beenapplied to Thaneford himself as he stood there with his white teeth justshowing through the close drawn lips, and one muscular fist, with itstufted knuckles, knotted about a blackthorn cudgel.
"You were speaking, I think, of interesting possibilities," hecontinued, looking at each of us in turn, "Perhaps I could add somethingof value to the discussion."
"You have already contributed Exhibit A," said Warriner, handing him thehandkerchief. As he spoke, he rose to his feet, and it seemed to me thatjust before doing so he picked up a small object from the ground, andkept it concealed in the hollow of his hand. But the action had been soswift that I could not be sure.
John Thaneford took and pocketed his handkerchief with the utmostsangfroid. "Thanks," he said carelessly. "I must have left it here byinadvertence, and nowadays even a few inches of real Irish linen is apossession not to be despised. It is certainly mine, and, moreover, itwas found on Thaneford property. Under the circumstances you will hardlybe justified in putting in a claim for treasure-trove." This with asneer that fully bared his close set teeth.
I was feeling rather uncomfortable, but Warriner's cool urbanity neverfailed him. "Glad to have obliged you," he said easily. "The next strongwind probably would have blown it down the cliff. Lovely view, isn'tit?"
And indeed it was a charming prospect--the silver ripples of the shallowWhippany edging the emerald meadows that stretched up to meet the shavenlawn of the "Hundred"; the massive ochre bulk of the house, with itsroofs of dark gray slate; and, beyond, the copper glow from a clump ofpurple beeches melting insensibly into the sombre hues of pine andhemlock; in the middle distance, the golden ocean of the wheat; andstill farther on, a battery of motor tractors moving snail-like butinexorably against the gallant green lances of the hayingfields--"Hildebrand Hundred" in all its glory.
"A _belvedere_ in quite the proper sense," commented Warriner. "I daresay you are rather fond of coming here--by way of viewing the promisedland, as it were." He smiled provokingly.
John Thaneford was not nimble witted, and he found no fitting rejoinderto Warriner's sarcasm. "I don't know that it is any of your damnedbusiness," he barked out, flushing redly.
It was time for me to intervene, for clearly our position was not atenable one; we were trespassers. "I am sorry to have intruded for thesecond time within a week," I said evenly. "Unintentional of course."
He made no definite reply, and I swung round. "Get to heel, Gyp," Iordered.
"One moment," demanded Thaneford, "I've been intending to tell you thatI shall go back to 'Thane Court' this evening; I mean for good. I'mafraid that my father"--he gulped at something in his throat--"can't bemoved for the present."
"Mr. Thaneford will be welcome to the hospitality of the 'Hundred' solong as the emergency exists," I returned smilingly. "I would say asmuch for yourself, but of course you will do as you please."
"I always intend to," he countered instantly. Then, as though a bitashamed of his boorishness, he added: "You will have no objection, Isuppose, to my coming over to the 'Hundred' to see him?"
"Surely not. And there is also the telephone. I promise that you will bekept fully informed. Good day, Mr. Thaneford."
"Mr. Thaneford!" he echoed. "My dear Cousin Hugh, are you oblivious ofthe fact that this is the South, and that we are kin?"
"Even if a little less than kind," put in Warriner.
"Cousin John, then," I amended, determined to give no open ground foroffence. "Shall I have your traps sent over to the 'Court?'"
"Thanks, but I'm looking in on father around five o'clock, and so won'thave to bother you. Down, Vixen!" he added, dealing the collie a heartycuff as she snapped at Gyp, discreetly paddling at my heels. Warrinerstarted to say something civil, but was ignored, and we passed onwithout another word.
"Sulky brute!" offered Warriner, but I merely nodded.
"Did you notice that no allusion was made, on either side, to thatsingular metal rest?" he persisted.
"What was there to say?"
"True for you; but I still contend that the possibilities areinteresting--perhaps infinitely so. For instance----" he opened his handand showed me what lay snugly ensconced within.
"Looks like a piece of glass."
"Man, don't you know a telescopic lens when you see it!"
Warriner produced a silk handkerchief, and with it carefully cleaned andpolished what I now fully recognized as a bit of some optical apparatus.He held it up to his eye, and squinted through it. "Do you know there issomething peculiar about this blooming lens," he said at length. "Ithink I'll drive over to Calverton after luncheon, and make a laboratorytest. Who knows...."
"What?"
"Tell you later--if there is anything to tell." And not another word onthe subject could I get out of him.
* * * * *
Mrs. Anthony and Betty had been over to the cemetery all morning, andthey did not appear at luncheon. Miss Trevor, looking as implacable as aMedusa-head, a comparison inevitably invited by the snaky black ringletsdepending on either cheek (an ante-bellum monstrosity which she seemedto affect out of sheer perversity), presided at the table, and most ofthe conversation was carried on in monosyllables. The poor girl did lookwretchedly careworn, and I had the uneasy consciousness of being in parta confidant of her unhappiness through my involuntary espionage in theaffair of the whispering gallery. But there was nothing that I could sayor do to relieve the tension of the situation. How much did she knowconcerning the mystery of Francis Graeme's death? To what extent was shean accessory to the crime, if crime it could be proved? When she handedme my tea it was quite in the grand Lucrezia Borgia manner, and it wasas certain as anything could be that she and I must remain antagonistsuntil the end of time. But I could make allowances. Eunice Trevor hadplayed the part of poor relation all her life, and the bread ofdependence is both a dry and a bitter morsel in the mouth. Not thatBetty Graeme would ever have said or done anything to emphasize theobligation under which her cousin's daily existence was passed; on thecontrary, I knew that she treated Eunice with unvarying
kindness andconsideration. But when one is living on the broken meats of charity itis destructive to be always nibbling, between meals, at one's own heart.
Warriner went off to Calverton, and I had a horse saddled in order toride over the farm and so get a general idea of my inheritance. Andindeed it was a glorious one; insensibly a new and stimulating ichorentered into my veins; this was my own country, the chosen home of myforebears: this gracious and beautiful land was part of myself; deepdown in its generous bosom went the essential roots of my being, and Ithrilled with the consciousness of a new life, a life far moresatisfying and abundant than I had ever known before; I was Hildebrandof the "Hundred."
Late in the afternoon I returned, and ran upstairs to freshen myappearance before joining the ladies for a cup of tea on the libraryterrace. As I passed the sick room I heard the sounds of a violentaltercation, and I recognized the voices as belonging to Eunice Trevorand John Thaneford; how indecent for them to be quarrelling in thepresence of a man actually moribund! I had no taste for moreeavesdropping, but the door was partially ajar, and I could not helpoverhearing one significant sentence. Eunice Trevor was speaking.
"As for Betty Graeme, there is no chance there for recouping yourfortunes. How do I know? I am a woman myself."
I went on quickly and reached my room. But my blood was hot within me.That surly, brutal boor!
All the time I was changing my clothes I could hear the discussionproceeding, although the words themselves were inaudible. Then came theclumping of heavy boots on the staircase. I looked out of my window,which commanded a view of the carriage sweep, and saw John Thaneford'sdisreputable old dog-cart waiting before the front door. PresentlyThaneford himself appeared, carrying a couple of handbags; he threw theluggage in the cart, mounted, and drove away.
On my own way down I had to go by the room occupied by the elderThaneford. Quite involuntarily I glanced through the half-opened door; acurious feeling possessed me that the sick man was being dealt withunfairly, that he needed the protection which a guest has a right toexpect from his host.
Fielding Thaneford lay, immense and quiescent, in the old-fashioned,canopied bed. He was not asleep, for his eyes were open and rollingrestlessly, while the infantile pink and white of his complexion haddarkened to a dull crimson; it was plain that he was uneasy, sufferingeven. And then I realized the source of his discomfort.
Eunice Trevor sat in a highbacked chair at the foot of the bedstead,gazing intently at the helpless man. I used to think that themetaphorical, "If looks could kill!" was mere rhetoric, but now I knewthat there may be a deadliness in pure hatred which needs neitherspoken word nor overt act for its vehicle of expression. The Medusa-headagain, an incarnation of implacable malignity; no wonder that FieldingThaneford's big, babyish cheeks were beaded with sweat and that hisbreath came and went in short gasps. One thought involuntarily of themediaeval sorceress sticking her lethal pins into the waxen image of hervictim. Only that in this instance the counterfeit presentment was notnecessary; the man himself lay bound hand and foot, delivered to thetormentors as they that go down quick into hell. Unable to move or speakhe must remain in his physical straitjacket while this tigerish womanwas doing him to death, at her leisure, with the invisible knife-thrustsof a great and consuming hatred It was unbearable, and I entered theroom with the merest apology for a knock; instantly the eyes of thebasilisk were veiled.
"I was looking for Mr. Thaneford's nurse," I began awkwardly.
"Miss Davenport is off duty from two until five o'clock," answered MissTrevor with entire composure. "I told Betty that I would take the reliefon alternate days. Here is Miss Davenport now."
I turned to greet the pleasant-faced, capable looking young woman whoentered, and Miss Trevor glided away without another word. I made theusual inquiries about the patient's condition. "Not quite so well,perhaps," I suggested.
"He does seem a little flushed and restless," answered the nurse,producing her clinical thermometer. "I don't understand it, for he wasdecidedly better this morning."
"Possibly some outside disturbing influence," I ventured. "Mr. JohnThaneford was with his father late this afternoon, and I suspect therewas some sort of family jar."
"That big, black man!" said Miss Davenport indignantly. "I can't abidehim!" She looked around sharply. "Where is he?"
"I believe he has returned to 'Thane Court.'"
"Well, I shan't let him in the room again if he can't behave himself.See that!" and she showed me the thermometer, which registered atwo-degree rise over normal. "Shameful I call it! and I won't have anyinterference with my patient, no matter who it is."
"I'll back you up there. And perhaps we had better make some otherarrangements for the afternoon relief. Miss Trevor has been veryobliging, but I'm not sure that she has the proper--well, call it thenecessary temperament."
"I know it 'ud give me the creeps to have that slinky, black shadowhovering over me," returned the downright-minded Miss Davenport. "Ithink I'll put a stop-order on her from this time on."
"I dare say Miss Graeme and I can share the duty between us; at leastuntil it is possible to get hold of another nurse. I'll speak to mycousin and let you know later."
Miss Davenport nodded and turned to her patient. "Cheerio! old son," shesaid with the breezy cameraderie born of her two years' experience as anarmy nurse. "After this we'll keep the willies brushed off, and you'llsoon be hitting on all six again. Remember now what your Aunt Flo tellsyou."
It was impossible to say how much or how little the sick man understoodof all that had passed. But as I left the room I murmured a parting wordthat was intended to be sympathetic and reassuring. I may have beenmistaken, but it seemed as though a flash of intense gratitudemomentarily softened the stony, blue-china stare of those inscrutableeyes.
After Mrs. Anthony had gone to dress for dinner I talked the matter overwith Betty.
"I think you must be mistaken about poor Eunice," she said perplexedly."But just now I know she is pretty much on edge, and if Miss Davenportdoesn't want her that settles it. So if you will help me, Cousin Hugh, Idare say we can manage."
Cousin Hugh! That sounds pleasanter every time I hear it And I like,too, the possessive "we."
Late that evening Warriner telephoned that he had been called toBaltimore on business and would be away for several days. Of course hewould see me immediately on his return. At present there was nothing toreport.