The Ashiel Mystery, Mrs. Charles Bryce [e novels to read online .txt] 📗

thoughtfully

mounted to the room above.

 

Closing the trap-door, and making sure that everything in the library was

left as he had found it, Gimblet made his exit from the castle in the

same manner as he had entered it, and groped his silent way home through

the darkness.

 

A convenient creeper made it easy to climb on to the porch of Lady Ruth's

house, now wrapped in peaceful slumber; and so in at his own window once

more. The noise of the wind, which had now freshened to the strength of

half a gale, drowned any sound of his return, and he lost no time in

getting to bed and to sleep. The puzzle must keep till to-morrow. It was

one 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.

CHAPTER XIV

 

Gimblet was up early next morning, refreshed by a sound and

dreamless sleep.

 

For two hours before breakfast he wrestled with the cryptic message on

the sheet of paper, trying first one way and then another of solving the

riddle it presented, but still finding no solution. He was silent and

preoccupied during the morning meal, replying to inquiries as to his

headache, alternately, with obvious inattention and exaggerated

gratitude. Neither of the ladies spoke much, however, and his

absent-mindedness passed almost unnoticed.

 

Lord Ashiel was to be buried that day. Before they left the dining-room

sombre figures could be seen striding along the high road towards

Inverashiel: inhabitants of the scattered villages, and people from the

neighbouring estates, hurrying to show their respect to the dead peer for

the last time.

 

The tragic circumstances of the murder had aroused great excitement all

over the countryside, and a large gathering assembled at the little

island at the head of the loch, where the McConachans had left their

bones since the early days of the youth of the race.

 

From the surrounding glens, from distant hills and valleys, and even from

far-away Edinburgh and Oban, came McConachans, to render their final

tribute to the head of the clan. It was surprising to see how large was

the muster; for the most part a company of tall, thin men, with lean

faces and drooping wisps of moustache.

 

To a mournful dirge on the pipes, Ashiel was laid in his rocky grave, and

the throng of black-garmented people was ferried back the way it had

come. Gimblet, wrapped to the ears in a thick overcoat, and with a silk

scarf wound high round his neck, shivered in the cold air, for the wind

had veered to the north, and the first breath of the Arctic winter was

already carried on it. The waters of the loch had turned a slaty black;

little angry waves broke incessantly over its surface; and inky black

clouds were gathering slowly on the distant horizon. It looked as if the

fine weather were at an end; as if Nature herself were mourning angrily

at the wanton destruction of her child. The pity and regret Gimblet had

felt, as he stood by the murdered man's grave, suddenly turned to a

feeling of rage, both with himself and with the victim of the crime.

 

Why in the world had he not managed to guard against a danger of whose

imminence he had had full warning? And why in the name of everything that

was imbecile had Lord Ashiel, who knew much better than anyone else how

real the danger was, chosen to sit at a lighted window, and offer so

tempting a target to his enemy?

 

Suddenly, in the midst of his musings, a sound fell on the detective's

ear; a voice he had heard before, low and musical, and curiously

resonant. He looked in the direction from which it came and saw two

people standing together, a little apart, in the crowd of those waiting

at the water's edge for a craft to carry them ashore. There were only two

or three boats; and, though the ghillies bent to their oars with a will,

every one could not cross the narrow channel which divided the island

from the mainland at one and the same time. A group had already formed on

the beach of those who were not the first to get away, and among these

were the two figures that had attracted Gimblet's attention.

 

They were two ladies, who stood watching the boats, which had landed

their passengers and were now returning empty.

 

The nearest to him, a tall woman of ample proportions, was visibly

affected by the ceremony she had just witnessed, and dabbed from time to

time at her eyes with a handkerchief.

 

But it was her companion who interested him. She was short and slender;

her slightness accentuated by the long dress of black cloth and the small

plain hat of the same colour which she wore. A thick black veil hung down

over her face and obscured it from his view, but about her general

appearance there was something strangely familiar. In a moment Gimblet

knew what it was, and where he had seen her before. He had caught sight,

in her hand, of a little bag of striped black satin with purple pansies

embroidered at intervals upon it. Just such a bag had lain upon the table

of his flat in Whitehall a few weeks ago, on the day when its owner had

stolen the envelope entrusted to him by Lord Ashiel.

 

"It is she," breathed the detective, "the widow!"

 

And for one wild moment he was on the point of accosting her and

demanding his missing letter. Wiser counsels prevailed, however, and he

moved away to the other side of the small group of mourners gathered on

the stony beach.

 

When he ventured to look at her again, it was over the shoulder of a

stalwart Highlander, whose large frame effectually concealed all of the

little detective except his hat and eyes. A further surprise was in store

for him. The lady had lifted her veil and displayed the features of the

girl he had watched in the library on the preceding night.

 

Gimblet had seen enough. He turned away, and found Juliet at his elbow.

 

She would have passed him by, absorbed in her sorrow for the father she

had found and lost in the space of one short hour, but he laid her hand

upon her arm.

 

"Tell me," he begged, "who are those two ladies waiting for the boat?"

 

Juliet's eyes followed the direction of his own.

 

"Those," she said, "are Mrs. Clutsam and Miss Julia Romaninov."

 

"Ah," Gimblet murmured. "They were among your fellow-guests at the

castle, weren't they?"

 

"Yes."

 

Juliet's reply was short and a little cold. She could not understand why

the detective should choose this moment to question her on trivial

details. It showed, she considered, a lamentable lack of tact, and

involuntarily she resented it.

 

"But surely you told me that every one had left Inverashiel," persisted

Gimblet, unabashed.

 

He seemed absurdly eager for the information. No doubt, Juliet reflected

bitterly, he admired Julia. Most men would.

 

"Mrs. Clutsam lives in another small house of my father's, near here,"

she replied stiffly. "She asked Miss Romaninov to stay with her for a

few days till she could arrange where to go to. This disaster naturally

upset every one's plans."

 

"She has a beautiful face," said Gimblet. "Who would think--" he

murmured, and stopped abruptly.

 

"Perhaps you would like me to introduce you?"

 

Juliet spoke with lofty indifference, but the dismay in Gimblet's tone as

he answered disarmed her.

 

"On no account," he cried, "the last thing! Besides, for that matter," he

added truthfully, "we have met before."

 

"Then you will have the pleasure of renewing your acquaintance," Juliet

suggested mischievously. Gimblet had shown himself so genuinely aghast

that her resentful suspicions had vanished.

 

"I expect to have an opportunity of doing so," he agreed seriously. "That

young lady," he went on in a low, confidential tone, "played a trick on

me that I find it hard to forgive. I look forward, with some

satisfaction, to the day when the laugh will be on my side. I admit I

ought to be above such paltry considerations, but, what would you? I

don't think I am. But please don't mention my presence to her, or her

friend. I imagine she has not so far heard of it."

 

"I won't if you don't like," said Juliet. "I don't suppose I shall

see them to speak to. But why do you feel so sure she doesn't know

you are here?"

 

"Oh, how should she?" Gimblet returned evasively. "I don't suppose my

presence would appear worth commenting upon to anyone but yourself or

Lord Ashiel, unless Lady Ruth should mention it."

 

"I don't think she will," said Juliet. "She said she could not speak to

anyone to-day, and she and Mark have gone off together in his own boat.

I said I would walk home."

 

"Won't you drive with me?" Gimblet suggested.

 

He had hired a "machine" from the distant village of Inverlegan to carry

him to and from the funeral. But Juliet preferred to walk, finding in

physical exercise the only relief she could obtain from the aching

trouble that oppressed and sickened her.

 

Gimblet drove back alone to the cottage. He had much to occupy his

thoughts.

 

Once back in his room he turned his mind to the writing on the

sheet of paper.

 

"Remember that where there's a way there's a will. Face curiosity and

take the bull by the horn."

 

The message, as Gimblet read it, was as puzzling as if it had been

completely in cipher.

 

If certain of the words possessed some arbitrary meaning to which the key

promised by Lord Ashiel would have furnished the solution, there seemed

little hope of understanding the message until the key was found. The

word "way," for instance, might stand for another that had been

previously decided on, and if rightly construed probably indicated the

place where the papers were concealed. "Will," "face," "curiosity,"

"bull" and "horn" were likely to represent other very different words, or

perhaps even whole sentences.

 

Without the key it was hopeless to search along that line; such search

must end, as it would begin, in conjecture only. He would see if anything

more promising could be arrived at by taking the message as it was and

assuming that all the words bore the meaning usually attributed to them.

For more than an hour Gimblet racked his brains to read sense into the

senseless phrases, and at the end of that time was no wiser than at the

beginning.

 

"Where there's a way there's a will." Was it by accident or design that

the order in which the words way and will were placed was different from

the one commonly assigned to them? Had Lord Ashiel made a mistake in

arranging the message? Or did the "will" refer to his will and testament?

If so, why should he take so roundabout a way of designating it?

Doubtless because something more important than the will was involved;

indeed, if anything was clear, from the ambiguous sentence and the

precaution that Ashiel had taken that though it fell into the hands of

his enemies it should convey nothing to them, it was that he considered

the mystification of the uninitiated a matter of transcendental

importance. It was plain he contemplated the possibility of the Nihilists

knowing where to look for his message; and at the thought Gimblet shifted

uneasily in his chair, remembering his first encounter with their

representative.

 

"Face curiosity and take the bull by the horn." Perhaps those words, as

they stood, contained some underlying sense, which at present it was hard

to read in them. What it was, seemed impossible to guess. To take the

bull by the horn, is a common enough expression, and might represent no

more than a piece of advice to act boldly; on the whole that was not

likely, for would anyone wind up such a carefully veiled communication

with so trite and everyday a saying, or finish such an obscure message

with so ordinary a sentiment?

 

"Face curiosity," however, was perhaps a direction how to proceed. The

only trouble was to know what in the world it