Chapter VI: Part 6

Miss Virginia got up and walked across to the writing-table; and I went on very slowly clearing the cloth, for Sir John always treated me as if I was a piece of furniture; but I felt uncomfortable, for it seemed to me that there was going to be a quarrel.

I was right; for as Miss Virginia began to write, Mr Barclay crushed the newspaper up in his hands and said hotly: "Surely, father, you are not going to insult those ladies by asking them for the money the moment it is due."

"Yes, I am, sir," says the old gentleman sharply; "and you mind your own business. When I'm dead, you can collect your rents as you like; while I live, I shall do the same."

Miss Virginia got up quickly and went and laid her hand upon Sir John's breast without saying a word; but her pretty appealing act meant a deal, and the old man took the little white hand in his and kissed it tenderly. "You go and do as I bid you, my pet," he said; "and you, Burdon, wait for the note, take it over, and bring an answer."

"Yes, Sir John," I said quietly; and I heard Miss Virginia give a little sob as she went and sat down and began writing. Then I saw that the trouble was coming, and that there was to be a big quarrel between father and son.

"Look here, father," says Mr Barclay, getting up and walking about the room, "I never interfere with your affairs--"

"I should think not, sir," says the old man, very sarcastic-like.

"But I cannot sit here patiently and see you behave in so rude a way to those four ladies who honour you by being your tenants."

"Say I feel greatly surprised that the rent was not sent over yesterday, my dear," says Sir John, without taking any notice of his son.

"Yes, uncle," says Miss Virginia. She always called him "uncle," though he wasn't any relation.

"It's shameful!" cried Mr Barclay. "The result will be that they will give you notice and go."

"Good job, too," said Sir John. "I don't like them, and I wish they had not come."

"How can you be so unreasonable, father?" cried the young man hotly.

"Look here, Bar," says Sir John--("Fold that letter and seal it with my seal, 'Ginny")--"look here, Bar."

I glanced at the young man, and saw him pass his hand across his forehead so roughly that the big signet ring he wore--the old-fashioned one Sir John gave him many years before, and which fitted so tightly now that it wouldn't come over the joint--made quite a red mark on his brow.

"I don't know what you are going to say, father," cried Mr Barclay quickly; "but, for Heaven's sake, don't treat me as a boy any longer, and I implore you not to send that letter."

There was a minute's silence, during which I could hear Mr Barclay breathing hard. Then Sir John began again. "Look here, sir," he said. "Over and over again, you've wanted to go away and travel, and I've said I didn't want you to go. During the past three months you've altered your mind."

"Altered my mind, sir?" says the young man sharply.

"Yes, sir; and I've altered mine. That's fair. Now, you don't want to go, and I want you to."

"Uncle!"

"Have you done that letter, my pet?--Yes? That's well. Now, you stand there and take care of me, for fear Mr Barclay should fly in a passion."

"Sir, I asked you not to treat me like a boy," says Mr Barclay bitterly.

"I'm not going to," says Sir John, as he sat playing with Miss Virginia's hand, while I could see that the poor darling's face was convulsed, and she was trying to hide the tears which streamed down. "I'm going to treat you as a man. You can have what money you want. Be off for a year's travel. Hunt, shoot, go round the world, what you like; but don't come back here for a twelvemonth.--Burdon, take that letter over to the Misses Mimpriss, and wait for an answer."

I took the note across, wondering what would be said while I was gone, and knowing why Sir John wanted his son to go as well as he did, and Miss Virginia too, poor thing. The knocker seemed to make the house opposite echo very strangely, as I thumped; but when the door was opened in a few minutes, everything in the hall seemed very proper and prim, while the maid who came looked as stiff and disagreeable as could be.

"For Miss Mimpriss, from Sir John Drinkwater," I said; "and I'll wait for an answer."

"Very well," says the woman shortly.

"I'll wait for an answer," I said, for she was shutting the door.

"Yes; I heard," she says, and the door was shut in my face.

"Hang all old maids!" I said. "They needn't be afraid of me;" and there I waited till I heard steps again and the door was opened; and the ill-looking woman says in a snappish tone: "Miss Adela Mimpriss's compliments, and she'll come across directly."

"Any one would think I was a wild beast," I said to myself, as I went back and gave my message, finding all three in the room just as I had left them when I went away.

STORY TWO, CHAPTER FIVE.

JAMES BURDON SMELLS FIRE.

Mr Barclay followed me out, and as soon as we were in the hall, "Burdon," he says, "you have a bunch of small keys, haven't you?"

"Yes, Master Barclay, down in my pantry."

"Lend them to me: I want to try if one of them will fit a lock of mine."

He followed me down; and I was just handing them to him, when there was a double knock and a ring, and I saw him turn as red as a boy of sixteen found out at some trick.

I hurried up to open the door, leaving him there, and found that it was Miss Adela Mimpriss.

"Will you show me in to Sir John?" she says, smiling; and I did so, leaving them together; and going down-stairs, to see Mr Barclay standing before the fire and looking very strange and stern. He did not say anything, but walked up-stairs again; and I could hear him pacing up and down the hall for quite a quarter of an hour before the bell rang; and then I got up-stairs to find him talking very earnestly to Miss Adela Mimpriss, and she all the time shaking her head and trying to pull away her hand.

I pretended not to see, and went into the dining-room slowly, to find Miss Virginia down on her knees before Sir John, and him with his two hands lying upon her bent head, while she seemed to be sobbing.

"I did not ring, Burdon," he said huskily.

"Beg pardon, Sir John; the bell rang."

"Ah, yes. I forgot--only to show that lady out."

I left the room; and as I did so, I found the front door open, and Mr Barclay on the step, looking across at Miss Adela Mimpriss, who was just tripping up the steps of the house opposite; and I saw her use a latchkey, open the door, and look round as she was going in, to give Mr Barclay a laughing look; and then the door was closed, and my young master shut ours.

That day and the next passed quietly enough; but I could see very plainly that there was something wrong, for there was a cold way of speaking among our people in the dining-room, the dinner going off terribly quiet, and Sir John afterwards not seeming to enjoy his wine; while Miss Virginia sat alone in the drawing-room over her tea; and Mr Barclay, after giving me back my keys, went up-stairs, and I know he was looking out, for Miss Adela Mimpriss was sitting at the window opposite, and I saw her peep up twice.

This troubled me a deal, for, after all those years, I never felt like a servant, but as if I was one of them; and it made me so upset, that, as I lay in my bed in the pantry that night wondering whether Mr Barclay would go away and forget all about the young lady opposite, and come back in a year and be forgiven, and marry Miss Virginia, I suddenly thought of my keys.

"That's it," I said. "It was to try the lock of his portmanteau. He means to go, and it will be all right, after all."

But somehow, I couldn't sleep, but lay there pondering, till at last I began to sniff, and then started up in bed, thinking of Edward Gunning.

"There's something wrong somewhere," I said to myself, for quite plainly I could smell burning--the oily smell as of a lamp, a thing I knew well enough, having trimmed hundreds.

At first I thought I must be mistaken; but no--there it was, strong; and jumping out of bed, I got a light; and to show that I was not wrong, there was my cat Tom looking excited and strange, and trotting about the pantry in a way not usual unless he had heard a rat.

I dressed as quickly as I could, and went out into the passage. All dark and silent, and the smell very faint. I went up-stairs and looked all about; but everything was as I left it; and at last I went down again to the pantry, thinking and wondering, with Tom at my heels, to find that the smell had passed away. So I sat and thought for a bit, and then went to bed again; but I didn't sleep a wink, and somehow all this seemed to me to be very strange.

STORY TWO, CHAPTER SIX.

A SUDDEN CHANGE.

If any one says I played spy, I am ready to speak up pretty strongly in my self-defence, for my aim always was to do my duty by Sir John my master; but I could not help seeing two or three things during the next fortnight, and they all had to do with a kind of telegraphing going on from our house to the one over the way, where Miss Adela generally appeared to be on the watch; and her looks always seemed to me to say: "No; you mustn't think of such a thing," and to be inviting him all the time. Then, all at once I thought I was wrong, for I went up as usual at half-past seven to take Mr Barclay's boots and his clothes which had been brought down the night before, after he had dressed for dinner. I tapped and went in, just as I'd always done ever since he was a boy, and went across to the window and drew the curtains. "Nice morning, Master Barclay," I said. "Half-past--" There I stopped, and stared at the bed, which all lay smooth and neat, as the housemaid had turned it down, for no one had slept in it that night. I was struck all of a heap, and didn't know what to think. To me it was just like a silver spoon or fork being missing, and setting one's head to work to think whether it was anywhere about the house.

He hadn't stopped to take his wine with Sir John after dinner; but that was nothing fresh, for they'd been very cool lately. Then I hadn't seen him in the drawing-room; but that was nothing fresh neither, for he had avoided Miss Virginia for some little time.

"It is very strange," I thought, for I had not seen him go out; and then, all at once I gave quite a start, for I felt that he must have done what Sir John had told him to do--gone.

"That won't do," I said directly after. "He wouldn't have gone like that;" and I went straight to Sir John's room and told him, as in duty bound, what I had found out, for Mr Barclay was not the young man to be fast and stop out of nights and want the servants to screen him. There was something wrong, I felt sure, and so I said.

"No," said the old gentleman, as he sat up in bed, and then began to dress; "he wouldn't go at my wish; but that girl over the way is playing with him, and he is too proud to stand it any longer, besides being mortified at making such an ass of himself. There's nothing wrong, Burdon. He has gone, and a good job too."

Of course, I couldn't contradict my master; but I went up and examined Mr Barclay's room, to find nothing missing, not so much as a shirt or a pair of socks, only his crush-hat, and the light overcoat from the brass peg in the front hall; and I shook my head.

Miss Virginia looked paler than ever at breakfast; but nothing more was said up-stairs. Of course, the servants gossiped; and as it was settled that Mr Barclay had done what his father had told him, a week passed away, and matters settled down with Miss Adela Mimpriss sitting at the window just as usual, doing worsted-work, and the old house looking as grim as ever, and as if a bit of paint and a man to clean the windows would have been a blessing to us all.

Every time the postman knocked, Miss Virginia would start; and her eyes used to look so wild and large, that when I'd been to the little box and found nothing from Mr Barclay, I used to give quite a gulp; and many's the time I've stood back in the dining-room and shook my fist at Miss Adela sitting so smooth and handsome at the opposite house, and wished she'd been at the world's end before she came there.

STORY TWO, CHAPTER SEVEN.

A TERRIBLE DISCOVERY.

Mr Barclay had been gone three weeks, and no news from him; and I was beginning to think that he had gone off in a huff all at once, though I often wondered how he would manage for want of money, when one night, as I sat nursing Tom, I thought I'd look through my desk, that I hadn't opened for three or four years, and have a look at a few old things I'd got there--a watch Sir John gave me, but which I never wore; six spade-ace guineas; and an old gold pin, beside a few odds and ends that I'd had for a many years; and some cash. Tom didn't seem to like it, and he stared hard at the desk as I took it on my knees, opened it, lifted one of the flaps, and put my hand upon the old paper which contained the statement about the old gold plate. No; I did not. I put my hand on the place where it ought to have been; but it wasn't there.

"I must have put it in the other side," I said to myself; and I opened the other lid.

Then I turned cold, and ran my hand here and there, wild-like, to stop at last with my mouth open, staring. The paper was gone! So was the money, and every article of value that I had hoarded up.

For a few minutes I was too much stunned even to think; and when at last I could get my brain to work, I sat there, feeling a poor, broken, weak old man, and I covered my face with my hands and cried like a child.

"To think of it!" I groaned at length--"him so handsome and so young-- him whom I'd always felt so proud of--proud as if he'd been my own son. Why, it would break his father's heart if he knew. It's that woman's doing," I cried savagely. "She turned his head, or he'd never have done such a cruel, base, bad act as to rob a poor old man like me." For I'd recollected lending Mr Barclay my keys, and I felt that sooner than ask his father for money, he had taken what he could find, and gone. "Let him!" I said savagely at last. "But he needn't have stolen them. I'd have given him everything I'd got. I'd have sold out the hundred pounds I've got in the bank and lent him that. But he didn't know what he was doing, poor boy. That woman has turned his brain."

"Ah, well!" I said at last bitterly, "it's my secret. Sir John shall never know. He trusted me with one, and now his son--" I stopped short there, for I recollected the paper, and fell all of a tremble, thinking of that gold plate, and that some one else knew of its hiding-place now; and I asked myself what I ought to do. For a long time I struggled; but at last I felt that, much as I wanted to hide Mr Barclay's cruelly mean act, I must not keep this thing a secret. "It's my duty to tell my master," I said at last, "and I must." So I went up to where Sir John was sitting alone, pretending to enjoy his wine, but looking very yellow and old and sunken of face. "He's fretting about Master Barclay," I said to myself, and I felt that I could not tell him that the lad had taken my little treasures, but that he must know about the paper, so I up and told him only this at once; and that's why he said I was an old fool, and that it was all my fault.

"You old fool!" he cried excitedly, "what made you write such a paper? It was like telling all the world."

"I thought it would be so shocking, Sir John, if we were both to die and the things were forgotten."

"Shocking? Be a good job," he cried. "A man who has a lot of gold in his care is always miserable.--Taken out of your desk, you say. When?"

"Ah, that I can't tell, Sir John. It might have been done years ago, for aught I know."

"And the old gold plate all stolen and melted down, and spent. Here have I been thinking you a trustworthy man. There; we must see to it at once. I shan't rest till I know it is safe."

It seemed to me then that he snatched at the chance of finding something to do to take his attention off his trouble, for when I asked him if I should get a bricklayer to come in, he turned upon me like a lion. "Burdon," he said, "we'll get this job done, and then I shall have to make arrangements for you to go into an imbecile ward."

"Very good, Sir John," I said patiently.

"Very good!" he cried, laughing now. "There; be off, and get together what tools you have, and as soon as the servants have gone to bed, we'll go and open the old cellar ourselves."

STORY TWO, CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE SIGNET RING.

It was exactly twelve o'clock by the chiming timepiece in the hall. Just the hour for such a task, I felt with a sort of shiver, as Sir John came down to the pantry, where I had candles ready, and a small crowbar used for opening packing-cases, and a screw-driver.

"Everybody seems quiet up-stairs, Burdon," says Sir John, "so let's get to work at once.--But, hillo! just put out a lamp?"

"No, Sir John," I said. "I often smell that now; but I've never been able to make out what it is."

"Humph! Strange," he says; and then we went straight to the cellar, the great baize door at the top of the kitchen steps being shut; and directly after we were standing on the damp sawdust with the bins of wine all round.

"It hasn't been touched, apparently, and there seems to be no need; but I should like to see if it is all right. But we shall never get through there, Burdon," he says, looking at the bricked-up wall, across the way to the inner cellar.

"I don't know," I said, taking off my coat and rolling up my sleeves, to find that though the highest price had been paid for that bricklaying, the cheat of a fellow who had the job had used hardly a bit of sand and bad lime, so that, after I had loosened one brick and levered it out, all the others came away one at a time quite clear of the mortar.

"Never mind," says Sir John. "Out of evil comes good. I'll try that sherry too, Burdon, and we'll put some fresh in its place. But if that's left twenty years, we shall never live to taste it, eh?"

I shook my head sadly as I worked away in that arch, easily reaching the top bricks, which were only six feet from the sawdust; and, as is often the case, what had seemed a terrible job proved to be easy.

"There," he says; "the place will be sweeter now. We'll just have a glance at the old chests, and then we must build up the empty bottles again. To-morrow, I'll order in some more wine--for my son."

He said that last so solemnly that I looked up at him as he stood there with the light shining in his eyes.

"As'll come back some day, sorry for the past, Sir John," I said, "and ready to do what you wish."

"Please God, Burdon!" he says, bowing his head for a bit. Then he looked up quite sharply, and took a candle, and I the other. "Come along," he says in his old, quiet, stern way; and I was half afraid I had offended him, as he stepped in at the opening and stood at the mouth of the inner cellar. Then I heard him give a sharp sniff; and I smelt it too--that same odour of burnt oil. We neither of us spoke as we walked over the damp black sawdust, both thinking of the likelihood of foul air being in the place; but we found we could breathe all right; and as we held up the candles, the light shone on the black-looking old chests, every one with its padlocks and seals all right, just as we had left them all those years before.

I looked up at Sir John, and he gave me a satisfied nod as he tried one of the seals, and then we both stood as if turned to stone, for from just at my feet there came a dull knocking sound, and as I looked down, I could see the black sawdust shake.

What I wanted to do was to run, for I felt that the place was haunted; but I couldn't move, and when I looked at Sir John, he was holding up his right hand, as if to order me to be silent. Then he held his candle down, for there was another sound, but this time more of a grinding cracking in a dull sort of way, just as if some one was forcing an iron chisel in between the joints of the stones. Then there was a long pause, and I half thought it had been fancy; but soon after, as I stood there hardly able to breathe, the sawdust just in one place was heaved up about an inch.

I was terribly alarmed, not knowing what to think; but Sir John was brave as brave, and he signed to me not to speak, and stood watching till there was a dull cracking sound, the sawdust was heaved up again, and all at once I seemed to get a hot puff of that burnt oily smell right in my nose. Then I began to understand, and felt afraid in a different fashion, as I knew that we had only got there just in time.

The next minute Sir John made a movement toward me, took my candle and turned it upside down, so that it went out, and then pointed back toward the outer cellar, as he put his lips to my ear:

"Iron bar!"

I stepped back softly, and got the iron bar from where it lay on the edge of a bin, and I was about to pick up the screw-driver, when I remembered where the wooden mallet lay, and I picked up that before stepping softly back to where Sir John was watching the floor; and now I could see that the sawdust was higher in one place, as if a flagstone had been heaved up a little at one end.

There was no doubt about it, for, as I handed the crowbar, the end of the stone was wrenched up a little higher and then stuck; for it was tightly held by those on either side; but it was up far enough to let a thin ray of dull light come up through the floor and shine on the side of one of the old chests.

It was a curious scene there, in that gloomy cellar: Sir John standing on one side, candle in his left, the iron bar in his right hand, and me on the other bending down ready with the mallet to hit over the head the first that should come up through the floor. For, though horribly alarmed, I could understand now what it all meant--an attempt to steal the gold in the chests, though how those who were working below had managed to get there was more than I could have said.

As we watched, the smell of the burnt oil came through, and I knew that it must have been going on for a long time.

All at once we could hear a low whispering, and then there was a grinding noise of iron against stone; the flag gritted and gave a little, but it held fast all along; and I could understand that the man who was trying to wrench it up had no room to work, and therefore no power to wrench up the stone. Then came the faint whispering again, and it seemed to sound hollow. Then another grinding noise, and the end of the flag was moved a trifle higher, so that the line of light on the old chest looked two or three inches broad.

I stepped softly to Sir John and put my lips to his ear as the whispering could be heard again, and I said softly: "Shall I fetch the police?"

Sir John for answer set his candle down upon the top of one of the chests and put it out with the bar as he whispered to me in turn: "Wait a few moments." And then--"Look!" He pointed with the iron bar; and as I stared hard at the faint light shining up from below the edge of the stone, I could see just the tips of some one's fingers come through and sweep the sawdust away to right and left. Then they came through a little more, and were drawn back, while directly after came the low whispering again, and the hand now was thrust right through as far as the wrist.

"Yes," said Sir John then, as he grasped my arm--"the police!" Just then he uttered a gasp, and I turned to look at him; but we were in the dark, and I could not see his face, but he gripped my arm more tightly, and I looked once more toward the broad ray, to see the hand resting now full in the light, and I turned cold with horror, for there was something shining quite brightly, and I could see that it was a signet ring, and what was more, the old ring Mr Barclay used to wear--the one he had worn since he was quite a stripling, and beyond which the joint had grown so big that he could never get the jewel off.

I should have bent down there, staring at that ring for long enough, fascinated, as you may say, only all at once I felt my arm dragged, and I was pushed softly into the outer cellar, and from there into the passage beyond, Sir John closing and locking the door softly, before tottering into the pantry and sinking into a chair, uttering a low moan.

"Oh, don't take on, sir," I whispered; but he turned upon me roughly.

"Silence, man!" he panted, "and give me time to think;" and then I heard him breathe softly, in a voice so full of agony that it was terrible to hear: "Oh, my son!--my son!"

"No, no, sir," I said--for I couldn't bear it. "He wouldn't; there's some mistake."

"Mistake? Then you saw it too, Burdon? No; there is no mistake."

I couldn't speak, for I remembered about the keys, and something seemed to come up in my throat and choke me, for it seemed so terrible for my young master to have done this thing.

"What are you going to do, sir?" I said at last, and it was me now who gripped his arm.

"Do?" he said bitterly. "All that is a heritage: mine to hold in trust for my son--his after my death to hold in trust for the generations to come. Burdon, it is an incubus--a curse; but I have my duty to do: that old gold shall not be wasted on a--"

STORY TWO, CHAPTER NINE.

MR BARCLAY GOES TOO FAR.

When young Mr Barclay--

Stop! How do I know all this?

Why, it was burned into my memory, and I heard every word from him.

When young Mr Barclay left the dining-room on the night he disappeared, he went up to his own room, miserable at his position with his father, and taking to himself the blame for the unhappiness that he had brought upon the girl who loved him with all her sweet true heart. "But it's fate--it's fate," he said, as he went up to his room; and then, unable to settle himself there, he lit a cigar, came down, and went out just as he was dressed in his evening clothes, only that he had put on a light overcoat, and began to walk up and down in front of our house and watch the windows opposite, to try and catch a glimpse of Miss Adela.

Ten o'clock, eleven, struck, but she did not show herself at the window; and feeling quite sick at heart, he was thinking of going in again, when he suddenly heard a faint cough, about twenty yards away; and turning sharply, he saw the lady he was looking for crossing the road, having evidently just come back from some visit.

"Adela--at last," he whispered as he caught her hand.

"Mr Drinkwater!" she cried in a startled way. "How you frightened me!"

"Love makes men fools," said Mr Barclay, as he slipped into her home ere she could close the door. "Now take me in and introduce me to your sisters."

"Adela, is that you? Here, for goodness' sake. Why don't you answer?"

"Is she there?"

The first was a rough man's voice, the next that of a woman, and as they were heard in the passage, another voice cried hoarsely: "It's of no use: the game's up."

"Hist! Hide! Behind that curtain! Anywhere!" panted Adela, starting up in alarm. "Too late!"

Barclay had sprung to his feet, and stood staring in amazement, and perfectly heedless of the girl's appeal to him to hide, as two rough bricklayer-like men came in, followed by a woman.

"Will you let me pass?" cried Mr Barclay.--"Miss Mimpriss, I beg your pardon for this intrusion. Forgive me, and good-night."

One man gave the other a quick look, and as Mr Barclay tried to pass, they closed with him, and, in spite of his struggles, bore him back from the door. The next moment, though, he recovered his lost ground, and would have shaken himself free, but the sour-looking woman who had entered with the two men watched her opportunity, got behind, flung her arms about the young man's neck, and he was dragged heavily to the floor, where, as he lay half stunned, he saw Adela gazing at him with her brows knit, and then, without a word of protest, she hurried from the room.

Mr Barclay heaved himself up, and tried to rise; but one of his adversaries sat upon his chest while the other bound him hand and foot, an attempt at shouting for help being met by a pocket-handkerchief thrust into his mouth.

A minute later, as Mr Barclay lay staring wildly, the rough woman, whom he recalled now as one of the servants, and who had hurried from the room, returned, helping Adela to support a pallid-looking man, whose hands, face, and rough working clothes were daubed with clayey soil.

"Confound you! why didn't you bring down the brandy?" he said harshly.--"Gently, girls, gently. That's better. I'm half crushed.-- Who's that?"

"Visitor," said one of Mr Barclay's captors sourly. "What's to be done?"

Mr Barclay looked wildly from one to the other, asking himself whether all this was some dream. Who were these men? Where the elderly Misses Mimpriss? And what was the meaning of Adela Mimpriss being on such terms with the injured man, who looked as if he had been working in some mine?

Their eyes met once, but she turned hers away directly, and held a glass of brandy to the injured man's lips.

"That's better," he said. "I can talk now. I thought I was going to be smothered once.--Well, lads, the game's up."

"Why?" said one of the others sharply.

"Because it is. You won't catch me there again if I know it; and here's private inquiry at work from over the way."

"Hold your tongue!" said the first man of the party. "There; he can't help himself now. You watch him, Bell; and if he moves, give warning."

The rough woman seated herself beside Mr Barclay and watched him fiercely. The two men crossed over to their companion; while Adela, still looking cold and angry, with brow wrinkled up, drew back to stand against the table and listen.

The men spoke in a low tone; but Mr Barclay caught a word now and then, from which he gathered that, while the man who had in some way been hurt was for giving up, the other two angrily declared that a short time would finish it now, and that they would go on with it at all hazards.

"And what will you do with him?" said the injured man grimly.

Mr Barclay could not help looking sharply at Adela, who just then met his eye, but it was with a look more of curiosity than anything else; and as she realised that he was gazing at her reproachfully, she turned away and watched the three men.

"Very well," said the one who was hurt, "I wash my hands of what may follow."

"All right."

Mr Barclay turned cold as he wondered what was to happen next. He saw plainly enough now that the house had been let to a gang of men engaged upon some nefarious practice, but what it was he could not guess. Coining seemed to be the most likely thing; but from what he had heard and read, these men did not look like coiners.

Then a curious feeling of rage filled him, and the blood rushed to his brain as he lay reproaching himself for his folly. He had been attracted by this woman, who was evidently thoroughly in league with the man who spoke to her in a way which sent a jealous shudder through him, while the sisters of whom he had once or twice caught a glimpse, seemed to be absent, unless--The thought which occurred to him seemed to be so wild that he drove it away, and lay waiting for what was to come next.

"Be off, girls!" said the first man suddenly; and without a word, the two women present left the room, Adela not so much as casting a glance in the direction of the prisoner.

The three men whispered together for a few moments, and then Mr Barclay made an effort to get up, but it was useless, for the first two seized him between them, all bound as he was, and dragged him out of the room, along the passage, and down the stone steps to the basement, where they thrust him into the wine-cellar, and half-dragged him across there into the inner cellar, the houses on that side being exactly the same in construction as ours.

"Fetch a light," said one of them; and this was done, when the speaker bent down and dragged the handkerchief from the prisoner's mouth.

"You scoundrel!" cried Mr Barclay.

"Keep a civil tongue in your head, my fine fellow," he said.

"You shall suffer for this," retorted Mr Barclay.

"P'r'aps so. But now, listen. If you like to shout, you can do so, only I tell you the truth: no one can hear you when you're shut in here; and if you do keep on making a noise, one of us may be tempted to come and silence you."

"What do you want?--Money?"

"You to hold your tongue and be quiet. You behave yourself, and no harm shall come to you; but I warn you that if you attempt any games, look out, for you've desperate men to deal with. Now, then, will you take it coolly?"

"Tell me first what this means," said Mr Barclay.

"I shall tell you nothing. I only say this--will you take it coolly, and do what we want?"

"I can't help myself," says Mr Barclay.

"That's spoken like a sensible lad," says the second man.--"Now, look here: you've got to stop for some days, perhaps, and you shall have enough to eat, and blankets to keep you warm."

"But stop here--in this empty cellar?"

"That's it, till we let you go. If you behave yourself, you shan't be hurt. If you don't behave yourself, you may get an ugly crack on the head to silence you. Now, then, will you be quiet?"

"I tell you again, that I cannot help myself."

"Shall I undo his hands?" said one to the other.

"Yes; you can loosen them."

This was done, and directly after Mr Barclay sat thinking in the darkness, alone with as unpleasant thoughts as a man could have for company.

STORY TWO, CHAPTER TEN.

A PECULIAR POSITION.

The prisoner had been sitting upon the sawdust about an hour, when the door opened again, and the two men entered, one bearing a bundle of blankets and a couple of pillows, the other a tray with a large cup of hot coffee and a plate of bread and butter.

"There, you see we shan't starve you," said the first man; "and you can make yourself a bed with these when you've done."

"Will you leave me a light?"

"No," says the man with a laugh. "Wild sort of lads like you are not fit to trust with lights. Good-night."

The door of the inner cellar was closed and bolted, for it was not like ours, a simple arch; and then the outer cellar door was shut as well; and Mr Barclay sat for hours reproaching himself for his infatuation, before, wearied out, he lay down and fell asleep. How the time had gone, he could not tell, but he woke up suddenly, to find that there was a light in the cellar, and the two men were looking down at him.

"That's right--wake up," says the principal speaker, "and put on those."

"But," began Mr Barclay, as the man pointed to some rough clothes.

"Put on those togs, confound you!" cried the fellow fiercely, "or--"

He tapped the butt of a pistol; and there was that in the man's manner which showed that he was ready to use it.

There was nothing for it but to obey; and in a few minutes the prisoner stood up unbound and in regular workman's dress.

"That's right," said his jailer. "Now, come along; and I warn you once for all, that if you break faith and attempt to call out, you die, as sure as your name's Barclay Drinkwater!"

Mr Barclay felt as if he was stunned; and, half-led, half pushed, he was taken into what had once been the pantry, but was now a curious-looking place, with a bricked round well in the middle, while on one side was fixed a large pair of blacksmith's forge bellows, connected with a zinc pipe which went right down into the well.

"What does all this mean?" he said. "What are you going to do?"

"Wait, and you'll see," was all the reply he could get; and he stared round in amazement at the heaps of new clay that had been dug out, the piles of old bricks which had evidently been obtained by pulling down partition walls somewhere in the house, the lower part of which seemed, as it were, being transformed by workmen. Lastly, there were oil-lamps and a pile of cement, the material for which was obtained from a barrel marked "Flour."

The man called Ned was better, and joined them there, the three being evidently prepared for work, in which Mr Barclay soon found that he was to participate, and at this point he made a stand.

"Look here," he said; "I demand an explanation. What does all this mean?"

"Are you ready for work?" cried the leader of the little gang, seizing him by the collar menacingly.

"You people have obtained possession of this house under false pretences, and you have made the place an utter wreck. I insist on knowing what it means."

"You do--do you?" said the man, thrusting him back, and holding him with his shoulders against a pile of bricks. "Then, once for all, I tell you this: you've got to work here along with us in silence, and hard too, or else be shut up in that cellar in darkness, and half-starved till we set you free."

"The police shall--"

"Oh yes--all right. Tell the police. How are you going to do it?"

"Easily enough. I'll call for help, and--"

"Do," said the man, taking a small revolver from his breast. "Now, look here, Mr Drinkwater; men like us don't enter upon such an enterprise as this without being prepared for consequences. They would be very serious for us if they were found out. Nobody saw you come in where you were not asked, and when you came to insult my friend's wife."

"Wife?" exclaimed Mr Barclay, for the word almost took his breath away.

"Yes, sir, wife; and it might happen that the gallant husband had an accident with you. We can dig holes, you see. Perhaps we might put somebody in one and cover him up.--Now, you understand. Behave yourself and you shall come to no harm; but play any tricks, and--Look here, my lads; show our new labourer what you have in your pockets."

"Not now," they said, tapping their breasts. "He's going to work."

Mr Barclay, as he used to say afterwards, felt as if he was in a dream, and without another word went down the ladder into the well, which was about ten feet deep, and found himself facing the opening of a regular egg-shaped drain, carefully bricked round, and seemingly securely though roughly made.

"Way to Tom Tiddler's ground," said the man who had followed him. "Now, then, take that light and this spade. I'll follow with a basket; and you've got to clear out the bricks and earth that broke loose yesterday."

Mr Barclay looked in at the drain-like passage, which was just high enough for a man to crawl along easily, and saw that at one side a zinc pipe was carried, being evidently formed in lengths of about four feet, joined one to the other, but for what purpose, in his confused state, he could not make out.

What followed seemed like a part of a dream, in which, after crawling a long way, at first downwards, and then, with the passage sloping upwards, he found his farther progress stopped by a quantity of loose stones and crumbled down earth, upon which, by the direction of the man who followed close behind, he set down a strong-smelling oil lamp, filled the basket pushed to him, and realised for the first time in his life what must be the life of a miner toiling in the bowels of the earth.

At first it was intensely hot, and the lamp burned dimly; but soon after he could hear a low hissing noise, and a pleasant cool stream of air began to fill the place; the heat grew less, the light burned more brightly, and he understood what was the meaning of the bellows and the long zinc tube.

For a full hour he laboured on, wondering at times, but for the most part feeling completely stunned by the novelty of his position. He filled baskets with the clay and bricks, and by degrees cleared away the heap before him, after which he had to give place to the man who had been injured, but who now crept by both the occupants of the passage, a feat only to be accomplished after they had both lain down upon their faces.

Then the prisoner's task was changed to that of passing bricks and pails of cement, sometimes being forced to hold the light while the man deftly fitted in bricks, and made up what had been a fall, and beyond which the passage seemed to continue ten or a dozen feet.

At intervals the gang broke off work to crawl backwards out of the passage to partake of meals which were spread for them in the library. These meals were good, and washed down with plenty of spirits and water, the two servant-like women and the so-called Adela waiting on the party, everything being a matter of wonder to the prisoner, who stared wildly at the well-dressed, lady-like, girlish creature who busied herself in supplying the wants of the gang of four bricklayer-like men.

At the first meal, Mr Barclay refused food. He said that he could not eat; but he drank heartily from the glass placed at his side-water which seemed to him to be flavoured with peculiar coarse brandy. But he was troubled with a devouring thirst, consequent upon his exertions, and that of which he had partaken seemed to increase the peculiar dreamy nature of the scene. Whether it was laudanum or some other drug, we could none of us ever say for certain; but Mr Barclay was convinced that, nearly all the time, he was kept under the influence of some narcotic, and that, in a confused dreamy way, he toiled on in that narrow culvert.

He could keep no account of time, for he never once saw the light of day, and though there were intervals for food and rest, they seemed to be at various times; and from the rarity with which he heard the faint rattle of some passing vehicle, he often thought that the greater part of the work must be done by night.

At first he felt a keen sense of trouble connected with what he looked upon as his disgrace and the way he had lowered himself; but at last he worked on like some machine, obedient as a slave, but hour by hour growing more stupefied, even to the extent of stopping short at times and kneeling before his half-filled basket motionless, till a rude thrust or a blow from a brickbat pitched at him roused him to continue his task.

The drug worked well for his taskmasters, and the making of the mine progressed rapidly, for every one connected therewith seemed in a state of feverish anxiety now to get it done.

And so day succeeded day, and night gave place to night. The two servant-like women went busily on with their work, and fetched provisions for the household consumption, no tradespeople save milkman and baker being allowed to call, and they remarked that they never once found the area gate unlocked. And while these two women, prim and self-contained, went on with the cooking and housework and kept the doorstep clean, the so-called Miss Adela Mimpriss went on with the woolwork flowers at the dining-room window, where she could get most light, and the world outside had no suspicion of anything being wrong in the staid, old-fashioned house opposite Sir John Drinkwater's. Even the neighbours on either side heard no sound.

"What does it all mean?" Mr Barclay used to ask himself, and at other times, "When shall I wake?" for he often persuaded himself that this was the troubled dream of a bad attack of fever, from which he would awaken some day quite in his right mind. Meanwhile, growing every hour more machine-like, he worked on and on always as if in a dream.

STORY TWO, CHAPTER ELEVEN.

CONCLUSION.

I stood watching Sir John, who seemed nearly mad with grief and rage, and a dozen times over my lips opened to speak, but without a sound being heard. At last he looked up at me and saw what I wanted to do, but which respect kept back.

"Well," he said, "what do you propose doing?"

I remained silent for a moment, and then, feeling that even if he was offended, I was doing right, I said to him what was in my heart.

"Sir John, I never married, and I never had a son. It's all a mystery to me."

"Man, you are saved from a curse!" he cried fiercely.

"No, dear master, no," I said, as I laid my hand upon his arm. "You don't believe that. I only wanted to say that if I had had a boy--a fine, handsome, brave lad like Mr Barclay--"

"Fine!--brave!" he says contemptuously.

"Who had never done a thing wrong, or been disobedient in any way till he fell into temptation that was too strong for him--"

"Bah! I could have forgiven that. But for him to have turned thief!"

I was silent, for his words seemed to take away my breath.

"Man, man!" he cried, "how could you be such an idiot as to write that document and leave it where it could be found?"

"I did it for the best, sir," I said humbly.

"Best? The worst," he cried. "No, no; I cannot forgive. Disgrace or no disgrace, I must have in the police."

"No, no, no!" I cried piteously. "He is your own son, Sir John, your own son; and it is that wretched woman who has driven him mad."

"Mad? Burdon, mad? No; it is something worse."

"But it is not too late," I said humbly.

"Yes, too late--too late! I disown him. He is no longer son of mine."

"And you sit there in that dining-room every night, Sir John," I said, "with all us servants gathered round, and read that half a chapter and then say, `As we forgive them that trespass against us.' Sir John-- master--he is your own son, and I love him as if he was my own."

There wasn't a sound in that place for a minute, and then he drew his breath in a catching way that startled me, for it was as if he was going to have a fit. But his face was very calm and stern now, as he says to me gently:

"You are right, old friend;"--and my heart gave quite a bound--"old friend."

"Let's go to him and save him, master, from his sin."

"Two weak old men, Burdon, and him strong, desperate, and taken by surprise. My good fellow, what would follow then?"

"I don't know, Sir John. I can only see one thing, and that is, that we should have done our duty by the lad. Let's leave the rest to Him."

He drew a long deep breath.

"Yes," he says. "Come along."

We went back in the darkness to the cellar door and listened; but all seemed very still, and I turned the key in the patent Bramah lock without a sound. We went in, and stood there on the sawdust, with that hot smell of burnt oil seeming to get stronger, and there was a faint light in the inner cellar now, and a curious rustling, panting sound. We crept forward, one on each side of the opening; and as we looked in, my hand went down on one of the sherry bottles in the bin by my arm, and it made a faint click, which sounded quite loud.

I forgot all about Sir John; I didn't even know that he was there, as I stared in from the darkness at the scene before me. They--I say they, for the whispering had taught me that there was more than one--had got the stone up while we had been away. It had been pushed aside on to the sawdust, and a soft yellow light shone up now out of the hole, showing me my young master, looking so strange and staring-eyed and ghastly, that I could hardly believe it was he. But it was, sure enough, though dressed in rough workman's clothes, and stained and daubed with clay.