The Ashiel Mystery by Mrs. Charles Bryce (mini ebook reader TXT) 📕

leather-bound volume,

shake it, turn over the leaves, and put it back in its place after

groping with her hand at the back of the shelf. Plainly she was hunting

for something. But for what? She had no business where she was, in any

case, and Juliet's indignation gathered and swelled within her as she

watched this unwarrantable intrusion.

 

She would confront the girl and ask her what she meant by such behaviour.

But how to get into the library?

 

Looking about her, she saw that the streak of light in the wall beside

her came through a perpendicular crack which might well be the edge of a

little door.

 

She pushed gently and the wood yielded to her fingers. 

CHAPTER XVIII

 

Later on in the afternoon, when Gimblet arrived at the castle, he was

immediately shown into the presence of Lord Ashiel, who was pacing the

smoking-room restlessly, a cigarette between his teeth. He looked pale

and haggard, the strain of the last few days had evidently been too

much for him.

 

Gimblet greeted him sympathetically.

 

"You have not found your uncle's will, I can see," he began, "and you are

fretting at the idea of keeping his daughter out of her fortune. But set

your mind at rest; we shall be able to put that right. Is she here, by

the way?" he added, remembering Lady Ruth's anxiety.

 

"Here, of course not! What do you mean?" cried Mark, stopping suddenly

in his walk.

 

"Well, I was sure she was not," Gimblet replied, "but I promised to ask.

Lady Ruth is rather upset because Miss Byrne did not come in to lunch. I

told her she had probably gone for a longer walk than had been her

intention," he added soothingly, for Mark was looking at him with a

disturbed expression.

 

He seemed relieved, however, by the detective's suggestion.

 

"Yes, no doubt, that would be the reason," he murmured, lighting a fresh

cigarette, and throwing himself down in an easy-chair, with his hands

clasped behind his head. "No, I haven't found any will, and there's not

a corner left that I haven't turned inside out. I suppose he never really

made it. Just talked about it, probably, as people are so fond of doing.

And now I'm at a loose end; all alone in this big house with no one to

speak to and nothing to do with myself. It's a beast of a day, or I

should go out and try for a salmon, in self-defence. To-morrow I shall go

South. And you, have you found out anything new about the murder yet?"

 

"I have found out one thing which you will be glad to hear," said

Gimblet, "and that is the place where the missing will is concealed."

 

"What!" cried Mark, leaping to his feet. "Where is it? What does it say?

Give it to me!"

 

"I haven't got it," Gimblet told him. "I don't know what it says, but I

know where to look for it. It is in the statue your uncle put up on the

track known as the Green Way. I have found a memorandum of his which sets

the matter beyond a doubt."

 

And he related at length the story of the half-sheet of paper with the

mysterious writing, and of how he had learnt by accident of the manner in

which the statue fitted in with the obscure directions, omitting nothing

except the fact that he had already acted on the information so far as to

make certain of the actual existence of the tin box, and saying that he

should prefer the papers to be brought to light in the presence of a

magistrate.

 

"I believe there are other documents there besides the will," he said,

without troubling to explain what excellent reasons he had for such a

belief. "I understood from your uncle that there might be some of an

almost international importance. In case any dispute should subsequently

arise about them, I wish to have more than one reliable witness to their

being found. Can you send a man over to the lodge at Glenkliquart, and

ask General Tenby to come back with him. I am told that he is a

magistrate."

 

Gimblet did not think it necessary to relate how he had obtained

possession of the sheet of paper bearing the injunction to "face

curiosity." His adventures on that night savoured too strongly of

house-breaking to be drawn attention to.

 

"Your uncle must have posted it to me in London the day before he died,"

he said mendaciously. "It was forwarded here, and at first I could make

neither head nor tail of it."

 

"Why didn't you tell me?" Mark asked impatiently. "And yet," he added

reflecting, "I might not have seen to what it referred. Yes, of course I

will send over for General Tenby. He can't come for three or four hours,

though, which will make it rather late. Are you sure we had not better

open the thing sooner? The bull's horn at the south-east corner turns

like a key, you say? Suppose some one else finds that out and makes off

with whatever may be hidden there."

 

"I am absolutely sure we needn't fear anything of the sort, because I

have the best of reasons for being positive that no one has the slightest

inkling of the secret," Gimblet assured him. "There is a whole gang of

scoundrels after the document of which your uncle told me, who are ready

to spend any money, or risk any penalty, in order to obtain it. They will

not be deterred even by having to pay for it with their lives. You may be

quite sure that if anyone had suspected where it was concealed, it would

not have been allowed to remain there, and we should find the _cache_

empty. But we may safely argue that they have not found it, since in that

case they certainly would not hang about the neighbourhood."

 

"Do you mean to say," cried Mark, "that you think there are any of

these Nihilist people lurking about? That letter which came for

Uncle Douglas--the letter from Paris--I guessed it meant something

of the sort."

 

"There is a foreigner staying at Crianan," said Gimblet, "whom I have

every reason to suspect. More than that, there has been a Russian in your

very midst who, I am afraid, you will be shocked to hear, is hand in

glove with him."

 

"Whom do you mean?" exclaimed Mark, "not--not Julia Romaninov?" It seemed

to the detective that he winced as he uttered the name of the girl.

Silently Gimblet bowed his head, and for a minute the two men stood

without a word. "Then," stammered Mark, "you think that she--that

she--Oh," he cried, "I can hardly believe that!"

 

Gimblet did not reply, but after a few moments walked over to the

writing-table and spread out a piece of notepaper. He kept his back

turned towards the young man, who seemed thankful for an opportunity to

recover his composure.

 

His face was still working nervously, however, when at length the

detective turned and held out a pen towards him.

 

"Will you not write at once to General Tenby?" he suggested.

 

Mark sat down before the blotting-pad.

 

"He will be at home," he said mechanically. "This weather will have

driven them in early if they have been shooting."

 

The note was written and dispatched by a groom on horseback, and then

Gimblet bade au revoir to his host at the door of the castle.

 

"I will go back to the cottage," he said; "I have an accumulation of

correspondence that absolutely must be attended to, and I do not think

there is anything to be done up here before General Tenby comes. Once we

have the Nihilist papers in our hands I have a little plan by which I

think our birds may be trapped. Will you meet me at the cottage at

half-past six? The General will have to pass it on the way to

Inverashiel, and we can stop him as he goes by."

 

"It will be about seven o'clock, I expect," said Mark, "when he gets down

from Glenkliquart. I'll be with you before he is. The Lord knows how I

shall get through the time till he comes. I loathe writing letters, but

this afternoon I'm dashed if I don't almost envy you and your

correspondence."

 

"I know it is the waiting that tells on one," Gimblet said, his voice

full of kindly sympathy. "What you want is to get right away from this

place. Its associations must be horrible to you. No one could really be

astonished if you never set foot in it again."

 

Mark laughed rather bitterly.

 

"That's just what I feel like," he said shortly. "My uncle killed; my

cousin arrested; my friend accused. Miss Byrne refusing to let me behave

decently to her about the money. Oh well," he pulled himself up, and

spoke in a more guarded tone, "one gets used to everything in time, no

doubt, but just at present, I'm afraid, I am rather depressing company.

See you later."

 

They went their ways, Gimblet going forth into the drenching rain which

was now falling down the road, through the soaking woodlands to the

cottage, where the Crianan policemen still smoked their pipes

undisturbed. Lady Ruth met him at the gate, running down in her

waterproof when she saw him approaching.

 

"Where is Juliet?" she cried. "Wasn't she at Inverashiel?"

 

"Hasn't she come back?" asked Gimblet, answering her question by another.

 

"No sign of her. What can have happened? Mr. Gimblet, I am really getting

dreadfully anxious. She must have gone on to the hills and lost her way

in the mist."

 

"She is sure to get back in time," Gimblet tried to reassure her, though

he himself was beginning to wonder at the girl's absence. "Perhaps," he

added, "she is at Mrs. Clutsam's. I daresay that's the truth of it."

 

"She can't be there," Lady Ruth answered. "Mrs. Clutsam told me she was

going out all day, to-day, to visit her husband's sister who is staying

somewhere twenty miles from here on the Oban road, and longing, of

course, to hear all about the murder at first hand. Relations are so

exacting, and if they are relations-in-law they become positive Shylocks.

Juliet may have gone to the lodge though, all the same, and stayed to

keep the Romaninov girl company."

 

She seemed to be satisfied with this explanation; and Gimblet had tea

with her, and then went to write his letters.

 

Soon after six one of the policemen went down to the high road to lie in

wait for General Tenby, and about twenty minutes past the hour wheels

rattled on the gravel of the short carriage-drive, and the General drove

up to the door. He was a tall, soldierly-looking man of between fifty and

sixty, with a red face and a keen blue eye, and a precise, jerky manner.

 

"Ah, Lady Ruth! Glad to see you bearing up so well under these tragic

circumstances," he said, shaking hands with that lady, who came to the

door to welcome him. "Poor Ashiel ought to have had shutters to his

windows. Dreadful mistake, no shutters: lets in draughts and colds in the

head, if nothing worse. These old houses are all the same. No safety in

them from anything. Young McConachan wrote me an urgent note to come

over. Don't quite see what for, but here I am. Eh? What do you say? Oh,

detective from London, is it? How d'ye do? Perhaps you can tell me what

the programme is?"

 

"Young Lord Ashiel promised to meet us here at half-past six," Gimblet

told him. "We expect to put our hands on some important documents, and I

was anxious you should be present."

 

"Quite unnecessary. Absolutely ridiculous. Still, here I am. May as well

come along."

 

The General went on talking to Lady Ruth, but after a few minutes the

inspector from Crianan sent in to ask if he could speak to him, and they

retired together to Lady Ruth's little private sitting-room, where they

remained closeted for some time. While the old soldier was listening to

what the policeman had to tell him, Gimblet began to show signs of

restlessness.