Parlous Times: A Novel of Modern Diplomacy

"No, no," he replied, waving him off, and slowly rising from the floor, covered with dust.

"By Jove!" exclaimed the Lieutenant. "How did you ever do it?"

"Don't know, I'm sure," replied Riddle, emerging from the portal, and vigorously brushing himself. "As I told you, the nails, or some of them, felt loose – I pushed them, and the next thing I knew the door revolved and I was on the floor."

"You're a genius!" exclaimed Kingsland. "But," peering down into the darkness of the tower, "where's Darcy's letter?"

"We need a little light on the subject," said Mr. Riddle. Stepping to the fireplace, he lighted an old wrought-iron sconce, full of candles, which stood on the broad mantelshelf, and approached the secret door.

In the light of the candles, all could see that, except for the little space into which he had fallen, the whole interior of the tower was filled by a narrow stone staircase, which, in its ascent, half turned upon itself. Of the missing document, however, there was not a trace. The stillness in the great hall was oppressive. Even their own footsteps on the stones seemed, to the hearers, preternaturally loud.

Mr. Riddle raised the sconce above his head, and there burst on a sudden a shimmering flash of a thousand prismatic colours from the head of the staircase. He fell back a step, as did the others, and Kingsland murmured in awe-struck tones: —

"What's that?"

Riddle again raised the sconce, and again the burst of light from the head of the stairs overwhelmed him, but this time he stood his ground.

"What is it?" asked Kent-Lauriston.

"I don't know."

"Let us examine."

"As far as I can make out, it's a flexible curtain of chain mail – hung across the staircase."

"I swear it moved," said the Lieutenant.

"No, it was the light which moved," replied the discoverer. "You see," and he swayed the sconce from side to side, making the curtain appear to be moving silently.

"If I take the light away," he continued, "there's nothing to be seen;" and he removed the sconce, leaving only the black mass of the steel curtain visible.

"Nothing to be seen – isn't there? Look there!" whispered Kingsland, and, following the direction of his eyes, the others saw a broad band of blood-red light steal out of the blackness, across the steps at the head of the staircase.

"That room has been closed for centuries, and yet there is a light burning," he continued hoarsely. "Shut the door, my dear fellow, and let's get away."

"It merely confirms another theory of mine," said Riddle, "which is, that, as there are no windows on the outside of the tower, they must have got their light and ventilation from the roof. I think it's fair to suppose that they used red glass, and that the full moon is shining through it."

"Then you can go and prove it if you like, but if you take my advice, you'd better leave it alone."

"I don't like, my dear Kingsland, though I'm going, just the same. I daresay I shall find something very nasty at the head of the stairs, but it won't be supernatural. If I want you, I'll call you. If not, wait till I come back." Putting down the sconce, he slipped off his dress coat, and crossing the hall, picked up a stout hunting crop, the property of the Lieutenant, while his two companions stood staring at the blood-red band of light which lay across the steps, and which seemed to their excited imagination to grow broader and deeper.

"What do you think he'll find up there?" asked Kingsland.

Kent-Lauriston shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't wish to think," he replied. "But I'm certain that, to this very day, there lie hidden away in some of our old country houses the ghastliest secrets of mediæval times, the fruit of crimes and passions, of which, happily, even the names have perished."

"What's that?" said the young officer, laying his hand on his companion's arm, and in the silence both distinctly heard the click of a latch, and facing round at the same moment, confronted the white face of Colonel Darcy, framed in the hall door.

In an instant he was at their side, drawing a quick hissing breath and exclaiming: —

"It's open. Where's my letter?"

"There is no letter," said Kingsland gruffly. "But you gave us a jolly good start, creeping in. This ghost business sets one's nerves all on edge."

"Who opened the door?"

"I did," said Mr. Riddle, coming up just at that moment.

"Ah! Then you have my letter."

"No, I haven't seen a trace of it. It may be up aloft."

"I believe there's some living object up aloft," said Kingsland. "If you take my advice, you'll shut the door, and leave it and the letter in perpetual seclusion."

"I don't care whether it's a man or a devil!" cried Darcy, who, whatever else may be said of him, did not know the meaning of fear. And as he spoke, he set one foot upon the lower step.

"Hold on!" cried Kent-Lauriston. "There's something up there, and, what's more, it's coming down." And as he spoke, a sound was heard in the long closed chamber, and as the listeners held their breath, something slowly approached the steel curtain, which swung out noiselessly as if waving in a ghostly wind.

CHAPTER XXXIV

WITHIN THE TOWER

Stanley's first thought as he hung suspended over the gulf, when the plate had so treacherously revolved, was of self-preservation. And, indeed, he had need to think, for it seemed highly probable that within the next few minutes he might be dashed to pieces on the floor of the secret chamber, forty feet below. To pull himself up over that slippery stone was, he found, a sheer impossibility. To let go of his precarious hold and drop to the bottom of the well was certain death. Yet the sharp edges of the plate were already cutting into his hands, and it could only be a matter of a few moments when his arms would refuse to support any longer the weight of his body. Evidently he must find some means of escape from these two alternatives, and that right speedily, or for him the end of all things would be at hand. Below him the wall stretched smooth as glass. No vine grew upon it to which he might cling, no crevice in which he might put his foot. He cast his eye round in a wild search for some possible means of salvation, and, as he did so, he saw one infinitesimal chance of escape. So slight was it, that no one, in less desperate straits, would have dared to take the risk, but he had no choice.

He had noticed, when taking his precarious walk along the edge of the battlements, that an old rusty iron chain was loosely twisted round the bar which stretched across the diameter of the well, about on a level with where he hung suspended. It might be possible, springing into the air, to catch the end of this chain, which terminated in a ring. He had done that sort of thing more than once in gymnasiums, though under very much more favourable conditions. Even if he succeeded in catching the ring in his flight, he might only find himself in a worse position. The chain might refuse to unwind from the bar, or the whole contrivance, rusted by years of exposure, might snap under his weight. But even if this were so, he reflected, he could but drop to the bottom of the well, which he was bound to do in any event, if he stayed where he was, while every foot that the chain unrolled before breaking was twelve inches less for him to fall. Evidently there was not an instant to lose, for his fingers were already getting stiff and numb with the tension they were undergoing. So, setting his teeth, he sprang into the air, on this last desperate venture. For one horrid second he felt the ring which his fingers touched, slipping through his grasp. Then with one supreme effort, he crooked his hand through it, and swung suspended by one arm. A moment later, he had brought his other hand to his aid. But scarcely had he steadied himself, when the bar, round which the chain was wound, and which evidently worked in a socket, began to revolve. It was rusty and out of gear, and as it let him down, it gave him the most frightful series of jerks, which seemed to dislocate every bone in his body. It would let out three or four feet of chain at lightning speed, and then, catching in its rusty gearings, would stop with a racking jerk, remaining still perhaps a whole minute, before it moved on again, to repeat the operation. Moreover, as he got farther and farther down the well, and there was a greater length of chain above him, it began to oscillate frightfully, twirling him round in one direction till his head swam, and then reversing the operation. All tortures must come to an end, however, and when he was ten feet from the bottom of the well, a corroded link snapped, and he dropped the remaining distance like a log, bringing down thirty feet of iron chain on top of him.

The blow which he received rendered him instantly unconscious, and it was hours later before he came to himself. His first knowledge of the world and things in general was a realisation that in some mysterious way the entire firmament was divided in half by a black band, and it was only as his brain became a little clearer that he realised that he was lying on his back looking up at the rim of the well. He sat up, and examined himself critically. He had evidently cut his head slightly, for it was still bleeding. Moreover, he was black and blue from head to foot, but he was rejoiced to find, after a careful examination, that no bones were broken, nor had he even suffered a sprain, and in a few moments he was able to stand upright.

His position, however, was none the less precarious. The breaking of the chain had ended for ever any chance of his ascending the tower, and he must either effect an entrance through the roof or depend on the very uncertain chance of attracting notice from without, to escape starvation.

Lying face down on the floor of the roof, he tried to look out of the little holes in the mouths of the gargoyles, but could see nothing, and from the appearance of the sky over his head, he judged that it must be growing dark. This reminded him of his bicycle lamp, which a hasty examination proved to be intact, and feeling that he would at least have light for his investigations, was a great source of comfort to him.

His next procedure was to examine the roof. Here, fate once more befriended him, for he very quickly found a trap-door and, moreover, was able to lift it. Looking down he could see nothing but utter darkness. However, this did not deter him, and he hastily made his arrangements for further investigation, first taking the precaution to light a match and drop it into the opening. It fell, about ten or twelve feet, evidently striking the floor and burning there a minute or two before it went out. It revealed nothing but surrounding darkness, but it apprised him of the fact he was most desirous to know, that the atmosphere was not mephitical. He determined, nevertheless, to take his time about descending, and left the trap-door wide open, so that as much fresh air might get in as possible.

In the interval he amused himself by taking off one of his socks and unravelling it as best he could. Weaving a cord with the thread thus obtained, he lowered his bicycle lantern, which he had lighted, into the room below, swinging it gently back and forwards. Its glancing rays told him that the apartment was entirely bare and deserted, and showed him also a narrow wooden ladder, black with age, leading up to the trap-door above which he stood. Drawing up the light, he took it in his hand, and being cautious after his recent experience, reached down and tested each round of the ladder most carefully. To his surprise it held his weight, and a moment later he was on the floor of the secret chamber.

The apartment had no secrets to reveal. It was absolutely bare, and empty of anything except a broken old sconce lying in a corner. The whole room, however, was indescribably dusty and musty, and he was very thankful to push aside a curtain of chain mail and descend the staircase.

At its foot he saw lying the coveted papers. Forgetful of everything else, he sat down upon the lowest step, and by the light of his lantern proceeded to examine them. They more than fulfilled his utmost expectations. There was a complete cipher and its key, a full list of the members of the cabinet who were to pass upon the treaty, with comments on each, and a memorandum of the amounts to be given to certain of them, coupled with suggestions as to the attitude which Darcy should take towards others, together with precise instructions as to the carrying out of the plot; the whole signed by Riddle in the interests of the firm. The evidence was complete, and Stanley gasped as he realised the advantage of this tremendous stroke of luck. One fact which his perusal had elicited caused him to draw a long sigh of relief. Miss Fitzgerald's name was not mentioned in the incriminating document, and so much did he wish to believe her innocent, that in spite of all accumulated evidence, he felt a sense of exultation that he could still, if worst came to worst, shield her from the effects of her own folly. He told himself that he might, after all, prove to the satisfaction of his own conscience that she was innocent of criminal intent. Darcy he would have no mercy for. He must be punished for his crime, and the fact of his being the criminal would give Inez her freedom, and then – Ah! but if Belle Fitzgerald was innocent – was he not in honour bound to her? And at that moment he realised that he had mistaken pity for love, that Darcy possessed the woman in the world most worth having, and that he was unworthy of her.

His meditations were interrupted by the sound of voices near him. Somebody laid a hand on the other side of the door. They were tampering with it again, and, for more reasons than one, he wanted the fact of his having gained entrance to the tower to remain a secret. Putting the letter in his inside pocket, he softly retraced his steps to the upper chamber.

To his consternation, he had scarcely reached there when the door below was opened. How this had been effected, he did not know. He had been so interested in the documents, that he had had no time to examine the mechanism of the portal. At first he heard only the voices of Riddle and Kingsland. Fearing that the conspirators only were present, and that, being three to one, he might be overpowered, and his precious evidence wrested from him, he endeavoured, by the agitation of the steel curtain and the red light of his lamp, to contrive such ghostly illusions, as should serve to deter them from investigating the upper portions of the tower. It can be imagined therefore what a welcome relief Kent-Lauriston's tones were to him, and the instant he knew that his friend was below, he felt perfectly safe from an attack by force. He therefore lost no time in descending, his footsteps producing, as we have seen, a most startling effect on those below.

Kent-Lauriston was the first to recognise him, and seeing at a glance that his clothes were torn and spotted with blood, he sprang forward to assist his friend and helped him into the hall.

"Where's my letter, you thief?" cried Darcy.