The Castle by the Sea/Chapter 13

UT we did not succeed in keeping out the enemy. It is a melancholy confession, and this chapter is the history of a failure. It began on the night of June the tenth.

In the afternoon Miss Harvey came over in her car, according to her promise, bringing with her Miss Fuller. The frank statement of the American girl informed me simply that Perdita would not come. I heard no reason, but I wondered wofully if she had forgiven me yet for my stupidity. Now I have always been disposed to think that I know a good deal of women, and have often volunteered with some success to interpret them to denser males of my acquaintance. I am quicker than most men at construing their emotions, and the plexus of feelings which constitutes their personality. But I will admit that Miss Fuller's attitude puzzled me. She had withdrawn herself from her friend to come; so the inference was that she desired to come. Yet she was visibly uncomfortable at the Castle, looked at Miss Harvey as if appealing to her to go, and had "yes" and "no" for conversation more than any healthy handsome young woman should have. I think it must have been her unusual attitude that set me "chaffing" her. I played the fool as elegantly as I could think, dandling carrots, so to speak, in front of her frightened nose. It was only when I sounded the praises of Perdita that she relaxed. Her devotion was so great that I think all other sentiments were discharged by it. She spoke enthusiastically of her friend's attainments, and in particular of her painting.

"You came on a sketching tour?" I inquired.

"Oh—yes—of course," she darted forth a little awkwardly, and eyed me furtively as if I were a dangerous animal. I had never given her any cause to look on me thus, from the first hour when I had met her without stockings. My behavior had always been correct and modest. I liked Miss Fuller, and I did not want her to have erroneous opinions of me. In some way she had changed towards me, and I attributed the change to the incident of Perdita and the butcher-boy. Yet I could not see why she should have taken this unexpected turn. So leaving Miss Harvey to Norroy, I lured her forth into the garden and picked some flowers for her. It was evident that Norroy had an exceeding interest for her, which I put down to her new knowledge of his story. He bulked large in her eyes as a gay blade, even perhaps as a wicked spendthrift and a debauchee. But away from him she gave me more of her attention, and seemed more at her ease. I reverted to the light treatment I had previously been using. She had spoken of some famous gorge that should be visited—I think it was Fingle, and I sighed.

"Alas," said I, "I am on duty. I can't get away. I guard the portals with a flaming sword."

"Oh, I have heard how good you have been," she gushed forth, suddenly, unexpectedly. "You are standing between a—a friend and—and trouble."

It sounded nice set in that way; Miss Fuller had the faculty of transferring actions to a lofty plane, a plane at any rate of lofty considerations. I liked to think just then that I had been inspired by fine feelings, and not by a mere sense of fun and adventure.

"But I wonder, Mr. Brabazon, whether you ought to do it," she went on. "I know it's difficult, sometimes, to see one's right way clearly. Of course," she added with some anxiety, "there is only one way of looking at the causes which have brought these things to pass."

Poor Norroy! He was a rascal, but then, you see, he had the reward of his defects, for he was interesting; he had arrested Miss Isabel's wondering eyes.

I demurred. "One never knows other people's temptation," I said, "and one ought n't to turn oneself into a little Day-of-judgment all to oneself."

"Of course I don't know anything about him," she hastened to say. "But I should have said any man ought to have been told to keep free from such complications."

After all Norroy was indefensible, which was one of the absurd reasons why I liked him. I feebly countered, as she would not admit broader principles.

"A good-natured easy-going man sometimes suffers from his extreme popularity."

"No man has a right to be popular at the expense of others," pronounced Miss Fuller, hardly. I had nothing to say; she glanced at me, and in quite a different tone added, "You are probably a popular man yourself, Mr. Brabazon."

"I am," I said promptly, resolved to change the current of our talk.

She seemed hardly to have expected this answer, and I know that she did n't quite approve of it.

"Some men," she said with greater reserve, "are merely popular with their own sex, which is easy enough to be, I suppose. Men don't go deep in their judgments," she averred.

"I am popular with both sexes," I hastened to say. "I'm sure I don't know what they see in me."

Miss Fuller's mild face fixed itself in austere lines. "I don't think it's quite nice to boast of it," she said.

"I did n't," I explained. "On the contrary I said I did n't know what they saw in me."

Miss Fuller seemed to be at a loss for an immediate answer, and, as is the habit of her sex, she deviated.

"I think it's rather out of the world here."

"That's the charm," I said.

"Oh, well," said Miss Fuller, dryly for her, "we find it a little too much so. We 'll have to get back."

I came to a pause in my walk. Somehow I had never thought of their leaving.

"Do you mean to tell me you 're going away?" I asked.

"We think of it," said she, admiring the laurels.

I shook my head at her. "Ah, Miss Fuller," I said, reproachfully, "and I thought you were my friend!"

"I—I don't understand you," she said faintly.

"I think," said I, "that unless I have some strong distraction I shall say something that no lady should hear; so please let us go back."

She turned obediently, and was much nicer to me on the way.

"Please tell Miss Forrest," I whispered as they left, "that she has n't half exhausted the beauties of the neighborhood. Nor have I. And if you go I shan't be able to."

She laughed agreeably and said nothing; but I felt it was on Norroy that her gaze was directed shyly as they drove off. Such is the privilege of the wicked!

He had apparently enjoyed a wonderful hour with the lady, whose sympathy did not deter her from extreme merriment. In fact they were both laughing heartily when we came in.

"Mr. Brabazon," said she, briskly, "I 've got an idea. Mr. Eustace will regularly pine for want of air shut up here. Now there's my car—"

"Miss Harvey's been good enough to offer to take me out," said Sir Gilbert, pleased as a good boy, who is asking permission of his master.

It seemed feasible and I gave the permission. "Did you tell her who you were?" I asked him when the car was gone.

"No-o," he replied dubiously. "I did n't quite know whether to do so. You see, she might cut up rough."

"Why so?" I asked.

"Well, women don't like being taken in and all that," he said.

No; they did not. I had an instance in my mind, only too fresh and vivid. Perhaps he was right. The motor was to call the following day and make a breach through the trenches of the besiegers. Both Miss Harvey and Sir Gilbert looked forward to the prospect with delight. It was only I who had doubts.

But the whole face of the war underwent a revolution that succeeding night of June the tenth.

The annoyance of the death watch in the wall had irritated me so much that I had for some time had the position of my bed changed. Yet when I went to sleep I dreamed of sounds in my ears, of a deadly pick upon crumbling walls, and of the secret passage to the sally-port filled with traitors. I woke to find the light creeping in behind the curtains, and, possessed by a feeling of unrest, I got up and walked to the window. I pulled aside the hangings and let in the early morning. It was three o'clock, and the gray sepulchral dawn invested the garden. The bare beds of the borders, wan and ghostly in that early hour, turned slowly to a warmer lilac. The stillness of the dead held the house.

The creaking of a board broke this deathly quiet, striking on my ears almost like a gunshot. Alert and alarmed and eager I went to the door and listened. For one moment I had forgotten that Norroy slept up-stairs now, and was on the point of putting down the noise to his account in the next room, when I remembered.

I pushed open the door of his former chamber, which was ajar, and peered in. Nothing was visible, though the parted curtains let in a flood of dull light. I walked across to the window, which was shut; and I was turning away, when I was aware that the air here was much cooler. The next moment I saw the explanation and I thrilled. The glass of one pane had been wholly removed and the air of the garden flowed through.

I was now, as you may suppose, wide awake and agog with excitement. In my pajamas I hurried out, found Jackman's room, and woke him. Then I went up to the gallery to see if there was any sign of Norroy; but the door of the strong-room was fastened. Jackman joining me presently, we made an examination of the gallery from end to end, without result. But the Castle was not small, and was full of convenient holes and crannies for a lurking foe. We had a long job before us, for that one of Horne's myrmidons had gained access during the night, I had no doubt whatever.

Broad day found us still searching, and searching in vain. We had exhausted the inhabited parts of the house, and attacked now the east wing in which the chambers were for the most part destitute of furniture. A few old tapestries covered the walls here and there, and occasionally we came upon a battered chest into which we peeped suspiciously. But no sign of the intruder was to be discovered. We rested at length, dusty, hot, tired and, speaking for myself, cross. Poor Jackman sat on a box nd wiped a beady face with a dirty duster.

"He's beat us, sir," he said in a melancholy voice.

"Not yet," I said, mustering my spirits. "And we have the whip hand in a way. We will starve him out."

"Perhaps he's taken supplies, sir," suggested Jackman. There was that possibility to consider, of course; but I meant that the chase should be a stern chase, and, to vary the figure, that we should die in the last ditch.

I knocked up Norroy and gave him warning of the danger.

"By Jove!" he said. "Rum go!" he added; and to that again, "Well, I'm damned!"

These ejaculations may have relieved his feelings, but they did not help us. He dressed cheerfully, with an air that would suggest that we had bungled the business and that he would settle it when he came down.

"The beggar must be hiding somewhere," he said illuminatingly. "What about the passage?"

That had occurred to me, although I did not see how the spy could be aware of the passage. But not knowing how the panel was opened, I had waited for him. He showed me the clip in the book-shelves, turned it, and the dark hole gaped at us. I explored it from end to end without result, and we retreated to breakfast. Jackman mounted guard at one door, and we locked the other so as not to be taken by surprise.

"They 're going to run it out to the post, old chap," said the baronet, eating a hearty meal.

"I 'll run 'em out into the horse-pond," I said angrily.

He was considering deeply, and paid no heed. "I 'll tell you what," he said, at length, "I could make a bolt for it in Miss Harvey's car, what?"

"No, you won't," said I, firmly. "You 'll stay here and I 'll see you through. Do you think I'm going to be done by a parcel of bum bailiffs?"

"You 're a sportsman, Brabazon," said he, genially. "I 'll stay as long as you 'll have me. You see," he said in a different tone, "there are reasons I don't much want to quit."

"You need n't," I assured him. "If you 'll only be discreet, you 're as safe here as in the Bank of England! But, mind you, Norroy, you 've got to act warily while this fox is in the house. Jackman and I will start on a systematic hunt after breakfast."

"Look here, I 've got an idea," said Sir Gilbert, brightly. "Why not get in a dog?"

"A good thought," I cried. "We can raise one in the village, I dare say."

"Let's ask Jackman. Damn it, if there was time I could get half a dozen from town."

Jackman, interrogated, knew of a man with a smart fox terrier, which breed seemed to meet with his master's approval; and it was arranged that we should take a lease of him. He arrived in the afternoon with his owner, a chubby rustic who held him in leash on a string, and adjured him intermittently to "ger-rup." He was a gay, vivacious animal, exhibited much interest in Jackman's calves and the coal-scuttle, and wagged an absurd stump of a tail as he observed me with bright eyes and cocked ears. I do not believe he had any idea for what purpose he was brought, or what were his duties. After persuading Norroy, who had brightened up sensibly on seeing the dog, to retire to his strong-room, we made a progress through the other chambers of the Castle, beginning with the inhabited portion. The dog enjoyed it very much at first, being evidently under the mistaken impression that he was on his way to a rat fight. Afterwards his interest perceptibly waned, and he followed his master languidly, only being roused to higher spirits again by an accidental encounter with Mrs. Jackman's cat on the stairs. For the rest, if there were any intruders latent in the house, it was no concern of the terrier's. I lost patience. We settled down moodily to the policy of starving out the stranger.

By nightfall we had no further news of him, and including Mr. Toosey, were all thoroughly exhausted—except Norroy, who remained cheerful. Moreover, the tension and anxiety had got on our nerves, and we were ready to start at a shadow, or at the breath of the wind. I went to bed, wearied, but was unable to sleep, and all night I intermittently listened for alien noises. But the silence that enwrapped the Castle was profound.

The next day brought no alleviation of our strain, and Jackman visibly grew worn and troubled. I dared not venture away from the house, for I feared the rashness of my guest; and it was with infinite relief that I heard Miss Harvey's voice in the hall. I ran out to bless her and she almost ran into my arms.

"Oh, Sir Gilbert!" she exclaimed in dismay.

I was not similarly dismayed. She was like a blossom in a wilderness, bright and fragrant.

"I feel like that and more," I said. "But I won't."

"I'm come for Mr. Eustace," she panted.

"Well," said I. "We 'll have to discuss that point. But before we do, there's another that won't wait. And that's this—I'm not, and never have been, and never will be Sir Gilbert Norroy."

"Oh!" She exhibited some signs of confusion. "Of course, I know—I did n't mean to—"

"Do have faith," I pleaded. "I 've no alias and I'm no incognito; I'm  plain Richard Brabazon, always at your service."

"Oh!" She looked astonished; and then: "Well, it does n't matter, anyway," she said. "I guess you 're just you."

"And that, my dear lady, is the most sensible way to take it," I said smiling. "I would n't care if you were twenty chorus girls."

"No; you 'd probably like me all the better," said she, laughing.

"I could n't," I said with a neat bow.

"I say, Brabazon, that beast of a fox terrier has ruined my— Oh, how d'ye do, Miss Harvey?"

Norroy's head had protruded through the door half-way through his complaint, and his face broadened in a grin.

"Are you ready?" she asked lightly.

"Eustace, we must explain," I said, and while he was getting his eye-glass fixed, I turned to her. "The fact is, Miss Harvey, the enemy has got through."

"What do you mean?" she asked startled.

"A man has gained admission to the Castle, and is hiding somewhere. We 're sure of that, but we can't find him. It's getting warm."

"All the more reason that Mr. Eustace should come out," she declared boldly.

"Miss Harvey's right," he said.

"Very well," I agreed, after a moment's consideration. "Your blood be on your own head."

"Oh, I guess it won't be our blood if it comes to a collision with my chauffeur," said she, laughing. Mrs. Jackman appeared at this juncture, and asked if she should prepare tea. I invited Miss Harvey's eye, and replied in the affirmative. It was decided that Norroy should go for his dangerous drive afterwards. Miss Harvey entered the morning-room, and took off her gloves, and in order to square the party properly, I sent for Mr. Peter Toosey.

On the whole I did not enjoy that tea-party as I had enjoyed its predecessors, but Miss Harvey and Norroy did not seem in the same case. Mr. Toosey, on the other hand, was as nervous as a cat. He listened at the doors, and seemed determined to find some one. Every entrance of Jackman startled him to his feet with a protecting eye on Sir Gilbert, who was all unconscious of this watchfulness and of these alarms, and was maintaining what he thought a conversation with Miss Harvey. The morning-room, as I have explained, lay to the front of the Castle, and had doors upon either side communicating with different parts of the house. A third door opened widely on the lawn, and upon each side of it were long low embrasured windows, to which a dado of oak extended, and which was furnished with old oak window-seats of a capacious interior. In one of these retreats Norroy talked with Miss Harvey. For the reputed owner of the Castle I was being unconscionably neglected, and I was forced more or less back on the attentions of Mr. Toosey, who, as I say, was distracted by his recurrent suspicions. Suddenly he announced, after an excursion to one of the doors, that it was locked. His voice was significant and tragic, and the strangeness of his announcement took me at once to his side. Miss Harvey had heard, but not her companion. She looked across in wonder, while I tried the door.

In the middle of this scene the door on the further side opened, and a tall thin man of fifty appeared. With the leap of a jaguar Mr. Toosey was at the other end of the room.

"Quick, quick!" he cried, and in his excitement tore open one of the window-seats. "In here! In here!" he said hoarsely.

"Yes, yes," said Miss Harvey, taking the alarm, and in much less time than I take to relate the incident Sir Gilbert was bundled inside the seat and the lid clapped down on him. I think he yielded entirely to the girl's persuasion, for he was not wont to be bustled or to give way without explanations. But Miss Harvey had been fired with the trepidation of the artist, and now sat on the closed lid breathlessly, defiantly, and stared furiously at the admitted stranger.

I say admitted, because it was manifest next moment that Mrs. Jackman had admitted him in the ordinary way. Jackman, of course, would never have been guilty of such a solecism as to introduce a visitor unannounced; but I remembered that he had been sent out on an errand, and Mrs. Jackman was only a good cook.

"Who are you?" thundered Mr. Toosey with an accusing finger at the intruder.

He gazed, blinked through glasses out of weak eyes, and began to stammer. It was just as I discovered that the door I was trying was not locked, but only jammed.

"Mr.—Mr.—I'm the tuner," said the thin man, shamefacedly.

Mr. Toosey was abashed, and ere any one could speak, Mrs. Jackman came forward much flurried. "If you please, sir," she said, "it's Mr. Sparks, the tuner. He always comes every quarter and I did n't know any one was in this room—I'm sure I beg pardon, sir."

Miss Harvey burst into a merry laugh, and at the same time fell suddenly back in the seat, with her feet in the air. The rumblings of an earthquake convulsed the oak beneath her. I sprang to her assistance, just in time to be greeted by the face of Norroy protruding through the gap, red, dirty, and disconcerted, but still immaculately fitted with his eye-glass.

"Damn it, he's got me, old chap!" he said in a plaintive voice.

We all stared at his amazing statement, including the scared pianoforte tuner, while Sir Gilbert completed his extrication. Then he brushed the dust from his coat.

"I say, Brabazon, he's been in there all the time. It's a bit thick."

Suddenly comprehending, I pounced on the oak seat, and re-opened the fallen flap. In one corner of the void thus disclosed skulked a mean little man, all black with dust. I put in a hand and hauled him forth, and a cry of dismay arose from the assembly. Miss Harvey's eyes looked fire and mustard, and I really believe she would have fallen on the wretched creature for two hair-pins. I shook him.

"I 'll have the law on you for assault," he whined.

"Oh, chuck him out," said Sir Gilbert, dismally. "He's done us;" and I saw that in his hand he held the dreaded writ.

I took him at his word. It was safest for the man and, I think, pretty generous treatment in our frame of mind. I hauled him to the open door and ejected him; after which I don't think we gave him a further thought. The mischief was done; our plans were ruined; and we must acknowledge defeat.

"Hang it," said Sir Gilbert, dusting himself still. "Who the deuce would have thought the beggar was in there? Rough luck!"

Mrs. Jackman had had the sense to remove the innocent cause of all the trouble. Mr. Toosey, who was quite as responsible for it, brooded with clouded brows. I saw he was devising ideas fast.

"Damn it, what luck!" repeated Sir Gilbert, and remembered his manners. "Awfully sorry, Miss Harvey. I say, did I upset you?"

"No-o-not much," she said pensively, for she, too, was busy with her thoughts.

"Awfully sorry. I'm a real whale, what?" he said, continuing the dusting process to his knees.

The fatal writ had fallen to the floor, and she picked it up. "Why—what's this?" she said suddenly. "It's—but it says Sir Gilbert Norroy!"

"That's me!" said Mr. Eustace, sheepishly.