Chapter XV: "fate Points the Way."

"Well, how did you fare? How much longer is the old scoundrel going to keep Beelzebub out of his own?"

These questions were addressed by Captain Ferris to his sister, who had just got back from Stanbrook. He had been awaiting her return with ill-concealed impatience. It seemed to him that she had been gone an unconscionable time.

"My dear Wilton, I wish you wouldn't flurry one so. I will tell you all there is to tell if you will give me time. But first of all, mix me a little brandy-and-water."

Having taken off her outdoor things, inducted her feet into a pair of roomy house-shoes, and planted herself in her favorite easy-chair Mrs. Bullivant was ready to begin her narrative:

"In the first place, the rumors which have reached us from various quarters about Mr. Cortelyon's amazing recovery are not a bit exaggerated. I know for a fact that, at the time I saw him last, he had been given up by both his doctors, and was not expected to last the week out. If I ever saw a man with death in his face, it seemed to me he was that man. When I left him I bade him (mentally) a final farewell. So far so good. But what do I find to-day on reaching Stanbrook? The same man, truly, and yet another. Not the Ambrose Cortelyon whom I left at death's door, on whose face I saw already the shadow of the tomb, but Ambrose Cortelyon as I remember him a number of years ago. For him Time's dial has been put back a decade. Can you wonder if, for a few moments, I was struck dumb with astonishment?

"I found him, not in his bedroom, but in his library, and how do you think he was engaged? Why, in drawing up, with the help of his secretary, a catalogue of the coins and medals which he has been accumulating for the last forty years? When he turned to greet me his voice was as firm and resonant as I ever remember it to have been. Then his secretary left the room and we were alone.

"He held out a lean, withered hand, and his face lighted up with one of his peculiar smiles. (When Mr. Cortelyon smiles you never can be sure whether he is smiling with you, at you, or merely at some hidden thought of his own.) 'Welcome, Onoria!' he began. 'I have been expecting a visit from you for some time past, but better late than not at all. You are surprised--he!--he! (now don't deny it, I can read your face like a book) at finding me perched here and busying myself with my favorite trivialities, when, if only I had behaved as ordinary mortals are wont to do, I should have been shouldered to my last abode weeks ago, and you would have been a considerably richer woman than you are to-day. Well, well, nobody can be more surprised than I. But why don't you sit down? I hate to have people standing about and staring at me.'

"What I said in reply, when he gave me a chance of speaking, is not worth repeating. As a matter of course, I explained how I had been called from home and did not get back till yesterday, but he listened without seeming to hear what I was talking about. Evidently he was busy with his own thoughts.

"His next words had reference to Gavin. He wanted to know whether the boy was quite well. When assured on the point he nodded his head and seemed pleased. Then he lay back in his chair for a little while without speaking, twiddling between his fingers, as if he loved it, a large gold coin which looked as if it might have been minted a couple of thousand years ago.

"At length he spoke: 'There is one matter, Onoria, about which I wish to give you my assurance. It is this: that whether I die to-morrow or not for five years to come, my will, as it now stands, will remain unchanged. When once my mind is made up, it is made up for good; I never go back from my decision. Consequently, you may make yourself easy on that point. You know already that neither yourself nor your son has been forgotten in the will; indeed, I will go so far as to tell you this, that there is perhaps such a surprise in store for you as you little wot of. And now let us talk of something else. I hear the Browhead property is likely to come into the market in the course of a few weeks. I wish you would drive as far some day soon, look over it, and let me know what you think of it.'

"Nothing more passed that it would interest you to be told about, and before long I took my leave, but not till Mr. Cortelyon had requested me to visit him again on this day fortnight and take Gavin with me."

Captain Ferris's face was black as night. "Then it's quite evident the old fox has made up his mind not to die just yet," he said. "And yet it might be as well that he should not live too long. His promise about the will may be taken for what it's worth. Invalids--and I suppose Mr. Cortelyon may be counted one still--are notoriously changeable, and any day may see your hopes dashed to the ground."

Mrs. Bullivant looked at him, but his eyes did not meet hers. There was something behind his words, but she was not quite sure what it was. "Of course I fully admit, between you and me, that it would be a great relief if the Lord were to see fit to take the poor man to Himself," she said, after a pause. "But what can I do? In a case of this sort one is absolutely helpless." The Captain was trimming his nails, and did not reply.

After waiting a moment or two, his sister said: "By the way, I have something more to tell you. As I was driving back I overtook Ann Thorpe, who used to be under-cook at Uplands, but left my service three years ago to enter that of the Squire. I know her for a talkative, simple-minded young woman, and the sight of her supplied me with an idea which I at once proceeded to put into practice. Stopping the carriage, I alighted, and bade Trotter drive on slowly and pick me up at the toll-bar. Then I joined Ann, and we walked on together. It was a lonely bit of road, and there was nobody to observe us. I was desirous of putting certain questions to her which no one but an inmate of the Hall could have answered to my satisfaction.

"With the questions themselves I need not trouble you. What I wanted from Ann was a confirmation or otherwise of the all but incredible news you picked up yesterday with reference to the man Dinkel and his doings at the Hall. What you had heard might be merely one of those idle rumors in which ignorant folk delight, but which they are never at the trouble to sift; or there might be a substratum of truth in it, but so overlaid with fiction that it would be next to impossible to separate the two. Strange to say, your statement was confirmed by Ann Thorpe in almost every particular.

"Mrs. Dinkel, the mother, has been acting as nurse to the Squire ever since Tatham, his body-servant, had to resign his duties on account of ill-health, and it was she who introduced her son at the Hall, but not till her patient had been given up by his doctors and was hardly expected to live from hour to hour.

"As you were told yesterday, this young Dinkel is said to have brought with him a marvellous drug from the Far East, which will almost bring dead people back to life. In any case, it seems certain that he has effected several remarkable cures in the village and neighborhood, and from the date of his first visit to the Hall the Squire began to mend. It appears that he goes there every evening after dark, taking with him a dose of his wonderful medicine, which he will allow no one to administer but himself.

"I have told you already how changed I found the Squire from what he was when I saw him last. It is a change which to me seems little less than miraculous, and yet, so far as can be gathered, it is wholly due to the man Dinkel. Dr. Banks, who has attended the Squire for years, keeps on sending his physic as usual, but Ann Thorpe assures me that the bottles are never as much as uncorked. From what I saw myself to-day, and from what I gathered from Ann, it seems not unlikely that the Squire may last for a year or two, or even longer. But life is made up of crosses, and, however much one may try to convince oneself that everything is ordered for the best, it is sometimes a little difficult to do so."

Captain Ferris shut his penknife with a click. "And what would be the consequence, so far as Mr. Cortelyon is concerned, in case of anything happening to this fellow Dinkel?" he asked.

Mrs. Bullivant lifted her eyebrows. "Really, my dear Wilton, that is a question which I have no means of answering."

"For all that, it is one which might be worth considering."

He got up, stretched himself, crossed to the window, and stood staring out, whistling under his breath. His sister followed him with her eyes. She could read between the lines of his character far more clearly than any one else could.

"In such a case as you speak of, I should think it would be a very bad thing for Mr. Cortelyon," she said after a pause, in a low voice.

"My own opinion exactly," he made answer, without turning round.

The days followed each other till a week had gone by, and Captain Ferris was still at Uplands. Indeed, he knew of nowhere else to go to. London was too hot to hold him; the bailiffs were looking for him high and low. Here at any rate, he could lie by for awhile. But not for long. Hour by hour the day was creeping nearer when the fatal bill for five hundred pounds would fall due. After that not even Uplands would be safe for him. He must put the Channel between himself and the bloodhounds of the law.

Little further allusion was made either by his sister or himself to the subject which loomed so largely in the thoughts of both. What more, indeed, was there to be said? Talk for talking's sake was what neither of them was given to indulge in. For them, just then, life seemed to be at a standstill. They were waiting breathlessly, so to speak, for the tidings which still delayed their coming. Captain Ferris was out and about a great deal, putting a discreet question here, and eliciting a morsel of information there, but all he heard pointed to an unchanged state of affairs at the Hall. Any fine afternoon Mr. Cortelyon might be seen driving about the country roads in the shabby old chariot which dated from his grandfather's era, and had in those days ranked as one of the grandest coaches in town.

"He'll live to be a hundert, you see if he doan't, sir," said one man to whom the Captain had put a certain question.

Ferris turned away with a stifled oath.

It was on the afternoon of the tenth day after Mrs. Bullivant's return from London that some startling news reached Uplands. It was brought by the Tuxford carrier, who retailed it as a _bonne bouche_ to the maids in the kitchen, whence, before long, it penetrated to the drawing-room. The body of the "man-witch," Cornelius Dinkel, had been found early that morning, shot through the heart, in Threeways Spinny. So far nobody had been arrested for the crime.

Mrs. Bullivant was alone in the drawing-room when her maid brought her the news. Gavin had lately had a pony given him, and his uncle had taken him out for a ride on it. A sudden vertigo took the mistress of Uplands almost before her maid had got halfway through her story. She motioned for her salts, and for a few moments lay back in her chair with closed eyes and white face. Then presently, with a faint, "I'm better; you can go," she dismissed the girl.

It was not the news itself, startling though it was, which had had such an effect on Mrs. Bullivant. It was a horrible suspicion which, so to speak, had gripped her by the throat and refused to loosen its hold of her.

Yesterday evening, as daylight was dying into dusk, her brother had left the house without saying either where he was going or when he might be looked for back. But she was used to his queer moods and apparently purposeless comings and goings, and found it best to question him as little as possible. She had hardly thought to see anything more of him till breakfast time next morning. Great, therefore, was her astonishment when, on crossing the hall a little after eleven o'clock on her way to her bedroom, she suddenly met him face to face. He had entered the house by a side door which could be opened from the outside without disturbing any of the servants. That he was both surprised and disconcerted by the meeting he showed plainly, his intention having apparently been to reach his room unseen by any one.

But it was not so much the fact of coming unexpectedly on her brother as the appearance he presented that caused Mrs. Bullivant to start back with a low cry of alarm. For his face was as colorless as that of a corpse; his features were drawn and haggard; he looked at her with eyes which she did not recognize as his, so strangely changed was their expression; he was bareheaded, and his black hair, matted with sweat, was all in disorder; while his chest rose and fell pantingly like that of one who had outspent himself with running. Finally, both his boots and his clothes were bespattered with mud, for much rain had fallen in the course of the day.

"Great heavens! Wilton, what ails you? What has happened to you?" cried Mrs. Bullivant.

"For God's sake not so loud! Such an adventure!" he panted. "Set upon by two ruffians in a lonely part of the road. One of 'em I managed to knock over with a lefthander--then took to my heels. If I hadn't they'd have bludgeoned my brains out. Two to one, you know."

"What a narrow escape for you! But what has become of your hat?"

"I've not lost it, have I?" he gasped, while a great terror leapt into his eyes. "If so, I'm lost too!" A moment later his expression changed. "What a fool I am!" he exclaimed with a ghastly attempt at a smile. "I've got it all the while. It fell off while I was running and as the rascals were not far behind me I made a dash at it and crammed it into one of my pockets. It will look a pretty object to-morrow, _sans doute_. But now to bed, for I'm dog-tired."

"Shall I send you up some hot water and----"

"Curse it all, no! I want no eye but yours to see me to-night." He glared at her for a moment as if he was about to strike her. Then with a shrug and a sudden dropping of his hands, he said. "Forgive me, Onny, I'm not myself to-night." And with that he passed her and went swiftly upstairs, and presently she heard the key turned in the lock of his room.

It was the recollection of this scene which shook her with such a terrible fear this afternoon. What had her brother meant by saying that if his hat were lost he was lost too? Supposing he had lost it and it had afterwards been found, what then? And why had he been so anxious that no eyes save hers should see him on his return? Was there any truth in the story of his encounter with the two men? But, above all, had he had any hand in last night's tragedy? That he was utterly unscrupulous she had long known, and she divined, without knowing, that in his nature there were dark unsounded depths in which the most ghastly secret might be hidden up forever. She was only too well aware by what desperate reasons her brother was urged to wish Dinkel out of the way. To him it might, and most likely would, mean all the difference between salvation and ruin.

She waited his coming with a quaking heart. She was sitting in a mixed light, that of the dying afternoon and that thrown out by the glowing embers on the hearth, when he entered the room. Having shut the door, he stood there with the handle in his hand, without advancing. "Well, have you heard the news?" he asked abruptly in a high, harsh voice, very different from his usual smooth cultivated tones. "Dinkel's dead--shot through the heart last night, presumably when on his way back from Stanbrook. Body found early this morning by some hedgers on their way to work. What will happen now, I wonder? There's the rub, both for you and me."

"I had already heard. The Tuxford carrier brought the news about an hour ago."

"Had I known that I needn't have hurried back, as I did, on purpose to tell you. But no matter."

"Have any traces of the--the perpetrator of the crime been discovered, or have they any idea where to look for him?"

"'Pon my soul, I don't know. I never asked. 'Twas a point that had no interest for me. But now I'll go upstairs and make myself presentable, and join you presently over a cup of tea. We have had a famous scamper, the boy and I. But he will be with you in a minute or two."

After tea they played ecarté for a couple of hours, and never had Mrs. Bullivant seen her brother more cheerful and at his ease. She went to bed not knowing what to think.