The Mynns' Mystery

“Of course it is. Take some more whiskey. Plenty more where that came from.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Saul, taking up bottle and glass, as they sat together in the handsomely furnished old study at The Mynns. “Jealous? Ridiculous, when the old man had settled beforehand that you were to marry her. I say, old chap,” continued Saul, resting the neck of the bottle on the rim of the glass, and looking across the table with a leer, “how are you getting on with her?”

“What’s that to you? Take some whiskey and another cigar,” said the other roughly.

“Oh, beg pardon. Didn’t know I was touching on dangerous ground,” said Saul. “I’m mum.”

They had both been drinking far more than they could bear sensibly, for Saul had dined there that night, and the wine had been pretty abundant both during and after the dinner. Then they had adjourned to the study to smoke, have coffee and brandy, and then the whiskey had become the order of the night.

“Well,” said the host, “why don’t you help yourself and pass the bottle?”

“Because it’s empty,” said Saul, pushing the bottle from him.

“Oh, we’ll soon cure that,” said the young man, rising and going to a cabinet, out of one of whose drawers he took a couple of large keys. “Been down in the cellar, I suppose?”

“I? Never,” said Saul.

“Then you shall come now. It will surprise you.”

“Oh, no, it will not,” said Saul, rising. “Nothing here surprises me. You’re a lucky dog, George; but there, I don’t envy you, old fellow, for you deserve to have it. You’re so generous and true.”

“That’s right, old chap,” cried Saul’s host, clapping him on the shoulder. “I want to be generous; what’s the use of having plenty and keeping it all locked up?”

There was a tap at the door.

“Come in.”

The old housekeeper entered timidly.

“I only came to see if you wanted anything, sir, before I go to bed.”

“Eh? Why, what time is it?” said her master, pulling out his magnificent gold watch by its nugget chain. “Half-past ten. All right; go to bed, Denton, old girl. I don’t want anything else. I’ll lock the door when Mr Saul goes. Yes, I do; I want a candle.”

“Candle? Yes, sir.”

The old woman hurried out, and returned directly with a lighted chamber candle, which she set down, looked uneasily from one to the other, and left the room, shaking her head as she crossed the hall.

“I say, George, what a watch!” cried Saul. “You are going it.”

“Going it be hanged! That’s the watch I had made in New York and sent over for a present to the old man, and he never used it, but saved it up for me. I only got it the other day, after all the confounded legal business was at an end. I seemed to be kept out of my rights till all that was done. Now come and let’s get the whiskey.”

He led the way out into the hall, and through a swing door to the top of a flight of steps, at the bottom of which, in a recess, was an ordinary door of dark oak.

This he unlocked, and threw back to admit the pair to a square entry, beyond which was another door, of iron, painted stone colour, and this rattled and creaked as it was unlocked and pushed back against the wall.

“There! Something like cellars, eh? Hold up the light.”

Saul obeyed, and as the damp odour of sawdust fell upon his sense of smell, he saw that he had, right and left, bin after bin, formed in brickwork, whitewashed, and all nearly full of bottles, over each bin being the kind and age of the wine in black letters upon a white earthenware label.

“Why, I had no conception that you had such a cellar, old fellow.”

“S’pose not. It isn’t everybody who has. Needn’t stint, eh? Cellar after cellar, all through beneath the house.”

“But not all stocked?”

“Every one, and with the best of wine. Here we are.”

He stopped before a bin, and took down a bottle of whiskey. “Don’t want to see any more I suppose?”

“Oh yes, I do. Let’s see it all.”

“See it and taste too if you like. What shall it be?”

“Nothing,” said Saul grimly, as he looked intently about him. “I shall have another drop of that whiskey when we get upstairs, and then go home.”

“Good boy,” was the bantering remark. “Capital whiskey, though. Like milk. You should taste some of the stuff they sell us out in the West. Paraffin is honey to it!”

“No wish to try it, my dear sir,” said Saul, as he followed his host from cellar to cellar, the feeble light of the candle casting curious shadows on the damp, whitewashed walls, and glinting from the round bottle ends which protruded from their sawdust beds.

“I’m astounded,” said Saul, as they went on and on. “I’d no idea the old man had such a cellar of wine. He scarcely ever touched anything but a liqueur of brandy.”

“Saving it all up for me, I suppose,” said the other laughingly.

“Bring many people down here?”

“Here? Nobody. You’re the first who has been down. Place had been sealed up for years. Look at that?”

They were in the farthest cellar now, a small, low-arched, and groined place, with bins on two sides, the other being blank brick wall, whitewashed.

“Well, what is there to look at?”

“Wait till we get upstairs and I’ll show you. Had enough of it?”

“Yes,” said Saul, as he curiously scanned the liquid wealth about him, and noticed the various catacomb-like openings in which the rich amber, topaz, and ruby wine was stored.

“Come along, then. Can always give a friend a good glass of wine when he comes.”

Saul followed, noting how silent and tomb-like the place was, and how his footsteps made not the slightest sound in the thick coating of sawdust on the stone floor. Then he remarked how grotesque and strange his companion looked in the darkness, with the light sending his shadow here and there, and a strange sensation attacked Saul Harrington, – the blood flew to his head, and he saw dimly, as through a mist in which various scenes were being enacted, and all connected with the man before him – the man who stood in his way, and without whom he would have been a rich man, perhaps a happy one.

“I could have made her love me,” he muttered. “Eh?”

“I did not speak. Cleared my throat.”

“Oh, I say! what’s the matter? You look ghastly.”

“The darkness and your candle,” said Saul, smiling. “I don’t know, though; I do feel a bit giddy. Is it the smell of the wine?”

“Perhaps. Come and have the whiskey. That will soon set you right.”