The Childerbridge Mystery

Jim heaved a heavy sigh. A longing to be back in the old home, and to be engaged in the pursuits he had been brought up to from a boy, had been with him a great deal of late.

"Yes," he said. "I think we were happier at Gundawurra. I must go back there soon, Terence, if only for a whiff of Bush air. I am very much afraid that playing the fine gentleman in England does not suit me."

When the other had left the room, Jim lay back in his chair and fell into a reverie. He closed his eyes, and was transported back to the old home where he had been born, and where he had spent his happiest days. How sweet it would be to settle down there some day, with Helen as his wife. He tried hard to realise the day's work upon the run; the home-coming at night, to find Helen at the gate waiting for him; the evenings spent in the cool verandah, with the moon rising above the river timber. Then he came back to the very real anxieties of the present. An hour later a message came from Mrs. Caltrop. It was as follows:

"Doctor Weston, Harley Street."

Whereupon he took another telegraph form and wired to the doctor to the effect that he would be grateful if he could make it convenient to travel down to Childerbridge that afternoon. In order that the latter might understand from whom the message emanated, he added the words, "Met you at dinner at Mrs. Caltrop's." Luncheon was scarcely finished before a message arrived from the doctor saying that he would endeavour to be at Childerbridge at four o'clock. Accordingly at half-past three Jim drove to the railway station to await his coming. Punctual to the moment the train steamed into the station, and he looked about among the passengers for the man he wanted.

Presently he descried him coming along the platform – a tall, good-looking man, resembling a soldier more than a Harley Street physician.

"Mr. Standerton, I believe," he said as he approached Jim.

"And you are Doctor Weston, of course," the latter answered with a smile.

"Now," said the doctor, "I will commence, Mr. Standerton, by saying that it is absolutely necessary that I should catch the six o'clock train back to London."

"I will arrange that you do so," Jim replied, and then the doctor surrendered his ticket and they strolled out of the station. "Now, perhaps, I had better tell you my reasons for asking you to come down to-day. Shall we walk a little way along the road. I have no desire to be overheard. I will now make you acquainted with the facts of the case, in order that you may go direct to the house of the gentleman I want you to see."

"He is not a member of your own family, then?" the doctor enquired.

"No, he is no sort of relation. In fact, I had not seen him until a few months ago."

They paused beside a gate and faced each other.

"I gather that it is rather an unusual case?" the doctor remarked.

"A very unusual one," Jim replied. "The matter stands in this way. I am engaged to a young lady who is the adopted granddaughter of the gentleman in question."

The doctor nodded, but said nothing. He listened attentively, while Jim told his tale, explained his fears for Helen's safety, and described the threats the old gentleman had made use of concerning himself.

When he had finished Dr. Weston drew some lines on the ground with the point of his umbrella, as if he were working out a difficult calculation.

"This is certainly a singular case, Mr. Standerton," he said at last. "You are not connected with this gentleman in any way, and he, not approving of your marriage with his granddaughter, has forbidden you his house. The young lady's only reason for believing him to be a little weak in his intellect is his treatment of you. I really do not know whether, under the circumstances, I should be justified in seeing him."

Jim's heart sank. He had not looked at the matter from this point of view. Observing his disappointment, the doctor smiled.

"Nevertheless," he continued, "I will see him, provided you will give me your promise that my report shall be considered a purely confidential one."

"Am I to understand that I am not to acquaint Miss Decie or my sister with your decision?"

"Of course, I will allow you to tell them, and equally, of course, provided it goes no further."

"In that case I will give you my promise most willingly," said Jim.

"And now the question comes as to how I can obtain my interview with him."

"I have thought out a plan that should enable you to do that," Jim replied. "I happen to know that for a long time past he has been engaged in writing a history of the neighbourhood, and my house in particular which at one time was the property of his family."

"Quite so; and the ruins a mile or two back, what are they called?"

"Clevedon Castle," Jim answered. "I believe it was destroyed by Cromwell."

"That should answer my purpose. And now with your permission I will drive to his house – not in your carriage, but in a cab. I shall see you afterwards, I presume?"

"I will wait for you here, or at my own house, whichever you please," said Jim.

"Your house, I think, would be better," the doctor answered. "I will drive there directly I leave Mr. – . By-the-way, you have not told me his name or given me his address."

Jim furnished him with both, and then the doctor hailed a fly and drove away.

It was nearly half-past five before Jim was informed by Wilkins that Dr. Weston had called, and that he had been shown to the study.

He immediately proceeded thither, to find the doctor sitting before the fire.

"Well, Mr. Standerton," he began, "I have seen Mr. Bursfield, and have had rather a curious interview with him."

"And what decision have you come to?"

"Well, I think your supposition is correct. Not to be technical, I might say that he is not really responsible for his actions. While we discussed archæology, and the history of the neighbourhood, he was rational enough, but when I chanced to touch upon this house, and your connection with it, his whole demeanour changed. If I were in your place I should avoid him as much as possible, for there can be no doubt that he would do you a mischief if he could. As for Miss Decie, I would not advise you to persuade her to leave him, at least not at present. It would in all probability immediately produce unfavourable results, and in so doing might snap the frail link that still connects him with Sanity. The influence she exerts over him, where you are not concerned, is undoubtedly a beneficial one."

"Am I to consider that she is safe with him?"

"I should say so," the doctor replied. "Of course, if he has many more of these paroxysms of rage it might be necessary for her to leave him. But she must be the best judge of that. Doubtless you can arrange that with her. And now I must be getting back to the railway station; if I wish to catch my train I have not much time to lose."

"I am exceedingly obliged to you, Doctor Weston," said Jim gratefully. "I cannot say that you have made my mind easier, but you have at least let me know exactly how matters stand with Mr. Bursfield."

"I am glad to have been of service," said the doctor.

James handed him an envelope containing his fee, and escorted him to the door. When he had seen him depart he returned to the drawing-room and communicated his intelligence to his sister.

"Poor Helen," said Alice, "it is no wonder that she looks anxious. What will you do now, Jim?"

"I must take the night to think the matter over," he answered. "Since the old man is undoubtedly mad, and not only mad, but dangerously so, I cannot bear to contemplate her remaining with him, and yet I have no desire to hasten the crisis."

All the evening Jim brooded over the matter, imagining all sorts of dangers for the woman he loved. At last the time came for them to retire to rest. He was in the act of lighting Alice's candle in the hall, when the sound of steps on the gravel path outside attracted his attention.

"Good gracious!" cried Jim, "who on earth can it be at this time of the night?"

So saying, he hastened to the door. The lights from the hall shone on the steps, and showed him Helen Decie, standing, bareheaded, before him. For a moment the shock at seeing her there at such an hour, and in such a plight, deprived him of speech. Alice was the first to break the silence.

"Helen, my dear girl," she cried, "what does this mean?"

Then Helen stepped into the hall, and James closed the door behind her. He had scarcely done so, before she gave a little cry and fell to the floor in a dead faint. Picking her up, Jim carried her to the big settee in the centre.

"My poor girl," he cried, "what has he done to you?" Then, turning to Alice, he added, "What can have happened?"

She did not answer him, but sped upstairs to her bedroom, to presently return with a bottle of smelling salts. Under their restorative influence, consciousness very soon returned, and Helen looked about her in a dazed fashion, as if she could not realise where she was.

"Do you feel well enough to tell what has taken place, dear?" Jim asked, when she had so far recovered as to be able to sit up. "What has brought you here bareheaded at this time of night?"

"My grandfather has turned me out of his house," she answered falteringly.

"Turned you out of the house?" repeated both Jim and Alice together. Then Alice added: "Surely not? He ought to be turned out himself."

"You must not be angry with him," said Helen. "I really don't think he knows what he is doing."

"But this is an unheard-of thing," Jim said angrily. "He must have taken leave of his senses."

"He accused me of being in league with you to poison him, and bade me come to an instant decision as to whether I would give you up or leave the house."

"And my noble girl refused to give me up?" said James, kissing her hand.

"Helen acted nobly," said Alice. "Never mind, dear, you know where your real friends are, don't you?"

"But whatever shall I do?" the girl put in. "He bade me leave the house and never come back again."

"We will arrange all that to-morrow," Jim replied. "For to-night, Alice will take care of you. Do not worry, dear heart, all will come right in the end."

Then he proceeded to inform her of Dr. Weston's visit that afternoon, and of the report that gentleman had given of the old gentleman's mental condition.

"I cannot tell why," she said, "but I had some sort of suspicion that he came for that purpose. Poor grandfather, how sad it is to think of his being like this. Since he does not know what he is doing, we should not be angry with him for acting as he did."

At this juncture Alice departed to make arrangements for her friend's comfort for the night.

"Oh, Jim dear, what do you think will become of me?" Helen asked. "Think for me, for I cannot think for myself."

"I think I can hazard a very good guess what your fate will be," said Jim. "To-morrow morning I shall go up to London to obtain a special license, and the day after you shall become my wife."

CHAPTER XII

Unexpected as the events of the evening had been, Jim Standerton, as he stood in his bedroom before retiring to rest, could not declare that he altogether regretted the turn they had taken. On the morrow he would go to London, and afterwards, armed with the Law's authority, he would make Helen Decie his wife without delay. From that moment Mr. Bursfield might do his worst. Before retiring to his room he had visited Terence, and had received from him a positive assurance that so far all was right for the night. Knowing that he might trust the latter implicitly, he had given him an account of what had happened that evening.

"The sooner, sir, they put that old man under lock and key the better it will be for everybody," said Terence. "Let him just come playing his little game round here, and he'll have me on his track like a Nyall blackfellow."

Half-an-hour later, Jim was in bed and asleep, dreaming that he was back in the Bush once more, and that he and Terence were chasing wild horses through a mountain range, and that, on the foremost horse, Helen was seated, clinging to his mane, as if for dear life. He was galloping after her as fast as his horse could carry him, when suddenly a hand clutched him by the throat, and tried to lift him out of the saddle.

At that moment, however, he woke to find that this was no dream, but the most horrible reality he had ever known in his life. Bony fingers were clutching tightly at his windpipe, rendering it impossible for him to breathe. He endeavoured to rise and to seize his assailant, whoever he might be, and throw him off. But his efforts were unavailing. Still those talon-like fingers retained their hold; try as he would he could not weaken their terrible grip. Little by little he felt himself sinking. The room was in such total darkness that it was impossible to discover whom his antagonist might be. In the last extremity of his agony he rolled from the bed and lay helpless upon the floor, entangled in the clothes. With the fall, his assailant lost his grip of his throat. Then something must have startled him, for a moment later the door opened, and he was gone. Disengaging himself as quickly as possible from the bed-clothes, Jim staggered to his feet, half stunned by the fall and the terrific conflict in which he had so lately been engaged. As soon as he recovered he lit a candle, hastened to the door, opened it and passed out into the gallery. No one was to be seen there, but he had not gone many paces before he heard the same clicking noise that had arrested his attention on the first occasion of his seeing the Black Dwarf. Making his way round the gallery, he reached the room occupied by Terence. The door stood ajar, and from the noises that proceeded from within, he gathered that his trusty servant was not only in bed, but fast asleep. He crossed and shook him by the shoulders.

"Get up, Terence," he whispered softly. "Get up at once."

"What's the matter?" asked the half-awakened man. "Why, it's you, sir. Is there anything wrong?"

"I should rather think so," Jim replied. "Look at my throat and see if you can detect any marks upon it."

The other held up the candle as he was directed. On either side of his throat were a number of bruises and scratches, and some of the latter were bleeding profusely.

"My gracious, sir!" said Terence; "it looks as if somebody had been trying to strangle you."

"You've hit it exactly," Jim replied. "Good heavens! Terence, I've been nearly murdered. You've no idea what a fight of it I've had in the dark. The man, whoever he was, finding that he couldn't finish me, bolted, and has gone down some secret passage in the gallery. Terence, we must catch him somehow."

Terence sprang out of bed, and while he was dressing, Jim hastened back to his room and also donned some clothes. This done, he returned to Terence's bedroom, to discover that worthy in the act of lacing his boots.

"It's a funny business this, sir!" Terence remarked. "I wish I had been behind that gentleman when he was trying to settle you. I'd have given him one for his precious nob, ghost or no ghost."

"I expect you would. Now be as quick as you can, for there is not a moment to lose if we want to catch him."

Terence immediately announced himself as ready, and then, taking their candles, they set off round the gallery towards the corridor where Jim felt sure his mysterious assailant had disappeared. Inspection showed them that the door of the stairs at the further end, leading down to the domestic offices, was securely fastened on the other side. Having made sure of this, they tried, as on a previous occasion, the various rooms along the corridor, searching each one most carefully. But no success attended their efforts.

"It is quite certain that he is not in any of these rooms," said Jim. "Now what we have to do is to discover the entrance to that secret passage. I shall not rest content until we have found that."

They accordingly returned to the corridor, where they set to work once more to over-haul the wainscotting. Beginning at one end, they worked to the other; their efforts, however, met with no more success than they had done in the searching of the rooms. Every panel of the wainscotting seemed as hollow as its fellow – each projection as firmly secured.

"And yet I am as certain that it is somewhere about here that he disappeared," said Jim.

At the entrance to the corridor from the gallery were two square pillars elaborately carved with fruit. Jim had explored his side, having pressed and pulled every pear and apple, with the usual result. Suddenly Terence touched him on the arm.

"Look here, sir," he whispered, "what's this? It seems to me that this grape is not very firm."

Jim turned to him and knelt down beside the bunch of fruit indicated. It certainly did seem as if the lowest grape of the bunch were loose. It shook under his finger, and yet showed no sign of coming off.

"I believe we've got it at last," he said, pressing upon the grape, as he spoke, with all his strength. Yet it did not move. He endeavoured to push it in the direction of the gallery, but still it remained immovable. He tried forcing it from him towards the corridor, when to his amazement it left its place and moved half an inch or so away. As it did so there was a heavy creaking noise, and a portion of the panelling of the corridor, some three feet in width and six feet high, swung inwards, disclosing a black cavity, which might either have been a well or a staircase. Both men drew back in astonishment, half expecting that Jim's assailant, if he were concealed within, would dash out upon them.

"We've found the place at last," said Jim. "Now, if I'm not mistaken, we shall be able to solve the mystery of the famous Childerbridge ghosts. Hold your candle aloft, Terence, so that we can see what we are doing, and we'll descend and discover where it leads to."

"Let me go first, sir," Terence returned. "After the fight you had upstairs, you may not be up to the mark, and I'm dying to have a turn with him, if he's as big as a church."

But Jim would not hear of this, and bade the other follow him. Holding their lights aloft, they descended the narrow stone steps. They were longer than they expected to find them, and when they reached the bottom Jim knew that they must be some distance beneath the level of the foundations of the house. They were then standing in a passage, some four feet wide by seven in height. The walls and ceiling were of brick, the floor composed of huge blocks of stone. Everything reeked with damp while the air was as close and musty as a vault. Being resolved to leave no part of it unexplored, Jim pushed on closely followed by Terence. For economy's sake they blew out one of the candles, not knowing how far they might have to travel, or what might happen to them by the way. They had not been more than three minutes in the passage before Jim stopped, and turning to his companion, held up his hand.

"What's up?" he asked.

A sound as of heavy blows upon stone reached them from above.

"I can tell you what it is, sir," said Terence, after a moment's reflection. "It's the horses, and it means that we're under the stables."

"In that case it must run the entire width of the house and burrow under the courtyard. It means also that the direction is due east. This is growing interesting. Come along."

After this discovery they pushed on with increased speed, but the passage showed no signs of coming to an end. The air was close, but now and again draughts poured in upon them to prove that though they could not see them, there must be vent holes somewhere.

"I wouldn't have believed such a place could have existed," said Jim. "It seems as if we have come miles. By Jove, what's that?"

As he spoke the light of his candle shone upon a dark mass huddled upon the floor. A second later it became apparent that it was the figure of a man.

"Take care, sir," said Terence, as Jim hastened towards the prostrate form, "it may be the man we want, and he's as like as not shamming."

"We'll soon find that out," answered Jim, and knelt down beside the prostrate figure.

While Terence held the candle, Jim rolled the figure over until they were able to see the face. Then he uttered a cry of horror. The man lying before them was none other than Abraham Bursfield!

"Good heavens, this is too terrible," said Jim, after the long pause which followed, during which he had assured himself that he had made no mistake as to the other's identity. "Is he dead, do you think, Terence?"

"Quite dead, sir," Terence replied, after he too had knelt down and examined him. "If he's the man who tried to kill you, he'll never do any more mischief to anybody again."

But Jim did not answer. A sickening feeling of giddiness was taking possession of him. If it were Abraham Bursfield who had done his best to murder him that night, it was only logical to conclude that he was also the man who had murdered his father. Doctor Weston had declared him to be a madman that afternoon. Now he had certainly proved himself to be one of the most dangerous type. If that were the case what a narrow escape Helen had had.

"What's to be done, Terence? – what's to be done?" Jim asked almost piteously. "We could not have made a more terrible discovery."

"There'll have to be an Inquest, sir," said Terence.

"When it will be found that he entered my house and endeavoured to murder me. Then it will be remembered how my father died. Two and two will be put together, and the terrible truth will come out. That would break Miss Decie's heart."

"Good heavens! sir, I see what you mean," said Terence. "I never thought of that."

"He was mad, Terence, hopelessly mad, and therefore not responsible for his actions. Poor Miss Decie!"

"Aye, poor young lady. If she was so fond of the old gentleman, it would break her heart to know what he has been trying to do."

"She must never know," said Jim, who by this time had made up his mind. "I can trust you, Terence."

"To the death, sir, and I think you know it. I've served you, sir, and I served your father before you, and I don't think you ever found me wanting. Tell me what you think of doing."

"We must get him back to his own house, if possible," said Jim, "and let him be found dead there. No one but our two selves will know the truth, and if we keep silence, no one need ever know that we found him here. I cannot let Miss Decie be made more unhappy than she is."

"I don't know but that you are right, sir," Terence answered. "But how are we going to get him to the Dower House?"

"We must go along the passage and see where it leads to. If I am not mistaken it will take us there. This place must have been made years ago, when the two properties were one. We will leave the body here, and, if I am right in my conjecture, we can come back for it."

They accordingly allowed the remains of Mr. Bursfield to lie where they had found them, and proceeded on their tour of exploration. As it transpired, they had still a considerable distance to go before they reached the end of the tunnel. At last, however, they found themselves at the foot of a flight of stone steps, similar to those by which they had descended at the Manor House.

"Tread very quietly," Jim whispered to his companion. "We must on no account rouse the servants."

They noiselessly ascended the stairs until they found themselves at the top, and confronted by a door.

"I'll get you to stay here, Terence," Jim whispered, "while I open this door and see where we are."

He soon discovered what appeared to be a spring in the middle of the door, and when he had pressed it, had the satisfaction of seeing the door swing inwards. Shading the candle with his hand, Jim stepped into the room he found before him. His surprise at finding himself in Mr. Bursfield's study, the same room in which he had his last unpleasant interview with the old gentleman, can be better imagined than described. The secret door, he observed, formed part of the panelling on one side of the fireplace, a fragment of carving in the setting of the chimney-piece being the means of opening it. The old man's papers and books were littered about the table just as he had left them; a grandfather clock ticked solemnly in the further right-hand corner, while a little mouse watched Jim from beneath the sofa, as if it were endeavouring to ascertain his errand there at such an hour.