The Closed Book: Concerning the Secret of the Borgias

Thus I was compelled to absent myself from the work of excavating in that low-lying fen field a mile beyond the abbey; and at half-past twelve o’clock I alighted from a hansom in Grosvenor Street, and, running up the broad flight of steps to the big portico, rang the bell.

“Yes, sir, her ladyship is expecting you,” was the footman’s response to my inquiry; and without further ceremony he conducted me through the fine hall, filled with magnificent trophies of the chase, and up the wide staircase to a small room on the first floor, wherein, white and haggard, she rose quickly to greet me.

“Oh, Mr Kennedy!” she gasped when the man had closed the door. “I’m so glad to see you safe and well!”

“Why Mr Kennedy?” I asked half-reproachfully.

“Well, Allan, then,” she said, smiling. “But we have no time to lose,” she went on. “I fear that something terrible has occurred; but exactly what, I don’t know.”

“How do you mean? Explain,” I urged excitedly.

“You probably know what occurred down at Crowland last night!” she said. “They obtained the parchment plan, and at once determined to search for the treasure known to be hidden there; but a policeman discovered them and they shot him.”

“I know,” I responded. “And what occurred afterwards?” That was the first time she had mentioned the search for treasure, in any of our talks.

“They returned to London – all three of them.”

“And the woman?”

“What woman?” she inquired, looking me straight in the face.

“The woman who was with them,” I said meaningly, recollecting that her own telegram had been sent from King’s Cross Station.

“I know nothing of her,” was the response. “I’m speaking of my father, Selby, and the hunchback. They returned to London at seven this morning – to Harpur Street.”

“Well?”

“I went there at nine o’clock, but found the house still closed, and could make nobody hear, although I know they entered there about eight o’clock. The blind is now up, and the bear cub is in the window,” she added hoarsely. “There is death in that house!”

“Death! Is that the meaning of that strange sign?” I gasped. “Do you really suspect that some tragedy has been enacted?”

“Yes,” she cried hoarsely. “I fear so. I’ve been there three times this morning and can make nobody hear. Oh, Mr Kennedy, you do not know the awful secret – the terrible – ”

But she stopped herself, as though she feared to tell me all the truth.

“Is it that you fear for your father’s sake?” I inquired, a new light suddenly dawning upon me.

“Yes,” she cried, her white trembling hand upon my arm. “I do fear. Will you go with me to Harpur Street?”

“Most willingly,” I said. “But if you fear a tragedy had we not better seek aid of the police?”

“The police?” she gasped, her face blanching in an instant. “Ah, no! Let us see for ourselves first. The police must know nothing – you understand. We must not arouse suspicion. I know they have returned, because at eleven last night, after they had left for Crowland, all the blinds were down, whereas now one blind is up and the sign is in the window.”

I saw that she was nervous and agitated, and that her suspicions were based, upon some secret knowledge. She believed that some hideous tragedy had occurred in that house of mystery in Harpur Street, and invoked my aid in its elucidation.

“You will not blame me,” she said in a hard voice. “I am culpable, I know, but when you have heard everything and are aware of the extraordinary circumstances which have brought me to what I am, I know you will forgive me and look leniently upon my shortcomings. Promise me you will,” she implored in deep earnestness, taking my hand in hers.

I promised, then she rushed into another room for a moment, and reappeared in hat and jacket. We drove quickly to that short, dismal street in Bloomsbury, and on approaching the house I saw that the dingy Venetian blinds were all down save at that window where showed the mysterious sign.

Having dismissed the cab, we both ascended the dirty, neglected steps, and rang. The bell clanged loudly somewhere in the regions below; but no one stirred. I was in favour of calling an inspector from the nearest police station and telling him of our suspicions, but she would not hear of it.

“No?” she cried, terrified at my suggestion. “The police must know nothing – nothing at all. If they did, then I myself must suffer.”

Her words were, to say the least, very curious. “No,” she went on, “we must try and get in ourselves – force the door or something.”

To force a door of that strong, old-fashioned character was difficult, I saw. The latch, too, was a patent one, with a well-known maker’s name on the keyhole cover – nearly new. To force a front door in a public street in the broad light of day without attracting attention is well-nigh impossible; therefore, instructing her to wait patiently where she was, so as not to arouse suspicion of the neighbours, I waited my opportunity, and then got over the locked gate and went down the steps to the kitchen door in the basement. That, too, was securely fastened; but on examination of the window it struck me that the shutters were only closed to and not bolted. Therefore, I called to my love to go back into Theobald’s Road and purchase a chisel, a glazier’s diamond, and a putty-knife, and bring them to me as soon as possible.

She obeyed at once, and until her return I crouched down beneath the front steps in a spot where the passers-by could not see me. On her return, a quarter of an hour later, she dropped down the tools to me as she walked past the house to the other end of the street.

The door resisted all efforts, therefore I presently turned my attention to the window, at last succeeding in unlatching it with the putty-knife, working back the bolt of the shutters and crawling inside the dirty, dismal kitchen.

At that moment Lady Judith had ascended the steps to the front door; and, groping my way in the semi-darkness up the stairs, I gained the wide old-fashioned hall, and, after some difficulty with the complicated lock, opened the door to her.

Then, together, we went forth to ascertain what mystery that closed and gloomy place contained.

Chapter Thirty Eight

The Room of the Bear Cub

Judith, who was no stranger to that house of mystery, first led me into the front room, where I had once awaited her; but the rays of light that came through the chinks of the closed shutters revealed nothing unusual. It was neglected and dusty, but orderly as before. The room behind was a bedroom, in disorder, with the bed unmade; but there was no occupant.

In eager breathlessness we ascended the stairs to the room in which stood the stuffed bear cub, but found the door locked and the key gone. We looked through the keyhole, but could discern nothing. To our loud raps there was no response.

“We must break it open,” I remarked, seeing no other way. And drawing back I rushed at it, throwing all my force against it.

Once – twice – I repeated the attempt, but in vain. At length, however, my love, in frantic haste to learn the truth, threw her weight against the door at the same instant as mine, and with our combined efforts we succeeded in breaking the cheap lock from its fastenings, and the door giving way, we went head foremost into the long, old-fashioned drawing-room, furnished in faded green rep of a style long since out of date.

The one blind being up gave sufficient light, and next instant our eyes fell upon a scene which filled us both with horror, and caused cries of dismay to break involuntarily from our lips.

Selby was seated in a collapsed position in an arm-chair, his head hanging listlessly upon his breast; while the hunchback, with hands outstretched and tightly clenched, lay face downwards upon the carpet behind the table.

I bent and touched their faces, one after the other. They were cold as marble.

Both men had evidently been dead some hours.

“But my father – my poor father?” wailed Judith. “Where is he? He must be in this house! Let us search.” And she started off frantically from room to room, I following her in breathless amazement at this tragic discovery.

Yet although we searched the garrets and even the cellars, we failed to discover him. He was evidently not there.

Again we ascended the stairs to that room of horror, where the two men lay white and dead, a ghastly sight indeed; and as we re-entered she suddenly complained of an acute pain in her left arm and a curious sensation in the head.

Singularly enough I experienced the very same symptoms in my left arm – very similar, indeed, to those I had felt after examining The Closed Book.

“Ah?” she shrieked, “I know. I ran my hands along the rail on the stairs and felt a scratch. Look at my hand! Look – I – I’m poisoned!”

I glanced at her left hand and saw a slight abrasion of the skin straight across the palm. Then I glanced at my own, and discovered to my dismay that I had received an exactly similar scratch.

“What makes you suspect poisoning!” I demanded quickly. “Do you believe these men have died from the same cause?”