Chapter X: A Broken Hand--A Wonderful Discovery

Our hero looked straight into the face of the man before him, and he saw there not only the unmistakable signs of drink, but he saw, too, a fierce, ungovernable anger. The dark, sinister face was the face of a madman.

And there was still mischief in the eyes. They sent forth a malevolent, vengeful gleam not to be mistaken. What did the man mean?

What could have possessed him? It occurred to Maitland at once that his wrath had been aroused before this present meeting. The sight of himself might have set it boiling over, but that had not been the sole cause of it.

Instinctively Percy thought of his means of defense against attack. Oakleigh was armed with a good sword, and was angry enough to draw it upon the slightest provocation. Indeed, it was more than possible that his intent was in that direction. Fortunately our hero was armed. He had in his hand a leopard-wood staff--a common walking-cane--a stick that Donald Rodney had brought from one of the Pacific islands and given him as a present. It had a head of solid silver, and was, taken all in all, as serviceable a weapon as he could have wished for.

“Lord Oakleigh! why do you thus impede my progress? If you have anything to say, I am ready to hear it.”

“Oho! you’ve found your tongue, have you? Well, my gay young spark, I have something to say, and you may find it of importance. I have to inform you that you have made yourself about as familiar at the castle as will be good for you. Henceforth you will give that place as wide a berth as possible. To come to the point, you will have nothing more to say to the Lady Cordelia. I think you can understand that, and I can assure you, you had better take heed.”

“Is that all, my lord?”

“Is--that--all! Isn’t it enough? Do you intend to obey me?”

“Lord Oakleigh, I answer you frankly--I do not recognize your right to command me.”

“You don’t, eh?”

“Certainly not.”

“Then, by --! I’ll give you a taste of my quality. I give you fair warning. I command you to cease all intercourse with Cordelia Chester! And I give you fair warning that if you do not, here and now, give me your promise to that effect, I will punish you! Aye, I will put it beyond your power to trouble her more! If you can not put that into plain English I shall not translate it for you. I’ll expound it in a way you’ll be likely to remember while you live! What say you? Shall I have your promise?”

“Lord Oakleigh, you have no right to speak--”

“Silence! Will you promise?”

“Lord Oakleigh, have you come hither on purpose to assassinate me?”

“Will you give me the promise?”

“I will not!”

“Then (the oaths he muttered in his mad rage were horrible) I’ll show you for I am here! Take that!”

The first movement he made and he made it furiously, told his fell purpose.

He had drawn his sword, a heavy infantry sabre, of the pattern worn by the higher officers when on active service, and his first movement, following immediately upon the words he had spoken, was a direct, powerful lunge at the other’s bosom.

But our hero had been on his guard and was prepared. Probably there was not a better swordsman in Headlandshire than was he.

With a downward and outward sweep of his heavy staff he struck the blade aside, and his lordship’s own impetus, with the expected resistance thus removed, came near to sending him prone upon the earth. But he quickly recovered himself and came on again.

And again did Percy beat his blade aside,--and again; and by and by he gave his lordship a rap on the knuckles that made him groan aloud in his pain.

“Oakleigh! if you do not desist, I will break your arm; or I will lame it for you so that you will not wield a sword again for a time at least. Beware!”

If Matthew Brandon had been in any degree sober, and in possession of his reason, he would have seen that he had no show against the antagonist he had chosen.

The staff was like iron in weight, and impervious to the cutting edge of the sword; and in the hand of its owner it was really a dangerous weapon. With only a jaunty velvet cap to protect Lord Oakleigh’s head, his antagonist could, had he willed so to do, have brought his stick down upon it with force enough to crack it; and more than once had the opportunity been offered.

At length, when Brandon had become so mad and furious as to lose all control of himself, when only an insane purpose to kill urged him on in his blind, headlong attack, Percy determined to put an end to the scene.

Twice, without particular effort, he struck aside the blade, and then, as the opening was given, he brought his heavy staff down upon the back of his lordship’s right hand with a force that closed the strife.

The sword dropped to the earth, and Lord Oakleigh fairly shrieked with pain.

“You’ve broken my hand! You’ve broken my wrist!”

“Thank me that I did not break your head, which I might have done half a dozen times!”

“You shall pay for this! Oh, you shall pay for it!”

“Lord Oakleigh, you attacked me with the intent to kill me. You meant it from the first; I saw it in your face, and you did the same as to swear you would do it. Listen, now, my lord: four separate times, at least, your life was at my mercy. I could have delivered a blow on your skull that would have crushed it like an egg-shell; but I spared you. I may say to you, however, don’t depend upon my sparing you should you make a second attempt upon me, because I might not do it. And now, noble sir, you had better go home and have your hand properly cared for.”

“You’ve broken every bone in it! Oh, you shall suffer for it, be sure of that!”

“I can only say to you once more, my lord, thank me that I did not break your head.” And with this our hero, who had changed places with his antagonist during the conflict, turned on his heel and walked swiftly away.

Lord Oakleigh watched him till a bend in the path had hidden him from view, and then burst forth into a torrent of oaths and imprecations and threats of vengeance, dire and deadly.

By and by, when he had regained sense enough to realize the needs of his situation, he bethought him of what he had better do. He was confident his wrist was broken. His best plan would be to see the village surgeon, whom he knew as a man of skill and judgment.

He managed to pick up his sword with his left hand and return it to its scabbard, after which he set forth for the village, distant less than a mile.

He was fortunate enough to find the surgeon at home, an elderly man, and really skillful in the way of his profession. He knew the young lord by sight, and was ready, and even eager, to be of service; but with not a particle of servility. He would have been just as earnest to help the poorest man in the town.

Oakleigh told him he had received a kick from a horse. And the surgeon, when he examined it, decided that it had been a pretty furious kick, and it was curious that the remark should have fallen from his lips, “Be thankful, my lord, it was not your head. You would never have come to me to fix it for you.”

His lordship winced, and, doubtless, felt like swearing, but he contained himself. The surgeon informed him that two of the metacarpal bones were fractured and dislocated at their point of articulation with the carpus.

“You are an Oxford man,” said the doctor, smilingly, “so, of course, you know what all that means.”

“Certainly,” the sufferer answered; but he lied, and the old man suspected as much, but he made no further remark. The dislocation was reduced, and the two central bones of the hand were properly set, and a couple of light splints bound on to hold them in place while they healed.

“I must go to Oxford at once,” said Oakleigh, when the surgeon had spoken of his calling again. “You can tell me how I must manage.”

“When do you start?”

“This very day.”

“Then keep your hand in a good, firm sling; have your servant do your undressing and dressing for you, and as soon as you reach Oxford call on Dr. Cartwright and let him look at it. Mark you, don’t attempt to use that hand, and don’t you let either of those splints get out of place till you have seen the Oxford surgeon.”

His lordship promised obedience with a nod, paid the fee, and departed: his hand--and his whole arm, for that matter--giving him an exquisite sense of pain.

He did not think of wishing that he had kept clear of Percy Maitland. In that direction his thoughts were only of vengeance; and the imprecations that fell from his lips were terrible.

Meantime our hero had kept on up the river path. He was bound for the old chapel, having determined to make a search for the secret which he firmly believed had existence there. He had thought of calling on Cordelia to accompany him, knowing that she would be anxious to do so, did she know of his purpose, but he could not do it. After the adventure of the preceding evening, his calling her out would loosen people’s tongues; and even she might deem it an unwarrantable liberty.

Ah! he would not have felt this way four-and-twenty hours before. The whole world had changed to him in that time. A great joy had entered into his lowly life, uplifting and sanctifying it, a joy which must be kept hidden from the world until it could be published with safety to his darling.

Henceforth the end and aim of his existence would be to care for and bless the dear one who had so frankly and nobly trusted him; and for the present, for her comfort and well-being, their love must be known only to themselves.

Ah! he would be very careful that he did not give any one cause for suspicion. He could not be quite so free as he had been. He would go on his present excursion alone, and Cordelia should decide for herself how it should be thereafter.

It was near noon when Percy reached the old chapel. He entered and looked around. All was as they had found it on the previous day.

He went to the corner where the stone cubes were, and sat down where he had sat on the evening before. For a little time he gave himself up to thoughts of the blissful moment that had come to him amid storm and tempest. He lived them over again; and, naturally enough, his mind ran on into the future. What should it bring? Would he ever be permitted to make the daughter of an English nobleman his wife?

“But she loves me! She loves me!” he cried in tones of rapture; “and with her dear love I will be content. If darkness and disaster must come, I will not court it. I will love her while life is mine, and love shall be my joy. Oh! that can not be taken from me! That is a part of myself that will endure while I live, and can only die when I am done with earth.”

Shortly after this he gave his attention to the business on which he came. He looked first and calculated the direction in which the spectral figure had gone after passing the center of the chapel.

It had been directly toward the altar, and there, very nearly at the right-hand corner of the huge block of stone as he stood facing it, the figure had last been seen.

He now approached the altar and looked around upon the pavement in its neighborhood. It--the pavement--was composed of flags of a bluish-gray stone, square in form and fully three feet across, laid in cement. He got down upon his knees and with the strong blade of his pocket-knife sought to find a crack or a crevice of any kind between the stones of the floor.

But his search was vain. Fully half an hour was spent thus, and to no effect. The pavement over that whole part of the chapel was as intact, as firm and solid as though it had been a single mass, without break or flaw.

Where could it be? He examined the altar itself. Certainly there was no possible opening in any part of that. It was a single block of stone, without flaw or blemish.

The explorer looked around at the open windows. Not by any one of them could the seeming monk have gone. That was decided at once. Where then?

Had the whole thing been a wild, fantastical hallucination? Only a dream? Could it be possible that they had seen nothing?

Could it be that the very excursion itself, together with what he had deemed the most rapturous event of his life--could that have been but a baseless vision of his distempered brain?

He looked down, and his eyes rested upon his poor staff--its beautiful, evenly spotted and highly polished surface, erstwhile so smooth and fair, now marred and cut, and bruised and hacked by its rough contact with the edge of Lord Oakleigh’s sword. Ah! that had been real at all events, and he very soon told himself that all that had gone before had been real.

Yes--the gray friar had certainly vanished from sight at that altar. There had been no deception; no hallucination--the departure had been a fact; and that was the end.

He had given up, and had turned, in deep dejection, toward the vestibule for the purpose of departing, when suddenly a new thought came to him, under the influence of which he stopped, and presently went back to the altar.

Was it cemented to the pavement? Was it secured in its place in any way? Again he went down on his knees, with his pocket-knife in his hand.

He commenced at the rear wall, at the end of the huge block where the specter had stood, and examined the point of connection between it and the pavement.

Ah! he found places where he could insert the knife-blade. He arose, and went outside and cut a small twig from a bush near by, the wood of which was tough and elastic. This he shaved down to a long, thin strip, and returned to his work.

He commenced again at the rear wall, brushing away the accumulated dust, and probed with the new implement. And so he went entirely around the altar; and at no point had it any further connection with the pavement than simply to rest upon it.

He was gazing upon the line, between the lower edge of the block and the floor, when something caught his eye that caused him to start.

It was a series of marks--abrasions--extending out from the edge of the altar, with a circular sweep, entirely across one of the broad stone flags. What did it mean? What could have done it?

A critical examination, with a little calculation, showed him that exactly such an abrasion as that would have been made by the swinging outward of the altar, away from the wall.

Suppose the huge block could swing on a pivot fixed at the corner next to the wall, at its eastern end--the end on the left hand, as one stood facing it. With a pivot at that point, a swinging outward of the giant cube would produce exactly the marks he had discovered.

And why were they on that one flag, and no where else? Simply because that flag was an eighth of an inch higher than its mates.

He stood back and looked. He felt that he had made an important discovery.

Somewhere, out of sight, was mechanism by which the altar, ponderous as it was, could be moved out of place; and there, beneath it, would be found an entrance to regions below. He was as sure of it as he could be of anything which his eyes had not absolutely beheld. And further, there must be some very simple and ready way of setting the mass free, and moving it from the wall. Enormous weights with easily working pulleys operating beneath might do it.

In fact, the explorer as he contemplated the scene could imagine several ways in which the end might be accomplished. But that did not help him. Where was the point of connection outside?

That was the thing now, and the only thing. It must be very simple, wherever it was. The friar had accomplished the work of opening and closing the way very quickly, and with but little noise. Our adventurer looked around once more, and once more stood and reflected, with his head bent and his hands folded.

Again he went down upon his knees, and with his probe went entirely around the altar a second time, closely examining the line of separation between the cube and the floor. And this time he noticed something which he had not noticed before.

On the left-hand--easterly--end of the altar, the space between it and the pavement was marked. At the other end the huge block of stone sat firmly upon the flagging, there being places where even the thinnest probe he could fashion would not enter; but on that left-hand end it was different.

There the stone of the altar came in direct contact with the pavement at no single point!

And he found another thing: from the outer corner on that left-hand end to a point midway on the front side, that line of separation continued.

It was very slight--not more than an eighth of an inch in width--and would never be detected by a person while standing erect. He would have to stoop to find it. Was there any meaning to this? Could the ponderous block possibly be tilted over toward that easterly end?

Just half its bulk at bottom appeared to be free from resting upon the floor beneath, so there might be just that eighth of an inch play in case it could be moved.

Percy looked the ground over once more, and then went around to the opposite--the westerly--end of the altar. That was where the spectral monk had last been seen.

Could the massive block be jostled? He laid his hands upon the upper edge, then stooped slightly, so as to lift at the stone when he should put forth his strength, and then made the trial. He did not apply his full force in the outset. It was an experiment, and he wished to note particularly the result.

With his two hands fixed in place, and his lower limbs firmly braced, he lifted, lightly at first, and then with renewed force.

By and by, acting upon the impulse of the moment, he gave a sudden upward pressure with all his might. The result was wonderful.

First, he felt the heavy mass yield; next, he heard a dull thud followed by a rattling, grating sound beneath the floor; and, a moment later, the ponderous cube, starting away from its rest against the rear wall of the chapel, swung outward for a distance equal to its own depth, perhaps a little more.

And there, exposed to his view, was an opening in the pavement seemingly as long and as broad as the altar would safely cover; and on looking down he saw the head of a ladder resting against the side nearest to him.

His first thought was of the mechanism by which this wonderful result had been wrought; and for the purpose of discovering that he went part way down the ladder. He examined thoroughly, and found it very nearly as he had thought. A system of enormous weights, slung in chains of copper, the chains working in easily running blocks, were so arranged that upon setting the weights free the stone would be moved, as we have seen. The huge stone itself swung upon a pivot, at the inner, eastern corner, and at the other end underneath were small trucks on which it traveled over the flagging, and which had caused the abrasions which had attracted the explorer’s attention.

The tipping of the rock backward set the spring free, and our hero remembered that he had instinctively applied his force towards moving the stone away from the wall until it had stopped, and then he had heard a sharp click, as though another spring had been caught.

Would tipping the stone again cause it to resume its former position against the wall? He thought so.

The next question he asked himself was, Should he unarmed and without a light, attempt to explore the wonderful place he had so curiously discovered?

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