The Castle by the Sea/Chapter 9

DON'T think my hand wavered, for the pistol was still at the level when the man took a step forward, and I made him out clearly. It was Eustace!

"Sir Gilbert Norroy!" I exclaimed. "Why—"

"Yes, old chap, I know," he interrupted. "But I 'll explain. Look here, there's some one after me, and I don't want to be caught. Can we get away? Do you mind? I 've had the devil of a run for my money,—I ought to say some one else's."

He went to the window and stared out into the garden.

"Perhaps they've given up. I hope so. It's a beastly nuisance. I say, my boy, have you got a drink? I can do with a drink. I've had a twenty minutes' sprint, by Jove!"

I said nothing, but took him down the stairs, my mind busy with this strange new development. I could not fit it in with my theories and my prejudices at all. I was amazed and dumbfounded. It was not until I got down to the sitting-room that I spoke.

I poured him out a whiskey and pushed him the syphon. He drank deep of it, and as I eyed him narrowly I could see the marks of perspiration on his red forehead.

"Good!" he said, drawing breath. "Lord, I have had a trot."

"Perhaps, Sir Gilbert," said I in a measured voice, "you will explain."

"I can do a bit of it," he said. "But I want some explanation myself. I'm a bit foggy over it. Did you guess me?"

"On the contrary," I said, "I have been under the impression you were a burglar."

He laughed. "Burglar!" he said. "Good Lord! Well, I've been many things, but I'm damned if I've ever been taken for that before. May I have another?"

He helped himself without waiting for an answer, and looked about the room.

"It's all right, is n't it?" he inquired. "A cosy place, if you like that sort of thing. Damned if those walls ain't damp. I could hardly find my way up in the dark."

"Sir Gilbert," said I, "I think you expressed a conviction that my desire for enlightenment was natural."

"Eh? Oh, all right. You want me to go ahead. It's a bit of a story. Look here, did I rattle you at all that first night?"

"It was you?" I asked.

"What do you think? Yes, I got in the usual way. I wanted to go through the gallery, and by Jehoshaphat," he broke into a broad grin, "you gave me a dance. I thought you'd copped me once, at the head of the stairs there; but old Jackman played up like a trump."

"Jackman,then," said I politely, "is in this business?"

"Jackman! Oh, yes. He was ten years with me in town; with the governor, too, ever since I was a kid. That was why I sent him down here. It ain't a bad place, is it?" he mused. "I don't know that I should like it for a permanency. Does the old chap make you comfortable?"

I was having my eyes opened. I could hardly spare time for consecutive thought. I could only sit there and get it out of him. This Sir Gilbert! I muttered some answer, and turned him back on to the subject he seemed to have forgotten.

"That's all right. I'm coming to that. I hope the old boy has n't come to any grief out there. He came out to talk when I came up after meeting that chap at Arncombe. I had a narrow shave."

This was merely maddening. What did it all mean? "Are you a criminal, Sir Gilbert Norroy?" I asked in my irritation.

He stared, and then grinned. "Did you think I was wanted?" he asked, and chuckled outright. "Not by a huge chalk. And yet I am in a way. They 'd be precious glad to clap a hand on me, and why the Devil they want to I don't know," he said moodily. "Anyway I'm not going to risk the Courts."

"If I were you," I said, with elaborate sarcasm, "I would go on explaining like this, so that I can't fail to understand. It's as simple as A, B, C, and I don't wonder children take to it."

He opened his mouth at me. "Don't get shirty, old chap," he said grinning. "I'm coming to it. Look here, it's only ."

"Duns!" I echoed, and with a rush the whole building I had romantically been erecting on invisible foundations slipped into a welter of ruins.

"Yes, duns, my boy. They 've pretty nearly diddled me to-night. Only I managed to dodge 'em."

"There was a man who tried to serve me with a writ so soon as I arrived," I said.

"Was there?" said Sir Gilbert, looking interested. "Sorry. Yes, that was meant for me, no doubt. You see I skipped from London."

"Suppose you hang it all out to dry," I suggested. "If it won't hurt your feelings I should like to know."

"Oh, I don't mind," he said easily, and, feeling in his pocket, brought out a cigar-case, chose a cigar and lit it. "But I hope you haven't been rattled, old chap; I thought I scared you that night."

"You interested me," I said, "and I don't deny you've taken up a lot of my attention. But I don't know that I'm sorry. In fact I begin to think I'm sorry it's over. However, let us suppose I've been in distress, and that you are making amends by open confession. I think I deserve that tale. Sir Gilbert."

"All serene," said he. "But there is n't much of a tale," he added, scratching his head. "It's like this. When my uncle died I came into this little bit, but it is n't in my line much. Mind you, I hang on to it, for it's been in the family a tidy long time. But I don't much hanker after living here. I like things a bit livelier; what. Anyway, I did n't. But I went the pace a bit in town, and had to go to the Jews and so on. And at last it came to a crisis."

He paused, and sipped his whiskey. "That's why I let the place and went in for retrenchment."

"Why not have retired yourself to your own modest estate?" I inquired.

"Could n't afford it. I wanted all I could get. And my creditors were making things too hot for me."

"Then," I asked, "why—what is the reason you are here?"

Sir Gilbert looked at me with a quaint expression of shrewdness on his comical face. "The last place they'd think of looking for me would be my own place," he said. "Besides I had another reason. But I gave out I was going abroad, and then skipped here. And, damn it, no one would have known I was here if it had n't been for that fool, Sally."

"Sally!" I repeated vaguely.

"Sally Jackman!"

"Then Mrs. Jackman is in it, too?" I said.

"I sent 'em both down from town. She was my mother's parlor-maid. Jackman was the governor's butler. They've known me since I was a kid, and, bless you, they 'd go through fire and water for me. But Sally's got a damn long tongue. She can't help it. And she let slip I was about to some of the villagers, and, what's more, that I was under another name—incog like royalty, you know." He grinned.

"Then that explains why I—" I began, a light dawning on me.

"They supposed you were me, old chap," said Norroy, laughing heartily as if it were a great joke. "Knew I was knocking round and took it I was you under a false name. Great Scott!" He roared with amusement, though there did not seem to me very much to laugh at. Sir Gilbert had a stable idea of a joke, as he had a stable idea of clothes.

I mused. It also explained Mrs. Harvey, and perhaps other things. I saw now in a flash that I had been Sir Gilbert in the eyes of the neighborhood. I turned to my companion.

"Then these spies hanging about, and lurking in the grounds, have been watching me, supposing me, to be you?"

"Hang it, no—not all the time. I wish they had," he said aggrievedly. "They did at first, and I thought I was all right. No one suspected me. It just suited me right down to the ground,—I mean in regard to what I'd come for. But they were smart, smarter than I thought. And that's why I'm here to-night," he added comfortably.

"Well, I have n't heard about that yet," I said, with mild resentment.

"Oh, yes, I'd better tell you about that," he hastened on. "You see I was going along all right, and chuckling to think the job had been shifted on to you. The chaps fooled about a lot, and there was one of 'em staying in the inn, and I used to feel jolly pleased whenever I stared him in the face, while he was keeping his telescope on you. But they smelt a rat after a time. Old Sally had spread it about that I was down in disguise; and some one of their agents must have reported this right away. I don't understand it all. Anyway, at last they got the idea of getting down a man who could recognize me. It was that damned Jew Liebfelt's clerk they got hold of. And I had a nasty scare when I almost ran into his arms at the station. There he was with Horne, and spotted me, too, worse luck. I made tracks, and they followed. I packed up at my diggings, and came up to interview the old Jacker when they got on my track. I was n't going to be served with writs if I could help it, and so I bolted for it. Phew, I did have a run for it. One of their bull-dogs nearly got me on the lawn, but I tripped him into the shrubbery, and I gave 'em the slip, thank the Lord. I 've got to keep my end up," he concluded knowingly.

"That reminds me, Sir Gilbert," I interjected. "Are you a magician? Do you wave a wand and disappear?"

"Eh, what?" he stared. "Oh, you mean the stairs in the wall. Oh, I knew that when I was a boy. It leads down into a shrubbery along the western wing. What uncle used to call a . I 'll show you how, if you come up."

Well, in the circumstances, I rather wanted to know how I stood, and so we went, Norroy chatting in a friendly way and quite at his ease. When we arrived at the last bay of the library where the angle of the walls was formed, he pointed out a panel in the guise of book-shelves and books, fitting quite closely so as to escape the casual eye. This opened with a spring, and Norroy flung the light into the dark aperture.

"I nearly barked my shins coming up in the blackness," he said. "It twists and is awfully narrow, but it gets there. Try it."

I did not think I would try it that night; I was content to have solved the riddle, and back we went to the smoking-room.

"Nice little snuggery, isn't it?" he asked, looking round.

"And now," I said, ignoring this, "what's the next move?"

He screwed up his face comically. "I 've got to get out," he said. "I 'll do 'em yet. I 've got my wind again, and I'm fit for a cross-country steeplechase with any one. Don't you worry your head, old man."

I was not worrying my head, but I felt rather reluctant to turn my visitor loose among his persistent enemies. It was, of course, no business of mine, nor was it very moral of him to be eluding his creditors. Yet human nature is at bottom sportive, and loves to back the adventurous and the desperate. A forlorn hope appeals to its compassion, and surely Sir Gilbert Norroy was heading his own forlorn hope. The enemy environed us.

"Can't you effect a compromise?" I suggested, "and straighten out your affairs."

"They 're a bit top-heavy," he said, without feeling. "I 've been piling it up like a fool. There's this place, for instance. My solicitors hold a mortgage on it for a lump. But they 're very decent about it—don't push me. And then there's a devil of a lot been accumulating. At least," he looked at me ruefully, "perhaps you would n't think it a lot, but it runs to thousands, and when you can't raise two brass farthings to jingle on a tombstone, it might as well be millions. No; it's no go. I might have managed with old Liebfelt and the livery people and the Bond Streeters, if they had n't parted with the debts. But this chap, who has taken it on, is going to have his pound of flesh."

"You mean to say," I asked, starting, "that some one has bought up your debts

"Yes, a chap called Horne, as far as I can make out, the little Johnny who was after me to-night—the Johnny who was staying in the inn." He laughed. "Why, he must be mad now to think of the number of times he met me face to face, and was worrying for his money."

I was thinking. The affair had an odd look.

"Were you known to be in difficulties?" I asked. "Or did they think you solvent."

He grinned. "I should guess they knew all about me in London Town," he said. "I 've been going the pace, and these Johnnies know pretty well."

"Then why should Mr. Horne have the grand idea of buying up your debts?" I asked.

He blinked at me. "Dunno," he said. "May I have one more, old chap, a nightcap before I turn out, what?"

I made a gesture of assent, and considered as I eyed him.

"I 've been watching this pretty carefully," I said at last, "and I won't pretend to understand it. But you seem to have a lot of folk up against you."

"Horne's agents," he said indifferently.

"Well, there's a good deal behind Horne, if my observation's right," I replied. "There's a swell called Naylor."

"Naylor!" He started.

"They seem as thick as thieves," I said.

"That's rum," he said slowly. "That was the name of the chap that wanted to buy the Castle."

"What?" I got a little excited here. "Did any one ask for your estate?"

"I got a letter from a man named Naylor about it. In fact he's pressed me about it—seemed to think it would suit his tastes. But I'm not selling. I'm  going to cling on to the old bricks and mortar. Dash it, you must have some consideration for what's been in the family so long."

"And Naylor," said I eagerly, "is hand in glove with this Horne and the duns. It looks like a game."

"Think so?" he said blinking, and stuck his glass in his eye. "What's the game?"

"I should like to know," I answered, "and between us we may know it. Naylor wants the Castle, and Horne, Naylor's friend, wants to force you into liquidation. That's a good start for us."

"That's what it tots up to," confessed Sir Gilbert, after pondering this. "If I got a judgment for the money against me I'd have to file my own petition. I'd have to look in at Carey Street,."

"And the Castle would be sold," I said.

He hesitated. "Yes," he assented, "as far as the estate goes, that's not entailed. Damn it," he added. "It's rough luck."

He took it pretty easily, or seemed to do so. I lost sight and count of him for a few minutes, and then I heard his voice.

"Well, I 'll be clearing out." He had risen.

"You forget, they will be on the lookout for you," I said.

"Oh, I 'll manage," he replied cheerfully. "If you 'll let me have old Jacker I 'll make shift."

I went to the window and looked out on the moonlit lawn. No one was visible, but I knew now that the house was watched. The riddle was not solved yet. It only began with duns.

"Look here, Norroy," said I, suddenly, "you 're not going. You 're going to put up here."

"Not I," he said heartily. "You 've no concern with my business. It's rather a shabby business, too."

"Anyway," I said firmly, "I'm going to take a hand in it. You see in a way it's been thrust on me, and I 've got interested. I don't know what to make of it, and I should like to know what to make of it. I 've never heard of such persistent creditors."

"They take the cake," he said, "but I'm going to hang on to the old place."

"In that case," I argued, "you must hide here."

"Honest?" he asked. I nodded. "Good man. You 're a Chancellor, Brabazon." He breathed a sigh as of relief. "Well, old Jacker will be able to fix me up somewhere, I 've no doubt."

"Oh, we 'll arrange all that," I said. "I shall rather enjoy the fun, though I must confess that in the circumstances I think you were foolish to come down here."

I thought he looked at me furtively. "I had a bit of business on," said he, and after a moment asked: "Is n't there some one painting up-stairs?"

"Yes," I said. "A Mr. Toosey, who apparently designs to copy all the art treasures of the Castle."

"Yes, a good chap—clever chap, I hear," said Sir Gilbert, hurriedly. "Well, what do you say to getting hold of Jacker? A good old boy, Jacker!"

"Certainly," I replied. "If he's in bed we 'll have him out."

"Bless your heart, I 'll lay he's not a room off waiting," said Norroy, confidently. "This will have put him out."

It seemed he was right, to judge from the time Jackman took to answer the bell. His face expressed nothing, nor did he bear any visible sign of disturbance. He looked at us as if it were the most natural thing in the world that we should be sitting there together at midnight.

"Sir Gilbert Norroy will stay with me for the present, Jackman," I said slowly, "and. I want you to prepare a room at once."

"Yes, sir," said Jackman.

"Beat 'em on the post, Jacker," remarked his master, genially.

"Yes, sir," said Jackman, without emotion.

When he was gone my mind flashed back over his association with me and the events of the last few weeks, and I remembered something.

"That note-book!" I cried. "Did you take that?"

"No, Jacker," said Norroy, dropping his eye-glass, and surveying me with deliberation. "Jacker did n't know what it might be, and thought it might give me away."

"Well, it did," said I, dryly. He stared, and I told him of my recognition of the handwriting.

"Oh," he said easily, "that don't matter."

"Well, it mattered more than a mere scrappy list of the pictures in your gallery did," I said.

"Oh, you saw that?" he asked, and looked at me, I thought, a little sheepishly. "Well, old chap," he went on, "you 're doing me an awful good turn, and I don't mind letting you into the secret. But don't give it away. It was an idea of mine."

This was the third or fourth time he had referred to an idea.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Well, you see, it's these pictures," said Sir Gilbert, and his face assumed a knowing aspect. "They 're by some thundering good fellows, and some of them have been in the family a long while. Of course I would n't get rid of the family portraits, don't you know. But the other stuff's awful dull, and I thought I 'd get 'em copied."

"To duplicate the dullness," I said sarcastically.

Sir Gilbert's look of knowingness increased. "Not much," he said. "You see they're heirlooms—got to go down to my descendants, don't you know, and all that sort of thing. Well, I haven't got any. So they can't. And it occurred to me that they were no use if I had n't. See?" Sir Gilbert explained emphatically with his hands to assist him, as if anxious that I should see his point. "If I die those pictures go nowhere; well, I have n't got any descendants, so I'm not cheating any one. Consequently, I don't see why I should n't sell 'em. What? My solicitors told me I could n't." He chuckled. "But I can. I got this Toosey man through a friend of mine, a chap who writes sporting novels, to come down and copy 'em. And then I 'll ship the originals off to America, and sell 'em, and stick the copies up, what?"

My face fell before this amazing scheme, and I had a violent inclination to go into a fit of laughter. Sir Gilbert sat there with an earnest countenance, his eye-glass levelled on me, painfully marshalling in his mind the arguments which had led him into a career of crime. He seemed anxious I should understand.

"You see, Brabazon, they can't go to my descendants because I have n't got any. So it's all right. I can't cheat people who ain't born, can I?"

"Suppose you do have any?" I got out at last.

"Oh, Lord, no, not me," he said decisively, and seemed to think. "If I did have any I'd buy 'em back, or make it up to them somehow. But not me." He thought awhile. "There was a sort of family notion that I was to marry my cousin, Miss Rivers," he went on. "She's got pots of money, they say—father was a manufacturer up north somewhere. But I 've never seen her, and I don't buy a pig in a poke. I'm not on sale." He was silent a moment longer, and then added, quite irrelevantly: "Smart girl, Miss Harvey, ain't she? I say, she's a fair flyer, Brabazon, what?"