A Duel

CHAPTER XXXII

AT THE GATE

Verbal discussion was plainly useless; it was soon made sufficiently clear that nothing short of physical force would persuade that driver. Situated as they were it was not easy to see how they could resort to that method of convincing him of the error of his ways. Mrs. Lamb told him, with the lucidity of which under such circumstances she was past mistress, what she thought of him, and what treatment she would have accorded him if the conditions had only been a little different. In a tongue fight the man proved to be her match; he could pack at least as many disagreeable allusions into a sentence as she could. For ten minutes or a quarter of an hour they wrangled, then the driver delivered himself of an ultimatum.

"I'm not going to stay here all night listening to you. If you won't get down I'll drive you back. Now which is it to be? I'm off!"

"Off! Yes, you are off, as I'll soon show you."

She showed him there and then. Whirling round on her seat, she gave the driver a sudden push; over he went on to the road. Snatching the reins in one hand, the whip in the other, before he quite knew what had happened, she was urging the horse to pursue its onward career.

"Stop! stop!" he yelled. "I'm under the wheel! You're driving over me!"

"Then if you don't want me to drive over you, you'll get from under the wheel; I'm going on."

"Are you? I'll teach you, you-!"

The fellow's language was full-blooded. Scrambling up as best he could, he made a vigorous attempt to board the vehicle and expel her from the seat she had usurped. She was not disposed to yield. Down came the whip upon his head and shoulders. There ensued a lively few moments.

"When you two have quite finished your little conversation perhaps you'll let me know," groaned Mr. Luker from the rear.

The "little conversation" came to a rapid, and, perhaps on the whole, not surprising termination. The quadruped between the shafts, an animal apparently of the cart-horse kind, was, also apparently, a creature of an extremely patient disposition. But even the most enduring patience has its limits; that horse reached the end of his. Mrs. Lamb and the driver were, between them, tugging at the reins in a fashion to which he was, no doubt, entirely unaccustomed, while the whip-lash, when it missed the driver, occasionally alighted on the animal's flanks. Probably wholly at a loss to understand what was happening, not unreasonably the creature finally made up his mind that he had had enough of it, whatever it was. Suddenly the vehicle was set in motion; both parties persisting in sticking to the reins, and also, in a sense, to each other, the course steered was of the most erratic kind. Before the horse had gone very far there was a lurch which was more ominous than any which had gone before, and they had been pregnant with meaning; the cart was turned clean over; the three persons concerned were thrown out of it. Mr. Luker was the first to give expression to his feelings. Clinging to the side as the thing went over, he had alighted with comparative gentleness on the ground.

"I'm alive," he announced. "I don't know if any one else is."

It seemed that the lady was in the same, so far as it went, satisfactory condition.

"There's not much the matter with me. I'm a bit shaken, and my clothes are all anyhow; my hat's torn right off my head-but that doesn't matter."

"Where's the driver? Driver, where are you?" There was no answer. "That extremely civil gentleman seems disposed to be a little more silent than he was just now. Driver!"

"It'll serve him right if he's killed. Hollo, I've just stepped on him; he's lying on the road. Driver!" Still no answer. "Stunned; lost his senses or something-not that he'd many senses to lose-cantankerous brute!"

"It's to be hoped that he hasn't lost them for ever, It'll be awkward for us if he has-especially for you. Your popularity in this neighbourhood does not appear to be so great that you can afford to throw any of it away."

"Confound my popularity! What do I care if I'm popular? If that brute is killed he brought it on himself; if I'd wrung his neck for him it'd have been no more than he deserved. I've got a lantern in my bag. I knew what sort of a hole, and what sort of beasts, I was coming to, and guessed that I'd better be prepared for the worst. If it isn't smashed to splinters I'll light it and have a look at him-you can see nothing in this darkness."

The lantern was not broken. Presently its rays were illuminating the surrounding gloom. She turned them on to the recumbent figure, not showing too much sympathy as she did so.

"Now then-move yourself! Don't pretend you're dead-I know better." Possibly by way of exhibiting her superior knowledge, she shook him by the shoulder. He groaned; she chose to interpret the sound as having a favourable significance. "He's not dead; he's all right. Broken a bone, or put his shoulder out, or something. He won't hurt if we leave him here; we could do nothing for him if we wanted to. Let's see what's happened to the cart."

It was not difficult to do that; the explanation of what had occurred was almost painfully simple. The horse, influenced by such eccentric guidance, had conducted the vehicle into a ditch. The jolt of the sudden descent had loosened one of the wheels; it lay in one direction, the cart in another. The question as to whether they were or were not to drive in it up to the house was finally settled. The horse, seemingly none the worse for his little experience, making no attempt to get up, reclined at his ease between the shafts, apparently under the not erroneous impression that he was as comfortable there as anywhere else. Mrs. Lamb recognised that, so far as any more riding was concerned, the fates were against her.

"We shall have to walk," she observed. "It's not so very far from here, along the avenue. Here's the gate."

She went to the gate, revealing its whereabouts by the light of her lantern. Mr. Luker moving towards her, spoke in lowered tones.

"Without wishing to alarm you unnecessarily, or endorsing your coachman's remarks about Mr. Cuthbert Grahrame's singular habits, I may tell you that my impression is that if he isn't walking about among the trees, somebody is."

"Luker, don't talk like that! Don't be a fool."

"If I weren't a fool I doubt if I should be here with you now; but, apart from that, I can only inform you that for some time I have had a suspicion that our movements were being observed by some one among the trees, who can see us better than we could see him, and who was taking a lively interest in all that was occurring."

"Luker, how do you know? How could you tell?"

"By the sense of sound; I wasn't so absorbed in fighting the driver. That some one, or something, has been moving among the trees, keeping pace with us as we went, I'll swear, and I don't think it was an animal."

"Speak plainly; what do you mean?"

"I think it possible that you and I are the objects of a conspiracy-especially you. Every step you take you are walking farther and farther into the trap which Miss Margaret Wallace has set for you."

"Don't talk rubbish! Have you got that old bee in your bonnet again? I'm not afraid of Miss Margaret Wallace."

"Aren't you? Then that's all right, because I fancy that her agents are about you on every side."

"Her agents? What do you mean by her agents?"

"I imagine that Miss Margaret Wallace is more popular in this part of the world than you are. I can put two and two together. From what I've seen, and heard, since our arrival, I shouldn't be surprised to learn that she has nobbled every creature in the neighbourhood. The station-master has received a hint from her-that explains the peculiarity of his manner; nothing else could. That poor wretch lying on the ground has been acting on her instructions. Don't you make any mistake; I'm sure of it. I'm equally sure that other friends of hers are waiting for you in there."

He pointed over the gate, along the avenue. His words, far from causing her alarm, seemed to act as a fillip.

"Friends of hers upon my property! – if they dare! Do you think that I'm afraid of what you call her friends? – of any number of them? – of the tricks they've set themselves to play? I'd like to see them; I'd like to meet them. This is my property-mine! – every stick and stone on it! Neither Margaret Wallace nor any one else has a right to set foot upon it without my sanction. If I do find any trespassers I promise you that it won't be me who'll come off worst. Are you coming? You understand, if you're to earn that thousand pounds you're to stick to me through thick and thin-to the end! If you show the white feather, the bond is cancelled."

"Are you going to accept the invitation of the spider to the fly? You intend to walk into the trap?"

"Trap! Do you think that any trap was ever set that could catch me? I believe you're talking the purest piffle; but if there is a trap, and I do walk into it, it'll be to smash it all to pieces. Once more, are you coming?"

"Oh, I'm coming. I'll do my best to earn the thousand, though I'm beginning to perceive that it wants more earning than I supposed. Lead on; where you lead I'll not only follow, I'll keep as close to your side as circumstances permit."

She threw the gate wide open. It swung back on its rusty hinges with a harsh, creaking sound. Then they entered the avenue, the lantern swinging in her hand.

CHAPTER XXXIII

AT THE DOOR

Between the trees the darkness was as if you might have cut it. Where the lantern looked there were momentary revelations as they strode along. Its rays seemed to cut pieces out of the surrounding gloom. But the pieces were small. Its penetrating power was slight; where its penetration ceased the darkness was blacker than before. The silence which prevailed had its own peculiar property; it served to exaggerate the slightest disturbance. Their very footsteps were differentiated with an almost morbid clearness. The firm, resolute descent of the woman's foot, the loose, indeterminate shuffle of the man's; the sounds seemed to set themselves against each other and to ring through the trees. They gradually became conscious of the movements of unseen creatures among the grasses and the herbage, disturbed by their approach. Once she observed, as she swung the lantern to one side-

"That's a rabbit. There used to be thousands of them when I was here. I expect there are more now. I daresay the whole place is overrun with them."

"It may be a rabbit, though, with due deference to your superior woodcraft, I doubt if there are many rabbits abroad at this hour of the night-But that's not!"

"What? Where?"

"Are there deer about the place as well?"

"Deer? I don't think so. I don't remember seeing any."

"Then give me the lantern!"

Mrs. Lamb was holding the lantern out in front of her. Snatching it, he swung it slightly round. As he did so it went out.

"Luker!" she exclaimed. "How did you manage that? What a clumsy fool you are!"

There was a new intonation in his voice.

"Some one blew it out. Hollo, where are you coming to? Who the devil, sir, are you? Confound the man, where's he gone?"

"Luker, what's the matter?"

"Some one was walking behind us-didn't you hear him? I not only heard but I felt him; he was as close as that. When I swung the lantern round I almost dashed it against his face. He blew it out. He tried to snatch it from me; I felt his fingers. Can you hear him?"

"Is that a footstep?"

"He stepped upon a twig. There's more than one. I tell you they're all round us. The lantern serves as a beacon; they can see us though we can't see them."

They were speaking in whispers.

"Is that another footstep?"

"Curse the fellow, I believe he's still within three or four feet of us. I believe I heard him breathe. I've a revolver in my pocket; I've half a mind-"

"I also have a revolver, and I've a whole mind. Look out! I'm going to fire!"

There was a flash; a report which seemed to wake the echoes of the forest for miles and miles; then a scream which rose high above the echoes, and seemed to hang quivering in, and rending, the silent air. The stillness which again ensued was rendered the more striking by its contrast with the previous turmoil.

"You've shot some one."

"Not I! – that wasn't a man. I shouldn't be surprised if it was some kind of a bird. There are birds in these woods which make noises at night which go right through you. Where's your friend?"

"I'll strike a match and try to get a light again. You cover me while I'm doing it."

The instant the match flickered into flame there was a crashing sound among the bushes as of a heavy object in headlong flight.

"There he is! He's making off! I'll have another pop at him!"

Again a revolver clamoured, but this time there was no answering sound, only stillness followed. Luker had succeeded in lighting the lantern. He held it well out. Together they peered into the cave of light which it hollowed out in front of them. It was broken by trees, by bushes, by bracken, but, so far as they could see, by nothing else. Luker spoke in a whisper.

"He's gone. They're too much for us, and too many. For all we can tell there's some one behind each of those trees; they're all of them big enough to shelter a man. This kind of thing's a new experience to me-altogether out of my usual line. It's a job for which I have no sort of stomach. What the game is I don't know, but it's one in which all the odds are against us-I do know that. I wish to the devil I'd stayed in town!"

"You didn't; you've come down into the country with me, and in the country for the present you've got to stay. Give me that lantern, and don't you snatch at it again. Whoever blows it out while I've got hold of it will be clever. Pretend to be a man, even if you aren't one. As for that game about which you're talking, if there is one on, I promise you that whoever scores in it, I shall."

They continued their progress, the lady again holding the lantern, moving onwards with her long, regular strides, swinging it a little as she walked. Mr. Luker, shuffling alongside, seemed to be unwilling to drop behind, and to find it difficult to keep up with her. As he went he glanced continually from side to side, and over his shoulder at the darkness which followed them. There was no attempt on either side at conversation, they simply went straight on.

They had gone some distance without anything happening to occasion them further concern, when the lady came to a sudden stop.

"Here we are!" she exclaimed. "That's the house in front of us." She held out the lantern, so that its farthest rays just touched a building which loomed mysteriously in the blackness. There was a note of triumph in her voice as she went on. "Luker, you're nearer to that thousand pounds than you perhaps think, and in a very few minutes I'll be within reach of that quarter of a million. Then I'll show them! – all the lot of them!"

Quite what she meant by that last vague threat she only knew. Before she had a chance to offer an explanation, if it was her intention to offer one, she was interrupted by Mr. Luker, who seemed destined that night to act as a harbinger of coming evil.

"What's that?" he cried. "Who-my God! – who is this coming along the path?"

He was not only shrinking as close to her as he could get, he was gripping her arm with convulsive fingers, which she could feel were trembling. He was looking in one direction, she in another. She turned to see what he was staring at; when she saw, it is possible that she began to be in a less exultant mood.

Some one, something, was moving along the avenue and coming towards them. It was not easy to determine what it was; it came and went. It was rendered visible by a light which seemed to emanate from its own body, as if it were a kind of phosphorescence. When the light gleamed it was there plainly, if dimly, to be seen; when the light ceased to gleam, it-the something! – seemed to go with it; there was nothing but the black darkness. This continued, this coming and going, for perhaps thirty seconds. Then, suddenly, the light not only grew brighter, it remained. They could see what the something was-it was a man. But what a man! A huge, unwieldy, bloated, shapeless creature, covered from head to foot with some white garment which was swathed round him like a sheet. He seemed to be floating, rather than walking. They could see no movement of his limbs, and yet he came steadily towards them until he was within five or six feet of where they were standing, when the light faded as suddenly as it had come, and there was nothing but darkness there.

For some instants they remained motionless, both being probably under the impression that though the figure was no longer visible it still was advancing towards them. While they waited, on the alert to discover what was next about to happen, the silence was broken by a curious noise, as by a series of quick, broken gasps, as if some one panted, struggled, for breath.

When all again was still, Mr. Luker asked, in a tone of voice in which was what sounded uncommonly like a note of banter-

"Well, my friend, aren't we to see any more of you? Is that the end of the performance? Won't you favour us with another private view?"

In Mrs. Lamb's voice, on the other hand, there was a suggestion of preternatural gravity.

"It was Cuthbert Grahame."

"What?"

"It was Cuthbert Grahame. Didn't you hear him fighting for breath?"

"Cuthbert fiddlesticks! It was some damned trick, and not over well done either. This entertainment has been prepared for our special benefit; it occurs to me that it has been insufficiently rehearsed. We've been treated to the first part up to now; the second part is waiting for us inside the house-if we ever get as far. The prelude's been mere foolery. I imagine that the serious business is to come."

"It was Cuthbert Grahame."

"Nonsense! Where were your eyes, not to speak of your senses? Didn't you notice-"

"He is waiting for us inside the house."

"Mrs. Lamb, if you'll exercise a little common-sense and allow me to finish, I think I shall be able to prove, even to your satisfaction, that what you've just now witnessed-"

"Don't you see him? He beckons to us. Can't you hear how hard he fights for his breath?"

"No; nor you either. Aren't you well? Is this one of those fits of which you were telling me trying to come back, in which you see things? If so, keep it off as long as you conveniently can. So far as I'm concerned it will only need that to put a crown and climax on my night's enjoyment. Listen to me, Isabel-"

"Come!" Taking him by the arm, she led him up to the house. When they reached the front door she took a key out of the bag which she still carried. After a momentary hesitation she held it up, as if to call his attention to something that was taking place within. "Listen! Don't you hear? He calls to us! Let us go to him. I've often heard him calling to me like that in the night-often."

During the last few seconds, for some occult reason, a change had taken place in her which had apparently revolutionised the whole woman externally as well as internally; her bearing, her manner, her voice, and especially her face, had changed. The alteration in the latter was nothing short of amazing. Just now its predominating expression was one of boldness, defiance, reckless rage. She had looked as if she feared neither man nor devil; her looks had probably only mirrored her actual feelings. This air of wildness, of careless contempt for the unknown, unseen perils, which, according to her companion, hemmed her in on every side, had been accentuated by the fact that, having lost her hat when the cart was overturned, her thick black hair had broken loose from its fastenings and hung in tangled masses about her face. She had looked what she emphatically was, a dangerous woman in a dangerous frame of mind. Now all that had changed. She looked no longer angry or defiant; all traces of boldness had vanished altogether. Instead, a stolid, fixed expression had come upon her face, one which, as it were, was void of all expression. In her wide-open eyes there was a strained, staring look, which conveyed an uncomfortable impression that she was gazing at something which only she could see, gazing with a fixed intensity of vision as if she was bent on not losing even the minutest details.

As she stood there, with uplifted face, the rays of the lantern lighting up her rigid features, Mr. Luker observed her with an appearance of unmistakable discomfort. The significance of the change which had taken place in her was borne in on him with uncomfortable force. The change in her affected him; he was obviously becoming each second more uneasy. He seemed to make a desperate attempt to conquer his own increasing apprehension, and to restore her to her former state of mind.

"Isabel, you didn't use to be an utter fool. Before you put that key into the lock, before you move another step, rub that look of stark, staring midsummer madness off your face. It doesn't become you, God knows. Listen to what I have to say; try not to be a fool. Don't you understand-"

Before he could explain what was the appeal he was about to make to her understanding, some one, or something, came swirling at them from the side of the house. The light disappeared in the lantern; the lantern itself was snatched from the lady's hands. She made no effort to regain it, nor to ascertain how the thing had happened. She stood in the darkness, motionless. Presently she said-

"Luker! Luker!"

There was no answer. She put out her hand to feel for her companion who, a moment before, had been standing close at her side. He was not there.

CHAPTER XXXIV

TOWARDS JUDGMENT

For possibly a couple of minutes she continued on the doorstep immobile, as if she not only did not understand what had happened, but as if she also still failed to realise that her legal adviser was at least no longer where he was. She repeated his name, at intervals-"Luker! Luker!" – almost as if she was a child who repeated, parrot-like, a meaningless formula. Then, after a while, when still there came no answer, she thrust her hand, as if mechanically, into the bosom of her dress, feeling for something. Presently it emerged, holding a flask. In the same odd, automatic fashion, as if her actions were not the product of her own volition, unscrewing the stopper, she placed the neck between her lips. After a perceptible interval, suddenly slipping between her fingers, it dropped on to the step with a clatter. It had contained ether; she had swallowed its entire contents.

What were the exact physical or mental results of what would have been a poison to an unaccustomed subject, it would be difficult to say. One fact may be baldly stated, it robbed her of her senses. Her capacity of judging between the real and the unreal had been trembling in the balance. When she emptied that flask unreality became all that was real. Not perhaps on the instant, but certainly after the expiration of a very few seconds.

At first she stood trembling, so that one might almost have expected to see her sink to the ground from sheer inability to stand. She stretched out her arms into the darkness, as if seeking for support, and found none. Then, putting her hands up to her face, she began to rub them up and down before her eyes, as if endeavouring to rub away some film which obscured her sight, and she began to cry, softly, beneath her breath. Then, dropping her hands to her sides, she began to see the things which were not, those visions which, in some form, are the inseparable companions of a mind diseased.