The Mystery of the Ravenspurs

"I am engaged to my cousin Vera," Geoffrey explained. "We were boy and girl lovers before Marion came to us. Otherwise – well, we need not go into that. But I never saw any one like Marion till to-night."

Mrs. May looked up swiftly.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked.

"I mean exactly what I say. In certain ways, in certain lights, under certain conditions your face is marvelously like that of Marion."

As Geoffrey spoke he saw that the blood had left the cheek of his companion. Her face was deadly pale, so pale that the crimson flower in her breast seemed to grow vivid. There was a motion of the elbow and a wine glass went crashing to the floor. The woman stooped to raise the fragments.

"How clumsy of me!" she said. "And why are you regarding me so intently? My heart is a little wrong, the doctors tell me – nothing serious, however. There!"

She looked up again. She had recovered and her face was tinged with the red flush of health again. But her hands still shook.

But Geoffrey was taking no heed.

He had dropped the match he was about to apply to his cigarette and was staring out of the window. The blind had not been drawn; the panes were framed with flowers.

And inside that dark circle there came a face, a dark Eastern face, with awful eyes, filled with agony and rage and pain. Across the dusky forehead was a cut from which blood streamed freely.

"You are not listening to me," Mrs. May cried. "What is the matter?"

"The face, a face at the window," Geoffrey gasped. "A horrible-looking man, not of this country at all; a man with a gash in his forehead. He seemed to be looking for something. When he caught sight of me he disappeared."

Mrs. May had risen and crossed to the long French window opening on to the lawn. Her back was towards Geoffrey and she seemed determined, or so he imagined, to keep her face concealed from him.

"Strange," she said, carelessly, though she was obviously disturbed. "Surely you were mistaken. Some trick of the brain, a freak of imagination."

Geoffrey laughed. Young men at his time of life, men, who follow healthy pursuits, are not given to tricks of the imagination. His pulse was beating steadily; his skin was moist and cool.

"I am certain of it," he said. "What is that noise?"

Something was calling down the garden. Long before this time the good people of the farm had gone to bed.

"Shall I go and see what it is?" Geoffrey asked.

"No, no," Mrs. May whispered. "Stay here, I implore you. I would not have had this happen for anything. What am I saying?"

She passed her hand cross her face and laughed unsteadily.

"There are secrets in everybody's life and there are in mine," she said. "Stay till I return. There will be no danger for me, I assure you."

She slipped out into the darkness and was gone. Geoffrey stooped and bent over a dark blot or two that lay on the stone still at the bottom of the window.

"Blood," he muttered, "blood beyond a doubt. It was no delusion of mine."

From outside came the swish of silken drapery. It was Mrs. May returning. She seemed herself again by this time.

"The danger is past," she said, "if danger you choose to call it. The next time we meet we shall laugh together over this comedy. I assure you it is a comedy. And now I am going to ask you to leave me."

The woman was playing a part and playing it extremely well. With less innate knowledge, Geoffrey would have been thoroughly deceived. As it was, he affected to make light of the matter. He held out his hand with a smile.

"I am glad of that," he said. "You must let me come again, when, perhaps, you may be disposed to allow me to assist you. Good-night and thank you for one of the pleasantest evenings of my life."

The door closed behind Geoffrey, and he stumbled along in the darkness until his eyes became accustomed to the gloom. Out in the road some one crept up to him and laid a hand on his arm. Like a flash Geoffrey had him by the throat.

"Speak, or I will kill you," he whispered. "Who are you?"

"Come with me at once," came the hoarse reply. "And release that grip of my throat. I am Sergius Tchigorsky."

CHAPTER XXI

THE MYSTERY DEEPENS

Geoffrey recognized the deep rasping tones of Tchigorsky directly. His hand dropped to his side. No need to tell him that danger was in the air. It was the thick, still kind of night that goes with adventure.

"Something has happened?" Geoffrey asked.

"Something is going to happen unless we prevent it," Tchigorsky replied. "The enemy has been foiled three times lately and is getting uneasy. He begins to realize that he has to cope with somebody who understands the game. It is no use to work in this deadly mysterious fashion as long as certain people can read the danger signals and act upon them, and therefore it has been decided to fall back upon more vulgar methods. You are not afraid of danger?"

"Not in the least. Try me."

"The danger is great. You are dealing with some of the cleverest people on earth. If you are discovered you will be put away. Your courage will be tested to the utmost. Are you ready?"

Geoffrey hesitated but for a moment. His senses seemed to be braced and strengthened. He seemed to hear better all at once; his eyes penetrated farther into the gloom. There was a feeling of eagerness, of exultation upon him. He took Tchigorsky's lean claw and laid it upon his left wrist.

"Feel that," he said. "Is not my pulse steady? I am longing to go forward. Only give me a chance to find the truth."

Tchigorsky chuckled. This was the kind of grit he admired.

"You will do," he said. "And you will go alone on your expedition. You are acquainted with all the vaults and passages of the castle by this time; every inch of the ground is known to you. Give me your coat and shoes."

Geoffrey handed them over, getting a pair of rubber-soled shoes and a rough pea jacket in exchange. In the pocket of the latter he found a revolver.

"Now what am I to do?" he demanded.

"Stand here," Tchigorsky explained. "Presently you will see a figure or two, perhaps more. You will not understand what they are saying, but that makes no difference. You are to follow them, stick to them. If nothing happens by dawn you can afford to leave them to their own devices. If circumstances place you in dire peril, be brave, for help is not far off."

Geoffrey might have asked another question or two. But Tchigorsky turned away abruptly and was speedily lost in the darkness. And then followed for Geoffrey the most trying part of the business, waiting for the first sign of the foe.

Half an hour passed and still no sign. Had the affair miscarried and the miscreants got away in some other direction? Strain his ears as he would, Geoffrey could catch nothing. Then at length something soft and rustling seemed to be creeping along on the lawn on the other side of the hedge.

Geoffrey crept through the gate into the garden. Almost instantly he dropped on his face, for somebody carrying a lantern was softly creeping in his direction. It was the figure of a woman, a woman who had a black lace shawl so wrapped about her that in the feeble light it was impossible to make out her features. She paused and made a hissing sound between her teeth.

As if they had been evolved out of Geoffrey's inner consciousness, there appeared two men upon the lawn One was lying on his back, his head supported on the arm of his companion. They were Indian natives of some kind, but of what race precisely Geoffrey could not say. The prostrate man had an ugly cut across his forehead; it was the same man that Geoffrey had seen looking through the window.

A crafty, ugly, sinister face it was, full of cunning malignity. The eyes were dull, but the fires of hate were still in them. The woman stooped down and produced cool bandages soaked in some pungent liquid, which she proceeded to bind round the brows of the injured man. Even at his respectful distance Geoffrey could catch the odor of the bandages.

He watched the weird midnight scene with breathless interest. There was something creepy about the whole business. If these people had nothing to conceal, all this surgical work might have taken place indoor; they might have called assistance. Geoffrey tried to catch sight of the woman's features.

But that was impossible. Still, there was something familiar about her. Geoffrey felt quite sure that he had seen that graceful figure before. She stood up presently and Geoffrey no longer had any doubt.

It was Mrs. Mona May.

The injured man rose also. He staggered along on the arm of his companion and Geoffrey could with some difficulty see them enter the sitting room. He paused in some doubt as to his next move, but before he was called upon to decide, Mrs. May and the other native came out again.

Evidently they had left the injured man behind. Then they emerged into the road and started off rapidly toward the cliffs.

"Going some way by the pace they are walking," Geoffrey muttered, "and at the same time they must be back before daylight, or they would never have dared to leave that fellow at Jessop's. What a good thing I know the country."

Geoffrey followed at a respectful distance, his rubber shoes making no sound. For the time of year the night was intensely dark, which was in Geoffrey's favor. Also, with his close knowledge of the locality, he had no fear of making mistakes.

The couple were not more than fifty yards ahead of him. They had not the slightest idea they were being followed, seeing that they were talking earnestly and none too quietly in a language that was Greek to Geoffrey. Now and again he caught the low laugh that came from the woman's lips.

By and by the cliffs were reached, and here the two began to descend a path that would have been dangerous to unaccustomed feet even in the broad daylight. But the man seemed to know the way perfectly and the woman followed without hesitation. They came presently to the firm sand, fringed by the ebbing tide.

Then they turned to the right, pausing at length before a solid-looking expanse of cliff that stood right under Ravenspur Castle. One moment they loomed darkly against the brown rocks, the next minute they seemed to be swallowed up by the cliffs. They had entered the mouth of a cave.

Geoffrey followed still more cautiously. On and on they went, until at length they paused. Then the light from the lantern grew stronger. From behind a ledge of seaweed-clad granite Geoffrey watched them furtively. They were waiting for something – a signal, probably – before going farther.

The signal seemed to come at last, from where it was impossible for Geoffrey to judge, and then the advance was resumed. Presently they emerged into the deep below-tide level vault under the castle, where Geoffrey had seen Marion walking in her sleep.

Mrs. May turned to her companion and gave him some sharp command. She had lost all her levity and Geoffrey could see that her dark eyes were glowing. The native salaamed and laid his hand upon the lantern. The next instant the place was plunged into pitchy darkness. Five, ten minutes passed, and nothing was heard but the lap of the ebbing tide on the shore. Then a hand was gently laid on Geoffrey's arm.

CHAPTER XXII

DEEPER STILL

So startled was Geoffrey that he felt the moisture spurt from every pore like a rash. But, fully conscious of his danger, he suppressed the cry that rose to his lips, nor did he move as he felt a thick cloak thrown over his head. He slipped his revolver into his hand and fumbled it against the cold cheek of his antagonist.

But the antagonist took it coolly. A pair of lips were close to Geoffrey's ear and the smallest, faintest voice spelt out the letters, T-c-h-i-g-o-r-s-k-y. Geoffrey put the weapon back in his pocket. At the same time he felt about till his fingers touched the hand of his companion. No doubt about it. The other was Tchigorsky beyond question. Perhaps he had been testing Geoffrey's courage and resolution; perhaps the danger had deepened unexpectedly.

Presently the light of the lantern popped up again, in response to some subtle signal, and once more the conspirators moved on to the vault above. Tchigorsky lifted his head.

"Where are they going?" Geoffrey asked.

Tchigorsky responded with one of his diabolical chuckles.

"They imagine that they are going into the castle," he said. "But they are not going to accomplish that part of the program."

"But what do they want there?"

"What should they want? You know something of those now whose business it is to wipe you out root and branch. More artistic methods having failed, they may deem it necessary to fall back on more vulgar plans. There are five people sleeping in the castle – six with your Uncle Ralph – who stand in the way. It is possible if the fiends are lucky that the castle may be devoid of life by daybreak."

Geoffrey could not repress a shudder.

"Fiends, indeed!" he said. "But why not stop it? Why not let them enter and then take them all red-handed?"

"What could we gain by that? We could not connect them with past crimes! At worst they would get a few months in gaol as suspects. When the time comes we must smash them all. And the time is coming."

Tchigorsky rose as if to go.

"I follow them," he said, "you remain here, in the darkness. And if any one attempts to pass you do not let him do so. Don't forget this thing. At all hazards you are not to let any one pass."

Geoffrey nodded as Tchigorsky passed on his way. For a long time all was quiet, and then from above there came a startled cry followed by the sound of strife and a scream of pain and terror. It was all that Geoffrey could do to restrain himself from yelling in response and rushing to the spot. Then he became conscious that somebody was coming rapidly through the cave. He reached out his hand and grabbed at and caught a sinewy, slippery brown ankle.

It only needed that touch to tell Geoffrey that he was at grips with the native. Down the fellow came on the slippery rocks, and the next instant the two were engaged in a life or death struggle.

Young, strong, vigorous as he was, his muscle knitted like iron with healthy exercise, Geoffrey knew that he had met his match. The native had a slight advantage of him in point of years; he was greased from head to foot, rendering a grip difficult, and his flying robe came asunder like cobwebs at the first strain. He fought with the abandon of a man who is reckless of life.

Over and over on the slippery rocks they rolled, each striving to get the other by the throat. By this time they were both breathing thick and fast, and Geoffrey's mind began to wander toward his revolver. But to release his grip to get that might be fatal. He could hear his antagonist gasping as he rolled off a ledge of rock, and then Geoffrey lifted his opponent's head and brought it down with a bang on the granite.

In the very instant of his triumph something whistled behind him, and a jagged piece of stone came smashing on to his temple.

He had a confused view of a native on his feet again, fast hurrying away, heard the rustle of garments and a further rustle of more garments, and then his arm was closed upon a female figure whom he pulled to the ground by his side.

He felt the woman open her lips to scream, but he clapped his hand over her mouth.

"No, you don't," he said grimly. "One of you has escaped and my friend the nigger has had a narrow escape, but I've got you, my lady. I've got you safe and I don't mean to let you go."

He felt the slight figure in his arms tremble and palpitate; he heard voices above. Once more the slim figure shivered. His hand was torn from her mouth and the woman spoke.

"They are calling you," she said; "for God's sake let me go, Geoffrey."

For an instant Geoffrey was too dazed and stunned to speak.

"Marion?" he gasped presently. "Marion?"

Marion cowered down, sobbing bitterly.

"You are surprised," she said. "No wonder. You wonder what I am doing here and I will tell you presently. But not now; I will place my secret in your hands; I will disguise nothing from you. For the present leave me."

"Leave you here! Impossible!"

"But I am safe, quite safe, Geoffrey. Oh, if you have any feeling for one of the most miserable creatures in the world, leave me. Tell them above that those abandoned wretches have gone, that no sign of them remains. Consider what I have suffered and am suffering for your family, and try to help me."

Conscious of his own weakness, Geoffrey pondered. He might be doing a serious injury to the delicate plans formed by Ralph Ravenspur, but he had given the promise and there was an end of the matter.

Marion was in some way bound up with these people, but Marion was pure as the angels and Marion would do no wrong. Why, then, should her good name be dragged in the mire?

"You are so good, so good to me," Marion murmured. "Go before they become alarmed at your silence and leave me here. Say that you saw nothing. And when the house is quiet I shall make my way back again."

Geoffrey retired upwards without further words. In the basement of the castle he found Tchigorsky and Ralph Ravenspur.

"They managed to elude you?" asked the former.

Geoffrey pointed to the ugly bruise on the side of his head.

"Yes," he said, "they both got away. But for this bit of an accident fighting in the dark I might have captured the dusky conspirator."

"Rather you had not, on the whole," Ralph said. "Something gave them the alarm as they reached the passages. Of course their idea was to murder some or all of us in our beds, and our idea was to take them in the act. But they got the alarm and vanished. One of the fellows attacked me in the shrubbery just before dark, but I fancy he will not do it again."

"I saw him," said Geoffrey. "He came to Mrs. May's for assistance. She pretended that I was mistaken, but she had to give in at last when circumstances became too strong for her. How did you manage to deal him that blow on the head, uncle?"

Ralph smiled grimly.

"I have my own means of protection," he said. "What became of the fellow?"

Geoffrey explained all that had happened during and after the dinner at Jessop's farm. His two listeners followed his statement with flattering interest. Yet all the time Geoffrey was listening intently for signs of Marion. Was she still in the vaults or had she managed to slip away to her bedroom? The thought of the delicate girl down there in the darkness and cold was by no means pleasant.

"We have managed to make a mess of it to-night," said Ralph. "How those people contrived to discover that there was danger afoot I can't understand. But one thing is certain, they will not be content to leave things as they are. They may try the same thing again or their efforts may take a new and more ingenious direction."

"Which direction we shall discover," said Tchigorsky. "Can you let me out here, or shall I go by the same means that I entered?"

To Geoffrey's relief Ralph volunteered to open the hall door for his friend.

"Come this way," he said. "All the bolts and bars have been oiled and will make no noise."

They slipped away quietly together. Geoffrey listened intently. He fancied that he could hear footsteps creeping up the stairs, and in the corridor a door softly closed. Then Ralph Ravenspur came back again.

"Tchigorsky has gone," he said. "After this it will be necessary for us to vary our plan of campaign a little. You have learned something to-night. You know now that our antagonists are two Indians and a woman who is dangerous as she is lovely and fascinating. Ah, what a woman she is!"

"Who is she?" Geoffrey asked.

"Ah, that I cannot tell you. You must be content to wait. I do not want you to know too much, and then there is no chance of your being taken off your guard. When the surprise comes it will be a dramatic one. The more you see of that woman and the more you cultivate her the more you will find to wonder at."

"But can I cultivate her after to-night?"

"Why not? She does not know the extent of your knowledge; she has not the remotest idea that you have been helping to foil her schemes. Next time she will meet you as if nothing had happened."

Geoffrey thought of Marion and was silent. That one so pure and sweet should be mixed up with a creature like that was horrible. Ralph Ravenspur rose with a yawn. He seemed to have lapsed into his wooden state. He felt his way down the big flagged hall toward the staircase.

"We can do nothing more," he said. "I am going to bed. Good-night."

The door closed and then Geoffrey was free to act. He could go down into the vault and bring Marion up. But first he would try to ascertain if she was in her room. He passed up the stairs and along the corridor. Outside Marion's door he coughed gently.

The door opened and Marion stood there clad in a fair white wrap, with her glorious hair hanging free over her shoulders. Her eyes were full of tears.

"Geoff," she whispered. "Geoff, dear Geoff."

She fell into his arms, and pressed her lips long and clingingly to his. Her hole frame was quivering with mingled love and emotion. Then she snatched herself away from his embrace and, with the single whispered word, "To-morrow," closed the door behind her.

CHAPTER XXIII

MARION EXPLAINS

A brilliant sunshine poured into the terrace room where the Ravenspurs usually breakfasted. An innovation in the way of French windows led on to a tessellated pavement bordered with flowers on either side and ending in the terrace overlooking the sea.

A fresh breeze came from the ocean; the thunder of the surf was subdued to a drone. In the flowers a number of bees were busy, bees whose hives were placed against the side of the house. They were Vera's bees and there were two hives of them. Vera attended to them herself; they knew her and she was wont to declare that in no circumstances would they do her any harm. That was why, as Geoffrey dryly put it, she never got stung more than once a week.

"I believe one has been arguing with you now," Geoffrey laughed.

He was standing in the window as he spoke. He and Vera were the first two down. The girl was on the pavement gravely contemplating the palm of her right hand.

"No, indeed," she said. "And, anyway, it was my own fault."

"Irish," Geoffrey cried. "That makes the second since Monday. Let me see."

He took the little pink palm in his own brown hands.

"I can't see the spot," he said. "Does it hurt much?"

"A mere pin prick, dear. I suppose you can get innoculated against that sort of thing. I mean that you can be stung and stung until it has no effect at all."

"Even by bees that know you and never do you any harm," Geoffrey laughed. "But I dare say you are right. Five years ago when we had that plague of wasps Stenmore, the keeper, and myself destroyed over a hundred wasps' nests in one season. I must have been stung nearly a thousand times. After the first score I never noticed it; was not so bad as the touch of a nettle."

"What! Has Vera been arguing with the bees again?"

The question came fresh and clear from behind the hives. Marion stood there, making a fair picture indeed in her white cotton dress. There was no shade of trouble in her eyes. She met Geoffrey's glance squarely.

Her hand rested on his shoulder with a palpably tender squeeze.

It was the only kind of allusion she made to last night's doings. She might not have had a single care or sorrow in the world. She seemed to take almost a childlike interest in the bees, the simple interest of one who has yet to be awakened to the knowledge of a conscience. Geoffrey had never admired Marion more than he did at this moment.

"Marion is afraid of my bees," Vera said.

Marion drew away shuddering from one of the velvety brown insects.

"I admit it," she said. "They get on one's clothes and sting for pure mischief. And I am a sight after a bee has been operating upon me. If I had my own way, there would be a fire here some day and then there would be no more bees."

They trooped into breakfast, disputing the point cheerfully. It was impossible to be downcast on so perfect a morning. Even the elders had discarded their gloom. Ralph Ravenspur mildly astonished everybody by relating an Eastern experience apropos of bees.