Page:Weird Tales v02n04 (1923-11).djvu/57

56 He agreed, moodily; as he would have acquiesced, just then, in almost anything of her proposing. Shortly, he left, still constrained and silent.

HE library where old John Bamber had lain was dark, save for the converter's lurid light, but no alien presence was within, when young John crossed it to answer the faint summons at the door. Her knock had been barely audible in competition with the clatter of dishes which came from the kitchen—Mrs. Murdock was a lusty housekeeper—but the young man had been waiting anxiously.

"Does Mrs. Murdock know I'm coming?" was her first question.

He shook his head.

"That's just as well."

His desire was to go straight to the intolerable task before them. He could scarcely allow himself time to take her hat and coat and hang them in the darkened hallway.

"Shall we go up?" he demanded, breathlessly.

"I think so. We can't make it any easier by putting it off."

He led the way to the rear of the hall. Unconsciously, they tiptoed, though Mrs. Murdock was noisy in the kitchen. A single gas jet, turned low, disclosed the broad stairs, rising to the door at the top. The glare of the converter, reflecting from some bookcase door in the library to right of them, shone on the lower part of the polished baluster. Mary grasped his arm.

"The door is shut, isn't it, John?" she whispered.

He nodded.

"Shall I go up and look in, while you wait down here?"

He stiffened at that; perhaps she had expected him to do so.

"I'll go," he said.

"You mean you will go by yourself?"

"Yes."

"That may be best, if you really can do it. It—whatever it is—may not show itself to me. If you feel able to open the door, I'll wait here. The instant you look in, I will come. Can you do it, John?"

"I will do it," he answered, slowly.

With pale face, he started up the stairs. As she waited below, in the yellow pool of gas light, her upturned countenance seemed drawn and haggard. Her eyes followed each step he took. When at last his hand was on the door knob, she could not suppress a low sob of excitement.

He turned the knob slowly, then, with a sudden jerk, wrenched the door open.

"Mary!"

She was by his side.

"Can you see him?" he demanded, almost inaudibly.

"I see your uncle," she whispered.

They both saw him.

The livid, dead figure sat in its accustomed arm chair, gazing down into the cold fireplace.

As they looked, the glare from outside flared into a weird semblance of daylight. For a moment the ghastly figure was distinct—as clear-cut and as still as the chair it sat in.

In that moment Mary uttered a little cry. Pushing past young John Bamber, she rushed across the room to the figure in the chair. She touched its livid face.

She stepped back, gasping. Then, in spite of a shudder she could not overcome, she struck the figure suddenly with all her strength.

It fell to the floor and broke into pieces!

N THE period that followed, the "spirit" of old John Bamber was exorcised in a practical way. He had not believed in such new-fangled devices as electric fixtures; now the house was wired throughout. It had been a gloomy place, with ponderous furniture and dark hangings on the walls. Much of that was changed. Bright pictures appeared, in place of certain saturnine ancestors, done in oil. Even the converter's ghostly glare, through the windows over the bookcases, was softened by the judicious use of prism glass. At last, all was ready for the wedding.

For that occasion, young John Bamber hired the best firm of decorators in the town, and gave them free rein. Wherever a stair post or a chandelier was open to floral improvement, it was made to blossom. The bookcases in the erstwhile somber library had their part in an elaborate nuptial design. Even the dim light became bright. The experienced decorator knew that fresh bulbs of high candle power, suitably hidden, could perform miracles of cheer.

His masterpiece, however, had to do with the ceremony itself; for he perceived that the strategic point of the whole house was the dark corner of the library where old John Bamber had lain dead. In that corner, under a bower of roses, Mary Lane and young John were married.

Two faces were missing at the festivities. Mrs. Murdock and old Jarvins were never seen again in that house.

For the benefit of those wedding guests who did not know why, Mrs. John Bamber, flushed and smiling, seized upon a lull in the conversation to enlighten them. She wished to substitute truth for the wild rumors that had been flying about since Mrs. Murdock's dismissal. In the telling, the smile left her face, and her eyes grew stern. It was a black enough tale; the exposure of an attempt to turn a sensitive but sane man into a madman.

"What I don't understand is the motive," one of the guests confessed, when she paused in the telling. "I thought the property was entailed and had to come to John."

"Most of it was," Mary confirmed. "The rest of it was left equally to Mrs. Murdock and Mr. Jarvins—on condition. I was the condition."

She smiled at John, and proceeded:

"It was left to them to prevent our marriage. The money was not to come to them for five years, and then only if John had not married me. If we did marry before that, their share went to charity."

"So they tried to frighten him out of marrying you?"

"Worse than that, I think. John is sensitive and high-strung—aren't you, dear? I fear they wanted to drive him insane. They thought there was a good chance to turn his mind, if they went about it the right way."

Young John, standing near, nodded emphatic confirmation.

"There was. And the fact that I had been too ill to hear the will read played right into their hands. They were clever."

"Very clever." Mary took up the tale again. "Mr. Jarvins is a fine sculptor, you know, and he and old Mr. Bamber were close friends. The figure was modeled without John's knowledge, of course—that was easy enough to do. Perhaps Mr. Bamber knew how it was to be used, but we'll hope not."

"And the housekeeper put it into the room and took it out again?" another guest surmised.

Mary nodded.

"It wasn't heavy—wax is light. And she may not have moved it any farther than the room across the hall. They counted on John's staying away from upstairs most of the time, since his own room is on the first floor. It really was a clever plan—and yet—"

She wrinkled her brows.

"And yet, they must have feared it would fail, or surely they would never have gone to the trouble of getting a