The Bittermeads Mystery/Chapter 20

Ella did not say anything more, and in their character of tourists visiting the place, they were admitted to the Abbey and passed on through its magnificent rooms, where was stored a collection rich and rare even for one of the stateliest homes of England.

“What a wonderful place!” Ella sighed wistfully. Yet she could not enjoy the spectacle of all these treasures as she would have done at another time, for she was always watching Allen, who hung about a good deal, and seemed to look more at the locks of the cases that held some of the more valuable of the objects shown than at the things themselves, and generally spent fully half the time in each room at the window, admiring the view, he said; but for quite another reason, Ella suspected.

“I shall speak when I get back,” she said to herself, pale and resolute. “I don't care what happens; I don't care if I have to tell mother—perhaps she knows already. Anyhow, I shall speak.”

Having come to this determination, she grew cheerful and more interested apparently in what they were seeing, as well as less watchful of her companion. When, presently, they left the house to go into the gardens, it happened that they noticed an old gentleman walking at a little distance behind a gate marked “Private,” and leaning on the arm of a tall, thin, clean-shaven man of middle-age.

“Lord Chobham, the old gentleman,” whispered a tourist, who was standing near. “I saw him once in the House of Lords. That's his secretary with him, Mr. Dunsmore, one of the family; he manages everything now the old gentleman is getting so feeble.”

Ella walked on frowning and a little worried, for she thought she had seen the secretary before and yet could not remember where. Soon she noticed Dunn, who had apparently been obeying Deede Dawson's orders to look round outside and get to know the lie of the land.

He seemed at present to be a good deal interested in Lord Chobham and his companion, for he went and leaned on the gate and stared at them so rudely that one or two of the other tourists noticed it and frowned at him. But he took no notice, and presently, as if not seeing that the gate was marked “Private,” he pushed it open and walked through.

Noticing the impertinent intrusion almost at once, Mr. Dunsmore turned round and called “This is private.”

Dunn did not seem to hear, and Mr. Dunsmore walked across to him with a very impatient air, while the little group of tourists watched, with much interest and indignation and a very comforting sense of superiority.

“He ought to be sent right out of the grounds,” they told each other. “That's the sort of rude behaviour other people have to suffer for.”

“Now, my man,” said Mr. Dunsmore sharply, “this is private, you've no business here.”

“Sorry, sir; beg pardon, I'm sure,” said Dunn, touching his hat, and as he did so he said in a sharp, penetrating whisper: “Look out—trouble's brewing—don't know what, but look out, all the time.”

He had spoken so quickly and quietly, in the very act of turning away, that none of the onlookers could have told that a word had passed, but for the very violent start that Walter Dunsmore made and his quick movement forward as if to follow the other. Immediately Dunn turned back towards him with a swift warning gesture of his hand.

“Careful, you fool, they're looking,” he said in a quick whisper, and in a loud voice: “Very sorry, sir; beg pardon—I'm sure I didn't mean anything.”

Walter Dunsmore swung round upon his heel and went quickly back to where Lord Chobham waited; and his face was like that of one who has gazed into the very eyes of death.

“Lord in Heaven,” he muttered, “it's all over, I'm done.” And his hand felt for a little metal box he carried in his waistcoat pocket and that held half a dozen small round tablets, each of them a strong man's death.

But he took his hand away again as he rejoined his cousin, patron, and employer, old Lord Chobham.

“What's the matter, Walter?” Lord Chobham asked. “You look pale.”

“The fellow was a bit impudent; he made me angry,” said Walter carelessly. He fingered the little box in his waistcoat pocket and thought how one tablet on his tongue would always end it all. “By the way, oughtn't Rupert to be back soon?” he asked.

“Yes, he ought,” said Lord Chobham severely. “It's time he married and settled down—I shall speak to his father about it. The boy is always rushing off somewhere or another when he ought to be getting to know the estate and the tenants.”

Walter Dunsmore laughed.

“I think he knows them both fairly well already,” he said. “Not a tenant on the place but swears by Rupert. He's a fine fellow, uncle.”

“Oh, you always stick up for him; you and he were always friends,” answered Lord Chobham in a grumbling tone, but really very pleased. “I know I'm never allowed to say a word about Rupert.”

“Well, he's a fine fellow and a good friend,” said Walter, and the two disappeared into the house by a small side-door as Dunn pushed his way through the group of tourists who looked at him with marked and severe disapproval.

“Disgraceful,” one of them said quite loudly, and another added: “I believe he said something impudent to that gentleman. I saw him go quite white, and look as if he were in two minds about ordering the fellow right out of the grounds.” And a third expressed the general opinion that the culprit looked a real ruffian with all that hair on his face. “Might be a gorilla,” said the third tourist. “And look what a clumsy sort of walk he has; perhaps he's been drinking.”

But Dunn was quite indifferent to, and indeed unaware of this popular condemnation as he made his way back to the hotel garage where he had left their car. He seemed rather well pleased than otherwise as he walked on.

“Quite a stroke of luck for once,” he mused, and he smiled to himself, and stroked the thick growth of his untidy beard. “It's been worth while, for he didn't recognize me in the least, and had quite a shock, but, all the same, I shan't be sorry to shave and see my own face again.”

He had the car out and ready when Ella and Allen came back. Allen at once made an excuse to leave them, and went into the hotel bar to get a drink of whisky, and when they were alone, Ella, who was looking very troubled and thoughtful, said to Dunn:—

“We saw Lord Chobham in the garden with a gentleman some one told us was a relative of his, a Mr. Walter Dunsmore. Did you see them?”

“Yes,” answered Dunn, a little surprised, and giving her a quick and searching look from his bright, keen eyes. “I saw them. Why—”

“I think I've seen the one they said was Mr. Walter Dunsmore before, and I can't think where,” she answered, puckering her brows. “I can't think—do you know anything about him?”

“I know he is Mr. Walter Dunsmore,” answered Dunn slowly, “and I know he is one of the family, and a great friend of Rupert Dunsmore's. Rupert Dunsmore is Lord Chobham's nephew, you know, and heir, after his father, to the title and estates. His father, General Dunsmore, brought him and Walter up together like brothers, but recently Walter has lived at the Abbey as Lord Chobham's secretary and companion. The general likes to live abroad a good deal, and his son Rupert is always away on some sporting or exploring expedition or another.”

“It's very strange,” Ella said again. “I'm sure I've seen Walter Dunsmore before but I can't think where.”

Allen came from the bar, having quenched his thirst for the time being, and they started off, arriving back at Bittermeads fairly early in the evening, for Dunn had brought them along at a good rate, and apparently remembered the road so well from the afternoon that he never once had occasion to refer to the map.

He took the car round to the garage, and Allen and Ella went into the house, where Allen made his way at once to the breakfast-room, searching for more whisky and cigars, while Ella, after a quick word with her mother to assure her of their safe return, went to find Deede Dawson.

“Ah, dear child, you are back then,” he greeted her. “Well, how have you enjoyed yourself? Had a pleasant time?”

“It was not for pleasure we went there, I think,” she said listlessly.

He looked up quickly, and though his perpetual smile still played as usual about his lips, his eyes were hard and daunting as they fixed themselves on hers. Before that sinister stare her own eyes sank, and sought the little travelling set of chessmen and board that were before him.

“See,” he said, “I've just brought off a mate. Neat isn't it? Checkmate.”

She looked up at him, and her eyes were steadier now.

“I've only one thing to say to you,” she said. “I came here to say it. If anything happens at Wreste Abbey I shall go straight to the police.”

“Indeed,” he said, “indeed.” He fingered the chessmen as though all his attention were engaged by them. “May I ask why?” he murmured. “For what purpose?”

“To tell them,” she answered quietly, “what I—know.”

“And what do you know?” he asked indifferently. “What do you know that is likely to interest the police?”

“I ought to have said, perhaps,” she answered after a pause, “what I suspect.”

“Ah, that's so different, isn't it?” he murmured gently. “So very different. You see we all of us suspect so many things.”

She did not answer, for she had said all she had to say and she was afraid that her strength would not carry her further. She began to walk away, but he called her back.

“Oh, how do you think your mother is today?” he asked. “Do you know, her condition seems to me quite serious at times. I wonder if you are over-anxious?”

“She is better—much better!” Ella answered, and added with a sudden burst of fiercest, white-hot passion: “But I think it would be better if we had both died before we met you.”

She hurried away, for she was afraid of breaking down, and Deede Dawson smiled the more as he again turned his attention to his chessmen, taking them up and putting them down in turn.

“She's turning nasty,” he mused. “I don't think she'll dare—but she might. She's only a pawn, but a pawn can cause a lot of trouble at times—a pawn may become a queen and give the mate. When a pawn threatens trouble it's best to—remove it.”

He went out and came back a little late and busied himself with a four-move chess problem which absorbed all his attention, and which he did not solve to his satisfaction till past midnight. Then he went upstairs to bed, but at the door of his room he paused and went on very softly up the narrow stairs that led to the attics above.

Outside the one in which Dunn slept, he waited a little till the unbroken sound of regular breathing from within assured him that the occupant slept.

Cautiously and carefully he crept on, and entered the one adjoining, where he turned the light of the electric flashlight he carried on a large, empty packing-case that stood in one corner.

With a two-foot rule he took from his pocket he measured it carefully and nodded with great satisfaction.

“A little smaller than the other,” he said to himself. “But, then, it hasn't got to hold so much.” He laughed in his silent, mirthless way, as at something that amused him. “A good deal less,” he thought. “And Dunn shall drive.”

He laughed again, and for a moment or two stood there in the darkness, laughing silently to himself, and then, speaking aloud, he called out:—

“You can come in, Dunn.”

Dunn, whom a creaking board had betrayed, came forward unconcernedly in his sleeping attire.

“I saw it was you,” he remarked. “At first I thought something was wrong.”

“Nothing, nothing,” answered Deede Dawson. “I was only looking at this packing-case. I may have to send one away again soon, and I wanted to be sure this was big enough. If I do, I shall want you to drive.”

“Not Miss Cayley?” asked Dunn.

“No, no,” answered Deede Dawson. “She might be with you perhaps, but she wouldn't drive. Night driving is always dangerous, I think, don't you?”

“There's things more dangerous,” Dunn remarked.

“Oh, quite true,” answered Deede Dawson. “Well, did you enjoy your visit to Wreste Abbey?”

“No,” answered Dunn roughly. “I didn't see Rupert Dunsmore, and it wouldn't have been any good if I had with all those people about.”

“You're too impatient,” Deede Dawson smiled. “I'm getting everything ready; you can't properly expect to win a game in a dozen moves. You must develop your pieces properly and have all ready before you start your attack. As soon as I'm ready—why, I'll act—and you'll have to do the rest.”

“I see,” said Dunn thoughtfully.