The Haunting of Low Fennel Part 13

II

Following dinner, the men--or, as my friend has it, "the gunners"--drifted into the hall. The hall at Ragstaff Park is fitted as a smoking lounge. It dates back to Tudor days and affords some magnificent examples of mediaeval panelling. At every point the eye meets the device of a man with a ragged staff--from which the place derives its name, and which is the crest of the Reynors.

A conversation took place to which, at the time, I attached small importance, but which, later, a.s.sumed a certain significance.

"Extraordinary business," said Felix Hulme--"that attempted burglary at Sir Julius's studio last night."

"Yes," replied Lorian. "Who told you?"

Hulme appeared to be confused by the abrupt question.

"Oh," he replied, "I heard of it from Baxter, who has the next studio, you know."

"When did you see Baxter?" asked Lorian casually.

"This morning."

"I suppose," said Colonel Reynor to my friend, "a number of your father's drawings are there?"

"Yes," answered Lorian slowly; "but the more valuable ones I have at my own studio, including those intended for use in his book."

Something in his tone caused me to glance hard at him.

"You don't think they were the burglar's objective?" I suggested.

"Hardly," was the reply. "They would be worthless to a thief."

"First I've heard of this attempt, Lorian," said Edie. "Anything missing?"

"No. The thing is an utter mystery. There were some odds and ends lying about which no ordinary burglar could very well have overlooked."

"If any loss had been sustained," said the Colonel, half jestingly, "I should have put it down to the Riddle!"

"Don't quite follow you. Colonel," remarked Edie. "What riddle?"

"The family Riddle of the Ragstaffs," explained Lorian. "You've seen it--over there by the staircase."

"Oh!" exclaimed the other, "you mean that inscription on the panel--which means nothing in particular? Yes, I have examined it several times. But why should it affect the fortunes of Sir Julius?"

"You see," was the Colonel's reply, "we have a tradition in the family, Edie, that the Riddle brings us luck, but brings misfortune to anyone else who has it in his possession. It's never been copied before; but I let Lorian--Sir Julius--make a drawing of it for his forthcoming book on Decorative Wood-carving. I don't know," he added smilingly, "if the mysterious influence follows the copy or only appertains to the original."

"Let us have another look at it," said Edie. "It has acquired a new interest!"

The whole party of us pa.s.sed idly across the hall to the foot of the great staircase. From the direction of the drawing-room proceeded the softly played strains of the _Duetto_ from _Cavalleria_. I knew Sybil Reynor was the player, and I saw Lorian glance impatiently in the direction of the door. Hulme detected the glance, too, and an expression rested momentarily upon his handsome face which I found myself at a loss to define.

"You see," said the Colonel, holding a candle close to the time-blackened panel, "it is a meaningless piece of mediaeval doggerel roughly carved in the wood. The oak-leaf border is very fine, so your father tells me, Harry"--to Lorian--"but it is probably the work of another hand, as is the man and ragged staff which form the s.h.i.+eld at the top."

"Has it ever occurred to you," asked Hulme, "that the writing might be of a very much later date--late Stuart, for instance?"

"No," replied the Colonel abruptly, and turned away. "I am sure it is earlier than that."

I was not the only member of the party who noticed the curt tone of his reply; and when we had all retired for the night I lingered in Lorian's room and reverted to the matter.

"Is the late Stuart period a sore point with the Colonel?" I asked.

Lorian, who was in an unusually thoughtful mood, lighted his pipe and nodded.

"It is said," he explained, "that a Reynor at about that time turned buccaneer and became the terror of the two Atlantics! I don't know what possessed Hulme to say such a thing. Probably he doesn't know about the piratical page in the family records, however. He's a strange chap."

"He is," I agreed. "Everybody seems to know him, yet n.o.body knows anything _about_ him. I first met him at the Travellers' Club. I was unaware, until I came down here this time, that the Colonel was one of his friends."

"Edie brought him down first," replied Lorian. "But I think Hulme had met Sybil--Miss Reynor--in London, before. I may be a silly a.s.s, but somehow I distrust the chap--always have. He seems to know altogether too much about other people's affairs."

I mentally added that he also took too great an interest in a certain young lady to suit Lorian's taste. We chatted upon various matters--princ.i.p.ally upon the manners, customs, and manifold beauties of Sybil Reynor--until my friend's pipe went out. Then I bade him good night and went to my own room.

III

With that abruptness characteristic of the coast and season, a high wind had sprung up since the party had separated. Now a continuous booming filled the night, telling how the wrath of the North Atlantic spent itself upon the western rocks.

To a town-dweller, more used to the vaguely soothing hum of the metropolis, this grander music of the elements was a poor sedative.

Sleep evaded me, tired though I was, and I presently found myself drifting into that uncomfortable frame of mind between dreaming and waking, wherein one's brain becomes a torturing parrot-house, filled with some meaningless reiteration.

"The riddle of the ragged staff--the riddle of the ragged staff," was the phrase that danced maddeningly through my brain. It got to that pa.s.s with me, familiar enough to victims of insomnia, when the words began to go to a sort of monotonous melody.

Thereupon, I determined to light a candle and read for a while, in the hope of inducing slumber.

The old clock down in the hall proclaimed the half-hour. I glanced at my watch. It was half-past one. The moaning of the wind and the wild song of the sea continued unceasingly.

Then I dropped my paper--and listened.

Amid the mighty sounds which raged about Ragstaff Park it was one slight enough which had attracted my attention. But in the elemental music there was a sameness which rendered it, after a time, negligible.

Indeed, I think sleep was not far off when this new sound detached itself from the old--like the solo from its accompaniment.

Something had fallen, cras.h.i.+ngly, within the house.

It might be some object insecurely fastened which had been detached in the breeze from an open window. And, realising this, I waited and listened.

For some minutes the wind and the waves alone represented sound. Then my ears, attuned to this stormy conflict, and sensitive to anything apart from it, detected a faint scratching and tapping.

My room was the first along the corridor leading to the west wing, and therefore the nearest to the landing immediately above the hall. I determined that this mysterious disturbance proceeded from downstairs.

At another time, perhaps, I might have neglected it, but to-night, and so recently following upon Lorian's story of the attempt upon his father's studio, I found myself keenly alive to the burglarious possibilities of Ragstaff.

I got out of bed, put on my slippers, and, having extinguished the candle, was about to open the door when I observed a singular thing.

A strong light--which could not be that of the moon, for ordinarily the corridor beyond was dark--shone under the door!