The Mynns' Mystery

The doors were carefully locked, and Saul Harrington shuddered, his brow contracted, and he seemed to be looking far away into futurity as he followed his host upstairs into the study, where the cork was drawn, fresh cigars lit, and, after placing the keys in the cabinet drawer, another was opened, and an oblong book taken out.

“Look at that, my lad. Cellar book. There you are – age and quantity of all the wines, and when laid down.”

“Wonderful care he took of all these things.”

“The old man was a trump. But look here, Saul, my lad: ‘Cellar number seven entered by bricked-up archway from number six.’ Remember number six?”

“No.”

“Yes, you do; where I spoke when you were staring at the blank wall. That’s the way into number seven. And read here: ‘Eight bins, four on each side. Three on the right, port; four on the left, sherry. The fourth bin on the right I shall fill with Madeira when I come across a good vintage. Bricked up, JH.’”

“Yes, my uncle’s writing,” said Saul, looking eagerly, and greatly attracted by the book. “That’s a bricked-up cellar, then, beyond the others?”

“Yes, with the bins also bricked-up. We’ll break through some day, Saul, and taste them.”

“We will,” said the latter, rising hastily, and giving his head a shake, as if to clear away some mist. “What, going?”

“Yes,” said Saul huskily. “I must be off. Good-night, old fellow.”

“Good-night, Saul, old chap. I’ll let you out and lock up. Quite early. Only eleven. Better stop and have another glass.”

“No, no,” said Saul hurriedly. “Not to-night.”

“Won’t you come up and say good-night to Gertie and Mrs Hampton?”

“No. Say good-night for me.”

Saul caught up his hat and hurried away out into the gloomy suburban road.

“If you miss your train, come back,” shouted the young man.

“Yes, yes, all right,” came back out of the darkness, and then, with bent head, Saul Harrington hurried on, making his way more by instinct than sight toward the station, as he kept on muttering to himself:

“It half maddens me to see them together. Him, the wretched, coarse, drunken savage, wallowing in all that wealth. Will she marry him? I suppose so. No, no. I dared not stay. I felt as if – ”

Saul Harrington looked stealthily round, and then shuddered, as he thought of the loneliness of the place, the hours they spent together, and then walked rapidly on to try and chase away the thoughts which seemed to be hunting him through the darkness of the night.

Meanwhile, George Harrington, Esq, of The Mynns, went back into the study, poured himself out another glass of the whiskey, tossed it off, and walked up into the drawing-room, where he met Gertrude, candle in hand, crossing to the door.

“Ah, Gertie, going to bed?”

“Yes, George. Good-night.”

“Good-night, pet.”

Before she could avoid the embrace, he had taken her in his arms, and kissed her, sending the blood flushing to her temples as she ran out and upstairs, fighting hard to keep back the sobs which struggled for utterance.

As she reached her own room she ran to the washstand to bathe her lips and burning cheeks, seeking to get rid of the foul odour of tobacco and spirits which seemed to cling to them. Then she flung herself upon her knees by her bedside, and buried her face in her hands, sobbing wildly for the sweet illusions of her life, in which a brave, frank young hero from the West had stood out so prominently, seemed to be fading away slowly, one by one.

Chapter Twelve

Late for Dinner

“Ah, Mrs Denton! What have we here?”

It was Mr Hampton who asked the question as he returned one afternoon from town, to find a van in the yard at The Mynns, and some workmen about to leave.

“The men brought down a billiard-table, sir, and have been putting it up in the west room.”

“Oh!”

The old lawyer hung up his hat and coat, and then turned to find the old lady looking at him very piteously.

“Well, Mrs Denton, what is it?”

“Nothing, sir, nothing,” said the old lady; and she sighed as she smothered down her feelings and went away.

“Humph!” ejaculated the lawyer. “Don’t like it, poor old soul.”

He went into the drawing-room, where he found Gertrude seated with his wife.

“Ah, my dear, I was afraid I was late. Not dressed for dinner?”

“No, Mr Hampton; George wished it to be an hour later.”

“Oh! Lawrence is coming, is he not?”

“Yes; and George said he should bring back Mr Saul Harrington. I think I’ll go now and dress.”

She smiled at him as he took and patted her little hand, and he followed her to the door before returning to where Mrs Hampton was seated bolt upright.

“Well?” he said.

“Well?”

“My lord out, then?”

“Yes; gone to some races or something with that beautiful Saul Harrington. He’ll make ducks and drakes of all this money.”

“He has a perfect right to it, my dear. It is his own.”

“Now, Phineas, don’t talk in that cold-blooded way. I am getting terribly uncomfortable.”

“My dear wife, I have already grown terribly uncomfortable, and I want to get back home.”

“He’s going on shockingly, Phineas. Drinks heavily, and Saul encourages him. Don’t you think we ought to do something?”

“No. Impossible.”