The House of Whispers

The woman shrank from him. Her face had blanched. She saw that he was equally as determined as she was desperate. James Flockart always kept his threats. He was by no means a man to trifle with.

For a moment she was thoughtful, then she laughed defiantly in his face.

"Speak! Say what you will. But if you do, you suffer with me."

"You say that exposure is imminent," he remarked. "How did the girl manage to return to Glencardine?"

"With Walter's aid. He went down to Woodnewton. What passed between them I have no idea. I only returned the day before yesterday from the South.

All I know is that the girl is back with her father, and that he knows much more than he ought to know."

"Murie could not have assisted her," Flockart declared decisively. "The old man suspects him of taking those Russian papers from the safe."

"How do you know he hasn't cleared himself of the suspicion? He may have done. The old man dotes upon the girl."

"I know all that."

"And she may have turned upon you, and told the truth about the safe incident. That's more than likely."

"She dare not utter a word."

"You're far too self-confident. It is your failing."

"And when, pray, has it failed? Tell me."

"Never, until the present moment. Your bluff is perfect, yet there are moments when it cannot aid you, depend upon it. She told me one night long ago, in my own room, when she had disobeyed, defied, and annoyed me, that she would never rest until Sir Henry knew the truth, and that she would place before him proofs of the other affair. She has long intended to do this; and now, thanks to your attitude of passive inertness, she has accomplished her intentions."

"What!" he gasped in distinct alarm, "has she told her father the truth?"

"A telegram I received from Sir Henry late last night makes it only too plain that he knows something," responded the unhappy woman, staring straight before her. "It is your fault—your fault!" she went on, turning suddenly upon her companion again. "I warned you of the danger long ago."

Flockart stood motionless. The announcement which the woman had made staggered him.

Felix Krail had come to him in Paris, and after some hesitation, and with some reluctance, had described how he had followed the girl along the Nene bank and thrown her into the deepest part of the river, knowing that she would be hampered by her skirts and that she could not swim. "She will not trouble us further. Never fear!" he had said. "It will be thought a case of suicide through love. Her mental depression is the common talk of the neighbourhood."

And yet the girl was safe and now home again at Glencardine! He reflected upon the ugly facts of "the other affair" to which her ladyship sometimes referred, and his face went ashen pale.

Just at the moment when success had come to them after all their ingenuity and all their endeavours—just at a moment when they could demand and obtain what terms they liked from Sir Henry to preserve the secret of the financial combine—came this catastrophe.

"Felix was a fool to have left his work only half-done," he remarked aloud, as though speaking to himself.

"What work?" asked the hollow-eyed woman eagerly. But he did not satisfy her. To explain would only increase her alarm and render her even more desperate than she was.

"Did I not tell you often that, from her, we had all to fear?" cried the woman frantically. "But you would not listen. And now I am—I'm face to face with the inevitable. Disaster is before me. No power can avert it. The girl will have a bitter and terrible revenge."

"No," he cried quickly, with fierce determination. "No, I'll save you, Winnie. The girl shall not speak. I'll go up to Glencardine to-night and face it out. You will come with me."

"I!" gasped the shrinking woman. "Ah, no. I—I couldn't. I dare not face him. You know too well I dare not!"

CHAPTER XXXV

DISCLOSES A SECRET

The grey mists were still hanging upon the hills of Glencardine, although it was already midday, for it had rained all night, and everywhere was damp and chilly.

Gabrielle, in her short tweed skirt, golf-cape, and motor-cap, had strolled, with Walter Murie at her side, from the house along the winding path to the old castle. From the contented expression upon her pale, refined countenance, it was plain that happiness, to a great extent, had been restored to her.

When he had gone to Woodnewton it was to fetch her back to Glencardine. He had asked for an explanation, it was true; but when she had refused one he had not pressed it. That he was puzzled, sorely puzzled, was apparent.

At first, Sir Henry had point-blank refused to receive his daughter. But on hearing her appealing voice he had to some extent relented; and, though strained relations still existed between them, yet happiness had come to her in the knowledge that Walter's affection was still as strong as ever.

Young Murie had, of course, heard from his mother the story told by Lady Heyburn concerning the offence of her stepdaughter. But he would not believe a single word against her.

They had been strolling slowly, and she had been speaking expressing her heartfelt thanks for his action in taking her from that life of awful monotony at Woodnewton. Then he, on his part, had pressed her soft hand and repeated his promise of lifelong love.

They had entered the old grass-grown courtyard of the castle, when suddenly she exclaimed, "How I wish, Walter, that we might elucidate the secret of the Whispers!"

"It certainly would be intensely interesting if we could," he said, "The most curious thing is that my old friend Edgar Hamilton, who is secretary to the well-known Baron Conrad de Hetzendorf, tells me that a similar legend is current in connection with the old château in Hungary. He had heard the Whispers himself."

"Most remarkable!" she exclaimed, gazing blankly around at the ponderous walls about her.

"My idea always has been that beneath where we are standing there must be a chamber, for most mediaeval castles had a subterranean dungeon beneath the courtyard."

"Ah, if we could only find entrance to it!" cried the girl enthusiastically. "Shall we try?"

"Have you not often tried, and failed?" he asked laughingly.

"Yes, but let's search again," she urged. "My strong belief is that entrance is not to be obtained from this side, but from the glen down below."

"Yes, no doubt in the ages long ago the hill was much steeper than it now is, and there were no trees or undergrowth. On that side it was impregnable. The river, however, in receding, silted up much earth and boulders at the bend, and has made the ascent possible."

Together they went to a breach in the ponderous walls and peered down into the ancient river-bed, now but a rippling burn.

"Very well," replied Murie, "let us descend and explore."

So they retraced their steps until, when about half-way to the house, they left the path and went down to the bottom of the beautiful glen until they were immediately beneath the old castle.

The spot was remote and seldom visited. Few ever came there, for it was approached by no path on that side of the burn, so that the keepers always passed along the opposite bank. They had no necessity to penetrate there. Besides, it was too near the house.

Through the bracken and undergrowth, passing by big trees that in the ages had sprung up from seedlings dropped by the birds or sown by the winds, they slowly ascended to the frowning walls far above—the walls that had withstood so many sieges and the ravages of so many centuries.

Half a dozen times the girl's skirt became entangled in the briars, and once she tore her cape upon some thorns. But, enjoying the adventure, she went on, Walter going first and clearing a way for her as best he could.

"Nobody has ever been up here before, I'm quite certain," Gabrielle cried, halting, breathless, for a moment. "Old Stewart, who says he knows every inch of the estate, has never climbed here, I'm sure."

"I don't expect he has," declared her lover.

At last they found themselves beneath the foundations of one of the flanking-towers of the castle walls, whereupon he suggested that if they followed the wall right along and examined it closely they might discover some entrance.