The Mystery of the Ravenspurs

CHAPTER XXXV

MRS. MAY IS PLEASED

Geoffrey was fain to confess that he couldn't quite follow. He turned to Ralph, who once more had recovered his old expression – an expression tinged with profound regret. From the hall below came the tones of Rupert Ravenspur demanding to know what it was all about.

"Go and tell your grandfather," Ralph said quietly. "Everybody who comes near us is fated, it seems. Poor Tchigorsky is no more. He was a mysterious man, and wonderfully reticent as to his past life, but he was the most interesting man I ever met. But I shall never hear anything more about Tibet."

"He was a very old friend of yours?" Marion asked.

"Not so very old," Ralph replied. "And I should hardly call him a friend. We were mutually interested in certain scientific matters. But as to the marvelous side of things he told me nothing."

Speaking by the letter this was perfectly true. Tchigorsky had told Ralph nothing, for the simple reason that they had learned and suffered together.

"Then why did he come here?" Marion demanded.

"To try to solve the mystery. He declared that Orientalism was at the bottom of it. But we shall never know now. Tchigorsky is no more, and such knowledge as he may have possessed has gone down to the sea with him."

Marion turned away with a sigh. Slight as their acquaintance had been, she had been drawn to Tchigorsky, she said. Strange that whoever tried to help the house of Ravenspur should come under the ban.

"But Tchigorsky was drowned," said Ralph.

"No, indeed," Marion replied. "Oh, I know there are no signs of violence on the body. I know how dangerous the broken balustrade is; but I have my opinions all the same."

"You are wrong in this case," Ralph said, as he walked away.

Presently other people began to arrive. For the first time for many years Ravenspur was invaded by strangers – a policeman or two, a fussily polite inspector, a journalist with a colleague, pushing everywhere. They would have interviewed Rupert Ravenspur, but the cold glitter of his eye awed even them.

The police let Ralph alone, but Geoffrey was subjected to severe questioning. On the whole he came out of the ordeal better than Ralph had anticipated.

"You managed that very well," he said.

"I feel horribly mean and guilty. All these prevarications – "

"Call them lies, if you like," Ralph put in coolly. "It doesn't matter. Think of the good cause. If ever the end may justify the means it is here. You are deceiving only our enemies; you are injuring nobody. And you are giving Tchigorsky a heaven-sent opportunity."

"I doubt it, uncle. Clever as Tchigorsky is, well as he may disguise himself, he will fail. Did not Princess Zaza pick you both out at Lassa?"

"That was not quite the same thing. Remember she knew beforehand that we were going to make the attempt to reach the holy city. She allowed us to go so far because she is naturally a cruel woman. Moreover, all the time her spies had been dogging our footsteps.

"Before nightfall she will firmly believe Tchigorsky to be dead, which is a great point in his favor. She does not know that her other two miscreants have met with a deserved fate. Tchigorsky will go to her, passing as one of them, and will tell her a wonderful tale as to how he and his ally compassed Voski's death. He will tell how that death entailed the death of his companion."

"It is a fearfully dangerous position."

"Oh, it is. But Tchigorsky will not mind that. He loves danger for its own sake. And he will be able to act the character to the life. He speaks the language perfectly; he is up to all the rites and ceremonies. Tchigorsky will not fail."

The inquest was appointed for the afternoon. It was not likely to last long, and the verdict in the minds of most people was a foregone conclusion. Tchigorsky had walked out into the darkness, he had stumbled over the cliffs, and there was an end of the matter.

Meanwhile the police seemed to have taken possession of the house. And all the time Tchigorsky was seated in a comfortable lounge in Ralph's room, smoking cigarettes and making plans for the future.

Geoffrey had gone out after luncheon. He would not be wanted for a full hour and resented the vulgar curiosity of these strangers. Already some of the jury had arrived, and were critically examining the broken balustrades with an owl-like wisdom which, in other circumstances, would have been amusing.

Geoffrey walked along up the slope toward Jessop's farm. He met a small governess cart drawn by a donkey coming down the hill. In it was Mrs. May driving slowly along. She pulled up as she saw Geoffrey and held out her hand. Her face was very clear and bright to-day.

"You see, I have already adapted myself to circumstances," she said when Geoffrey had asked politely and feelingly after the injured foot. "The donkey and I are old friends and Jessop got the cart for me. So I am all right. By the way, what is it I hear about your finding a body down on the sands?"

"It is quite true," Geoffrey said gravely. "The body of Dr. Tchigorsky."

"Tchigorsky! Dr. Tchigorsky! Do you really mean that?"

The smooth, velvety voice had risen to a hoarse scream. Disappointment, joy, relief danced across the woman's gleaming eyes. For the moment she seemed to forget that she had a companion.

"What a dreadful thing!" she said, catching her natural voice again. "How did it happen?"

Geoffrey gave her the details without flinching.

"It was a bit of shock for us," he said, "but we are accustomed to them. Of course it will be brought in that the poor fellow met with an accident, but there is not the slightest doubt that the poor fellow was murdered."

"Murdered! Why should you say that?"

"I don't know. Of course I have no evidence. But Tchigorsky chose to interest himself in our affairs, and he has paid the penalty. That was exactly what Marion said when she saw the body."

"So that poor child actually saw the corpse! How terrible!"

"Marion did not seem to mind. She is small and slender, but has courage and resolution."

Mrs. May nodded. She had received information that was a long way from being distasteful to her. She plied Geoffrey with questions as to what Tchigorsky had said and done, but Geoffrey evaded them all. Tchigorsky had said nothing; he had hinted vaguely at what he was going to do.

"I knew him years ago," said Mrs. May.

"Oh, indeed!" Geoffrey replied. "He never mentioned that."

Mrs. May drew a long breath. Evidently she had nothing to fear. Her arch-enemy had gone to his account, leaving no mischief behind. Sooner or later the man would have had to be removed; now he had gone away, saving all the trouble. Really, it was very considerate of Tchigorsky.

"You might come to the inquest and say he was a friend of yours," said Geoffrey.

Mrs. May looked at him sharply. Had she said too much or did he suspect? But Geoffrey's eyes were clear and innocent of meaning. Mrs. May shuddered. These kind of horrors made her ill, she said.

"Pray do not mention that fact," she implored. "It can do no good and it may cause a great deal of harm."

Geoffrey disclaimed every intention of making mischief. Besides, as Mrs. May pointed out, there was his uncle Ralph. Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders.

"It is a hard thing to say," he murmured, "but my poor uncle's testimony would not carry much weight. That accident he had some years ago injured his brain. But he is harmless."

Mrs. May exchanged a few more or less banal remarks with her companion and drove on. She had got nothing out of Geoffrey, but he had baffled her and, what was more, had succeeded in lulling a set of lively suspicious to sleep.

The inquest turned out as he had anticipated. The suggestion of foul play was never raised. A surgeon testified to the fact that the deceased met his death by drowning, and that the injury to the face was doubtless caused by a fall on the rocks. Beyond that the condition of the body was normal.

Geoffrey's evidence was plain and to the point. He had little to say. He repudiated the suggestion that the family enemy had had anything to do with the thing. Dr. Tchigorsky was merely a passing visitor; he had met with an accident, and there was an end of the matter. It was impossible to say more than that.

Then, to the manifest disappointment of those who had come prepared to be thrilled with sensational details, the inquest was over almost before it had begun. Directed by the coroner, the jury brought in a verdict of "Found Drowned, but how the deceased came by his death there was no evidence to show." Rupert Ravenspur rose from his seat and ordered the servants to clear the house.

"See that they are all out at once," he said. "Half an hour ago I found two women – ladies, I suppose they call themselves – in the picture gallery with guide books in the hands. Really, there is no sense of decency nowadays."

The curious crowd were forced back and once more Ravenspur resumed its normal aspect.

"I will see to the burial," Ravenspur said. "The poor man seems to have no friends. And I feel to a certain extent guilty. Geoffrey, you will see that all proper arrangements are made for the funeral?"

Geoffrey bowed his head gravely.

"Yes, sir," he said. "I will see to that."

CHAPTER XXXVI

MRS. MAY LEARNS SOMETHING

Mrs. May sat among her flowers after dinner. She had dined well and was on the very best of terms with herself. It had been a source of satisfaction to see the body of her worst enemy laid to rest in the village churchyard that afternoon.

For years she had planned for the death of that man and for years he had eluded her. To strike him down foully had been too dangerous, for had he not told her that he was prepared for that kind of death? Had he not arranged it so that a score of savants in Europe should learn the truth within a month of his decease?

"And kindly fate has removed him for me," she said as she puffed with infinite content at one of her scented cigarettes. "There is no longer any danger. What have I to fear now from those wise men of the East? Nothing. They will see that Tchigorsky has died a natural death and will destroy those packets. I can act freely now."

A strange look came over the lovely face, a look that boded ill for somebody. Then the whole expression changed as Geoffrey entered. She had seen him that afternoon; she had asked him to come and he had half promised to do so. That Mrs. May hated the young man and all his race with a fanatical hatred was no reason why, for the present, she should not enjoy his society.

She was a strange woman, this Eastern, with a full knowledge of Western ways and civilization. She could be two distinct beings in as many minutes.

A moment ago she was a priestess thirsting for the blood of those who had defiled her creed, for the blood of those to the third or fourth generation, and almost instantly she was the charming hostess she would have been in a country mansion or a West End drawing room. She waved Geoffrey to a seat.

"I hardly dared hope you would come," she said. "But now you are here, make yourself at home. There are some of the cigarettes you liked so well and the claret purchased for me by a connoisseur. I never touch wine myself, but I know you men appreciate it after dinner."

Geoffrey took a cigarette and poured himself out a glass of the superb claret. The bouquet of it seemed to mingle with the flowers and scent the room. Geoffrey mentally likened himself to an Italian gallant upon whom Lucretia Borgia smiled before doing him to death.

Not that he had any fear of the wine. Mrs. May was a criminal, but she was not a clumsy one. She would never permit herself to take risks like that.

Nevertheless, it was very pleasant, for when Mrs. May chose to exercise her fascinations there was no more delightful woman. And there was always the chance of picking up useful information.

Mrs. May touched lightly on Tchigorsky, to which Geoffrey responded with proper gravity. Had Mrs. May known that Tchigorsky himself was not more than a mile away she would have been less easy in her mind.

"No more visions lately?" she asked.

"No more," Geoffrey replied. "But they will come again. We are hopelessly and utterly doomed; nothing can save us. It is to be my turn next."

Mrs. May started. There was an expression on her face that was not all sympathy.

"What do you mean by that?" she demanded.

Geoffrey slowly extracted from his pocket a sheet of paper. He had discovered it in his plate that morning at breakfast time. Long and earnestly it had been discussed by himself and Ralph and Tchigorsky, and it had been the suggestion of the last-named that Geoffrey should find some pretext for mentioning it to Mrs. May.

"This was by my plate this morning," he said. "I don't mind showing it to you, because you are a good friend of mine. It is a warning."

It was a plain half sheet of note-paper, the sort sold in general shops at so many sheets a penny. The envelope was to match. Just a few lines had been laboriously printed on the paper.

"Take care," it ran. "You are marked down for the next victim; and they are not likely to fail. You are not to go on the sea till you hear from me once more; you are not to venture along the cliffs. If you show this to anybody I shall not be able to warn you again, and your doom will be sealed. – One who loves you."

That was all there was; nothing at the top or the bottom. Mrs. May turned this over with a puzzled face and a hand that shook slightly. Under her smile was another expression, the look of one who has been betrayed and is in a position to lay her hand upon the guilty person.

"You are fortunate to have friends with the enemy," she said. "But do you think you were wise to show this to me?"

She was playing with him as the cat plays with the mouse. It was a temptation she could not resist, feeling sure that Geoffrey would not understand. But he did, though he did not show it on his face.

"Why not?" he asked innocently. "Are you not my friend? Personally I believe it is a hoax to frighten me. You can keep that paper if you please."

"Then you are not going to take any notice of the warning?" asked Mrs. May.

There was a note of curiosity, sharp, eager curiosity, in the question. Geoffrey did not fail to notice it, though he shook his head carelessly.

"I am going to ignore it, as one should ignore all anonymous letters," he said. "If the writer of that letter thinks to frighten me, then he or she is sadly mistaken. I shall go on with my life as if I had never received it."

Mrs. May's lips framed the sentence, "The more fool you," but she did not utter it. It filled her with satisfaction to find that the warning had been ignored, as it had filled her with anger to know that a warning had been received. And Mrs. May knew full well who was the author of that letter.

"I don't think that I should ignore it," she said. "It may be a cruel piece of mischief; and, on the other hand, it may be dictated by a generous desire to help you. So the moral is that you are to keep clear of the cliffs and the sea."

Geoffrey flicked the ash off his cigarette and laughed. He poured himself out a second glass of the amazing claret.

"It is an unusual thing for me to do," he said, "but your claret is wonderful. You speak of the moral, I speak of the things as they are going to be. To-morrow I shall go out fishing alone as if nothing had happened."

"Ah, but you have not spoken of this?"

Mrs. May indicated the letter lying on the table. Geoffrey looked at her reproachfully.

"Have we not trouble and misery enough in our house without making more?" he asked. "Now, I put it to you as a lady of brains and courage, if you had been in my position, would you have shown that to your family?"

Geoffrey lay back in his chair with the air of a man who has put a poser. At the same time he had ingeniously parried Mrs. May's question.

As a matter of fact, nobody but Ralph and Tchigorsky had seen the paper. And the latter point-blank refused to give his reasons why the letter was to be disclosed to Mrs. May.

She looked at Geoffrey with real admiration.

"I shouldn't," she said. "Of course, you are right and I am wrong. And I dare say you will be able to take care of yourself."

He was going to disregard the warning; he was going out alone; and nobody knew what was hanging over his head! Here was a fool of fools, a pretty fellow to assist. Much good that warning had done.

Geoffrey rose to his feet.

"And now I must go," he said. "Still, I hope to come again."

The door closed, and she was alone. Hardly had he departed before a dark figure in a white robe crept out of the gloom of the garden into the room. Mrs. May looked at the ragged looking stranger fixedly.

"Who are you, and whence do you come?" she asked in her native tongue.

The man salaamed almost to the ground.

"I am Ben Heer, your slave," he said, "and I bring you great news."

"Oh!" Mrs. May said slowly; "and so you have come at last."

CHAPTER XXXVII

DIPLOMACY

Mrs. May crossed rapidly and noiselessly to the door and closed it. Not that there was any need for caution, seeing that the primitive household had been abed long ago. But precaution is never wasted.

There was coffee in the grate kept hot by means of a spirit lamp. Mrs. May poured out a cup and handed it to her guest.

She lay back in her chair watching him with a keen glance and the easy, natural insolence, the cruel cutting superiority of the great over the small.

The man stood, his hands thrust into the folds of his loose sleeves, a picture of patient resignation.

"How did you get here?" the princess asked.

"At the great house in London I asked, O mistress," Ben Heer replied. "I came over, as thou knowest, to do certain work. There was yet another one with me. And when my work was done I came on to tell what thy slave had accomplished."

"You have proofs of what you say?"

"Else I had not been here. For two years we have followed up the track of the victim. It was as if we had searched for one single perch in the whole of a great lake of water. But we never tired and never slept both at the same time. Then at last we got near, and it came to the knowledge of the prey that we were upon him. That was long before the last cold weather that nearly starved us."

The man paused and shivered. The princess nodded with careless sympathy. She had never tried a winter in England, but she could imagine what it was.

"He knew us at last," Ben Heer resumed. "He met us face to face in the public street, and he knew that his hour had come. A night later he was in Paris. At the same time we were in Paris also. He tried Rome, Vienna, Berlin. So did we. Then he came back to London again. When he did so we knew that he had bowed his face before the All-seeing, and prayed that the end might come speedily."

The princess followed all this with impatience. But the man was speaking after the manner of his kind and could not be hurried.

He would go on to the end without omitting a single detail and the princess was forced to listen. Despite the Western garb and the evidences of Western life and custom about her, she was no longer Mrs. May, but Princess Zara.

She had only to close her eyes and the droning intonation and passionless voice of the speaker took her back to Lassa again. And the day was near, ah! the day was near, when the goal would be reached.

"Once we had him and once he escaped," Ben Heer went on. "He was a brave man was Voski, and nothing could break down those nerves of iron. He knew that the end was near. It was in a big house – a house near to London – that we found him.

"There were servants, and they were glad to have their fortunes told. It was their evening meal on the table when we got there, and the man Voski Sahib was out. Then, behold, after that evening meal the servants slept till the dawn, and at midnight the master returned. He came into his study and the bright flash of the lightning came at the touch of his fingers."

"Electric light," the princess said impatiently. "Go on."

"Then he saw us. We knew that he had no weapon. The door we barred. Then Voski, he sit down and light a cigar, smiling, smiling all the time. When we look at him we see that he moves not so much as a little finger. There was no sign of fear, except that he look at a little box on the table now and then."

"Ah," the princess cried. "You got it, eh?"

Ben Heer made no direct reply. He was not to be hurried. He meant to describe a sordid murder in his own cold-blooded way. Probably he did not regard the thing as a crime at all; he had been acting under the blessing of the priests.

"'You have come for it?' he asked.

"We bowed low with respect, saying that we had come for it. He lay back in his chair, making a sign for me to approach. Previously we had told him that it was useless for him to call out to the servants."

"You did not tell those servants their fortunes in your present garb?"

"No, no, my mistress. We no such pigs as that… Sahib Voski bid me approach. My friend had the 'pi' ready on the cloth… It was held to the head of the other. And so he died peacefully in his chair."

"Ah, so you say. Where are your proofs?"

Ben Heer slowly withdrew a white packet from the folds of his dress.

"What better proof could the slave of my illustrious mistress have?" he asked. "It is here – the precious stone with the secrets of the gods written on it. Behold!"

With a slightly dramatic gesture a glittering fragment of something that looked like green jade was held on high. The princess grasped it eagerly and devoured it with her eyes. Words were pouring in a liquid stream from her lips; she was transformed almost beyond recognition.

"At last," she murmured, "at last! But the other one – your companion. How did he die? You say he is dead. How?"

Ben Heer shook his head sadly.

"I cannot say," he replied. "It might have been some scheme on the part of Sahib Voski. When we got back to our room in London we were both dreadfully ill. For days I lie, and when I get better they tell me my poor friend is dead and buried.