The Ashiel mystery: A Detective Story Read online

  CHAPTER XIII

  By the time he reached the castle, the night was dark indeed. Heapproached it by the path along the burn, and felt his way cautiously upthe steep zigzags of the hill, and past the servants' quarters, where adog barked and gave him an uneasy minute till he found that it was tiedup, and that the noise which issued from a brilliantly lightedwindow--which he guessed to be the servants' hall--did not cease ordiminish on account of it.

  There were no other lights to be seen, and he edged his way round to thefront of the house, which loomed very black and mysterious against theliquid darkness of the moonless sky. A little wind had risen, and thesound of a million leaves rustling gently on the trees of the woodsaround was added to the distant murmur of the burn, so that the nightseemed full of noises, and every bush alive and watching.

  Keeping on the grass, and with every precaution of silence, Gimblet creptalong till he thought he was outside the drawing-room.

  It did not take him long to find the window he had left unlatched thatafternoon, but it was an anxious moment till he made sure that no one hadnoticed it and that it was yet unfastened. If a careful housemaid haddiscovered it and shut it, he would have to begin housebreaking inearnest. Luckily it opened easily at his touch, and he lost no time inclimbing in, though it was rather a tight squeeze through the narrowimitation Gothic mullions, and he was thankful there were no bars as inthe library.

  He had more than once during his career found himself obliged to enterother people's houses in this unceremonious, not to say burglariousfashion. But it was always an exciting experience; and his heart beat atrifle faster than usual as he stood motionless by the window, straininghis ears for the sound of any movement on the part of the household.Nothing stirred, however, and by the help of an occasional gleam from hispocket electric torch Gimblet made his way to the door, and through thedeserted house to the distant passage leading to the old tower. Onceinside the library he breathed more freely, and when, after holding hisbreath for some minutes, he had made certain that the absolute silence ofthe place continued unbroken by any suspicion of noise, he felt saferstill. His first act was to draw the curtains, and to fasten themtogether in the middle with a large safety-pin he had brought for thepurpose. Then, secure from observation, he switched on his torch, placedit on the table with its back to the window, and set about what he hadcome to do.

  As he had not failed to observe, earlier in the day, the book-lined wallsof the library were broken, opposite the window, by a panelled alcovewhere a small table stood, beyond which, against the wall, was a verylarge and tall grandfather's clock of black and gold lacquer, inimitation of the Chinese designs so popular in the eighteenth century.

  Among Lord Ashiel's last words, "The clock" had been uttered immediatelyafter the detective's own name. No doubt they formed part of a message hewished to convey; and, though they might refer to any clock in or out ofthe house, it seemed to Gimblet worth while to begin his investigationswith the one nearest at hand, and he turned his attention to it withoutloss of time.

  Gimblet was a connoisseur of the antique, and a few minutes' examinationproved to him that this was a genuine old clock, untouched by therestorer's hand, and in an excellent state of preservation. The worksappeared all right as far as he could make out, but through the narrowhalf-moon of glass, so often inserted in the cases of old clocks for thepurpose of displaying the pendulum, that article was not to be seen, andhe found that it was missing from inside the case, as were also theweights, so that it was impossible to set it going. There was one oddthing about it, which the detective had already remarked: it was firmlyfixed to the wall by large screws, and he thought that there must be someopening through the back into a receptacle contrived in the panellingbehind it. The case was so large that he was able to get inside it, andexamine inch by inch the wood of the interior, which was lacquered aplain black.

  But his most careful tappings and testings could discover no hiddenspring, nor, even by the help of the electric torch--which he passed allover the smooth surfaces of the walls--could he discern the slightestjoin or crack. Could there be a hiding place up among the wheels of themotionless works? His utmost endeavours could discover none. The clockwas fully eight feet high, but with the help of a stool, which he putinside on the floor of the case, he was able to explore even the topmostcorners. All to no purpose.

  Presently he abandoned that field of research, replaced the stool whencehe had taken it, and gave his attention to the surrounding walls. Heexamined each panel with the most painstaking care, but could findnothing. There was no sign of secret drawer or cupboard anywhere.

  It was disappointing, and he drew back, baffled for the moment

  "The clock--eleven--steps."

  What was the connection between those broken words?

  If eleven o'clock had anything to do with the answer to the riddle, itcould not refer to this particular clock, which pointed unwaveringly tothirteen minutes past four. Could it be possible that at eleven thereappeared some change in its countenance? Was it controlled by someinvisible mechanism? Well, if so, he would witness the transformation,but such a solution did not seem likely. Was there no other meaningapplicable to the words? He would try the last ones and assume thateleven steps from somewhere, the clock, probably, would bring him to thehiding-place where the precious papers had been deposited.

  Placing his heel against the bottom of the black-and-gold case, he walkedforward for eleven paces, which brought him right into the bow of thewindow. Here he bent down, and, with the torch in one hand, and a smallmagnifying lens that he was never without in the other, searched thefloor eagerly for some join in the boards, which should denote the edgeof a trap-door or an opening of some sort.

  He could find none.

  Again and again he tried, till at last he had examined the whole flooringof the embrasure of the window.

  No other part of the room was wide enough to allow him to take elevensteps, and he reluctantly came to the conclusion that he must be on thewrong tack.

  There seemed no more to do but to wait till eleven should strike, in thefaint hope that something would happen then; and Gimblet sat down in oneof the large arm-chairs and prepared for an hour's lonely vigil. He puthis lamp in his pocket and sat in the dark, for he had an uneasy feelingthat Mark might return from the cottage and catch him pursuing hisinvestigations in a way which might not appeal to the averagehouseholder. True, it seemed unlikely that anyone would come so late tothat side of the castle; but one never knew, and the thought of beingcaught at his housebreaking added to the irritation produced by thefailure of his search.

  "The clock--eleven--steppes." What had Lord Ashiel been trying to say?Why in the world had he put off writing till so late? These and likequestions Gimblet asked himself fretfully, as he waited, curled in a deeparm-chair among the black shapes of furniture which loomed around him,indefinite and almost invisible, even to eyes accustomed to the darkness,as his now were.

  Suddenly he raised his head and listened, holding his breath in strainedattention. He had caught the sound of distant footsteps.

  In an instant he was up and had leapt to the window, where his fingersfumbled with the safety-pin that held the curtains together. No tell-talemark of his presence must be left.

  But where should he hide? The sounds were becoming more distinct everysecond; no escape seemed possible. There was no help for it, and he wasbound to be discovered; he must put as good a face on it as he couldcontrive. The person approaching might, after all, not come into thelibrary, but go back again along the passage. It might only be some onecoming to see that the door to the garden was properly bolted.

  These thoughts flashed through the detective's mind so quickly as tobe practically simultaneous, and then almost at the same moment herealized that the footsteps did not come from the passage at all, butfrom under the room he was waiting in. In a flash he had grasped thefull significance of this unexpected fact, and was tiptoeing acrossto the door.

  The handle turned noisel
essly in his fingers, thanks to the precaution hehad taken of oiling it, and he slipped outside.

  In the dark and empty passage he took to his heels and ran swiftly backto the drawing-room, nor paused till he was outside on the lawn oncemore. There he hung for an instant in the wind; bearings must be taken,the nearest way to the enclosed garden decided on, any dangerous reefsthat lay on the way steered clear of. Then he was off again on the newtack. This led him round to the back of the holly hedge, and the archedopening by the gardeners' tool-shed.

  He turned in under it and sped silently over the turf, till he foundhimself outside the door to the old tower. From the library window anarrow shaft of light was issuing out on to the flower-bed.

  Gimblet took off his coat and threw it on to the bed. He put a foot uponone sleeve, and, stooping down, spread the other out in front of him asfar as it would go. Then he stepped upon that one and twisted the coatround under him to repeat the process. In this way he arrived under thewindow without leaving any imprint of his boots upon the soft earth. Oncethere he raised himself cautiously and peered into the room.

  By the writing-table, and so close to him that he could almost havetouched her if they had not been separated by the glass, stood ayoung woman.

  She held a little electric lantern, much like his own, in her left hand,while with the other she turned over the leaves of a bundle of papers. Anopen drawer in the writing-table betrayed whence they had been taken; andshe was so entirely engrossed in what she was about that the detectivefelt little fear of being noticed by her, concealed as he was in theouter darkness.

  He saw that she was short and slight, with a beautiful little head setgracefully upon her upright slender figure. Her expression was proud andself-contained, but the large dark eyes that glowed beneath long blacklashes were in themselves striking evidence of a passionate naturesternly repressed, and an eloquent contradiction to the firm, tightlycompressed lips. Here, thought Gimblet, was a nature which might pursueits object with cold and calculating tenacity, and then at the lastmoment let the prize slip through its fingers at some sudden call uponthe emotions.

  For the time being her thoughts were evidently fixed upon her presentpurpose, to the exclusion of all considerations such as might have beenexpected to obtrude themselves upon the mind of a young girl engaged in anocturnal raid. The dark solitude, the lateness of the hour, thesurreptitious manner of her entry into the room, all these, which mightwell have occasioned some degree of nervousness in the coolest ofhousebreakers, appeared to produce, in her, nothing of the sort. Ascalmly as if she were sitting by her own bedside, she examined thedocuments in Lord Ashiel's bureau, sorting and folding the contents ofone drawer after another as if it were the most commonplace thing in theworld to go over other people's private papers in the dead of night.

  And what was she looking for?

  Gimblet felt no doubt on that subject. This could surely be no other thanJulia, the adopted daughter of Countess Romaninov, whom Lord Ashiel hadfor so long supposed to be his daughter. In some way or other she musthave discovered the problematic relationship, and now she was hunting forproof of her birth, or perhaps for the will which should deprive her ofher inheritance. It was even possible that the dead peer had beenmistaken, and that Julia was indeed his daughter and not unaware of thefact. But what was she doing here, and where did she come from? SurelyJuliet had told him that all the guests had left the castle.

  Gimblet had never seen her before; but, as he watched her slowdeliberate movements and quick intelligent eyes, he had an odd feelingthat they were already acquainted. She reminded him of some one; how, hecouldn't say. Perhaps it was the features, perhaps merely theexpression, but if they had never previously met, at least he must haveseen some one she resembled. Rack his brains as he might, he could notremember who it was. He put the thought aside. Sooner or later therecollection would come to him.

  The night was a warm one, and Gimblet felt no need for his coat, thoughhe was a little uneasy lest his white shirt should show up against thedark background if she should chance to look out. Behind him the trees inthe wood stirred noisily and untiringly in the wind, and from time totime an owl cried out of the gloom; but no sound from within the castlereached his ears throughout the long hour during which he stood watchingwhile deftly and methodically the young lady in the library went abouther business. He wondered if this girl, who stealthily, in the night, bythe gleam of a pocket lantern, was engaged in such questionableemployment, were unwarrantably ransacking the belongings of her formerhost, or believed herself to be exercising a daughter's right in goingover the papers of a dead parent.

  The time came when the last paper was examined, the last drawer quietlypushed back into its place; then, with every sign of disappointment, sheslowly rose, and taking up her torch made the tour of the room as ifdebating whether she had not left some corner unexplored. But the librarywas scantily furnished, apart from the books that lined the walls, andthough she drew more than one volume from its place, and thrust a handinto the back of the shelf, it was with a dispirited air. Soon, with aglance at her watch, she abandoned the search, and slowly andhesitatingly moved in the direction of the door and laid her fingers uponthe handle.

  She did not turn it, however, but stood irresolute, her eyes on thefloor. After a moment of indecision, the detective saw her mouth compressfirmly, and with a quick movement of the head, as if she were shakingherself free from some persistent and troublesome thought, she turnedand walked deliberately towards the alcove at the end of the room.

  "Now," thought Gimblet, "we shall see where the secret door isconcealed."

  Judge of his surprise and excitement, when the girl stopped before thetall case of the lacquered clock and, opening it, stepped inside and drewthe door to behind her. For five minutes, with nose pressed to the paneof the window, the detective waited, expecting her to reappear; then anidea struck him, and he clapped his hand against his leg in hisexasperation at not having guessed before.

  He turned immediately, and using the same precautions as before madegood his retreat, and returned by way of the drawing-room window tothe library.

  All was silent there, and the empty room displayed no sign of itsnocturnal visitors. Gimblet did not hesitate. He went straight to theclock and pulled open the door. The black interior was as empty and bareas when he had previously examined it, but he betrayed neitherastonishment nor doubt as to his next action.

  Stooping down he ran his hand over the painted wooden flooring. As heexpected, his fingers encountered a small knob in one of the corners,and he had no sooner pressed it when the whole bottom of the case fellsuddenly away beneath his touch. As he stretched down the hand that heldthe electric torch, the light fell upon an open trap-door and thetopmost step of a narrow flight of stairs, which descended into thethickness of the wall.

  Gimblet stepped into the case, and lowered himself quickly through thehole at the bottom.

  The stairs proved to be but a short flight, ending in a low passage,which wound away through the wall of the ancient building. Thedetective felt little doubt that it led to another concealed opening insome distant part of the castle. But he had other things to think offor the moment.

  "The clock--eleven--steps." The meaning of Lord Ashiel's dying words was,he thought, plain enough now.

  Running up the stairs again, he descended more slowly, counting thetreads as he went.

  There were fifteen.

  Gimblet bent down and held his torch so that the light fell bright uponthe eleventh step.

  It presented identically the same appearance as the rest, the rough-hewnstone dipping slightly in the middle as if many feet had trodden it inthe course of the centuries which had elapsed since it was first placedthere, but in every respect the worn surface resembled those of the stepsabove and below it, as far as Gimblet could see.

  He tapped it, and it gave forth the same sound as its neighbours. Then helowered the torch and ran its beams along the front of the step; high up,under the overhanging edge of
the tread above it, it seemed as if therewere a flaw or crack in the stone. He knocked upon it, and it gave back adifferent sound to the stone around it.

  Clearly it was wood, not stone, though so cleverly painted to imitate itssurroundings that it was a thousand to one against anyone ever noticingit; and yes, there was a little circular depression in the middle of it.Gimblet's thumb pressed heavily against the place, and immediately therewas a click, and a long narrow drawer flew out.

  In it lay a single sheet of paper, and Gimblet's fingers shook withexcitement as he drew it forth.

  A moment's pause while he perused the writing upon it, and then theexultation on his face dwindled away. He could perceive no meaning inthese apparently random sentences.

  "Remember that where there's a way there's a will. Face curiosity andtake the bull by the horn."

  Was this the cipher, of which he had never received the key? The papershe had hoped to find must be hidden elsewhere. No doubt in some placewhose whereabouts was indicated, if he could only understand it, by theincomprehensible message he held.

  He stared at it for some minutes in an endeavour to find the translation;then, reflecting that this was neither the time nor place for decipheringcryptograms, he placed it carefully in an inner pocket, and after a hastyexploration of the passage beyond which did not reveal anythinginteresting except from an archaeological point of view, he thoughtfullymounted to the room above.

  Closing the trap-door, and making sure that everything in the library wasleft as he had found it, Gimblet made his exit from the castle in thesame manner as he had entered it, and groped his silent way home throughthe darkness.

  A convenient creeper made it easy to climb on to the porch of Lady Ruth'shouse, now wrapped in peaceful slumber; and so in at his own window oncemore. The noise of the wind, which had now freshened to the strength ofhalf a gale, drowned any sound of his return, and he lost no time ingetting to bed and to sleep. The puzzle must keep till to-morrow. It wasone of Gimblet's rules to take proper rest when it was at all possible,for he knew that his work suffered if he came to it physically exhausted.