The Ashiel mystery

M >> Mrs. Charles Bryce >> The Ashiel mystery

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He turned over the envelope. To his surprise, the flap was open and the
glue had obviously never been moistened.

It was the work of an instant to look inside, but almost quicker came the
conviction that it was useless to do so.

He was not mistaken.

The envelope was empty.

Gimblet stared at it for one moment in blank dismay. Then he strode to
the door and shouted for Higgs.

"Did you notice," he asked him, "whether the envelope Lord Ashiel gave
you for me was fastened, or was it open as this one is?"

"Oh no, sir," replied Higgs, "it was sealed up. There was a large patch
of red sealing-wax at the back, with a coronet and some sort of little
picture stamped on it. I can't say I looked at it particularly, but there
may have been a lion or a dog, or some kind of animal. His lordship's
arms, no doubt"

"You are quite certain about the sealing-wax?" Gimblet repeated slowly.

"Yes, sir, I am quite certain about that," answered Higgs; and he could
not refrain from adding, "I put down the note on this little table, sir,
as you told me."

"Thank you. That is all."

Gimblet's tone was as undisturbed as ever, but inwardly he was seething
with anger and disgust; directed, however, entirely against himself.

When Higgs had departed he allowed himself the unusual, though quite
inadequate relief of giving the chair on which his last visitor had sat a
violent kick. After that he felt rather more ashamed of himself than
before, if possible, and he sat down and raged at the simple way in which
he had been fooled.

The widow had taken the envelope, of course. She must have snatched it up
during the few seconds he had turned his back on her in order to step
across the hall and retrieve her bag, and have replaced it at the same
instant with this empty one which she had no doubt taken from his own
writing-table while he stooped beside her to pick up her glove.

Gimblet fetched one of his own blue envelopes and compared it with the
substitute. Yes, they were alike in every particular. The watermarks were
the same and showed that she had used what she found ready to her hand.

It seemed, then, that the _coup_ was not premeditated. But why, why, had
he let her escape so easily? If only he had been a little quicker about
following her, and had not wasted time looking for Higgs! She had had
time to get clear away; and he, bungler that he was, had thought it of
little consequence, and had afterwards stood poring over a catalogue in
the hall, having decided that her morals were no business of his. Ass
that he had been!

Who was she? Probably some one known to Lord Ashiel, or why should she
have wanted his letter? Well, Ashiel must have met her on his way out,
and would in that case at least be able to provide the information as to
who she was. Still, more people might know Ashiel than Ashiel knew, and
it was possible that that hope might fail. No doubt she was a member of
the society the peer had so rashly entangled himself with in the days of
his youth; one of those enemies of whom he had spoken with such grave
apprehension. Had she followed him into the house and forced her way in
on a trumped-up pretext, on the chance of hearing or finding something
that might be useful to her Nihilist friends, or had she known that Lord
Ashiel intended to leave some document in Gimblet's keeping, and come
with the idea, already formed, of stealing it? Such a plan seemed to
partake too much of the nature of a forlorn hope to be likely, but
whether or no she had expected to find that letter, Gimblet could hardly
help admiring the rapidity with which she had possessed herself of it
without wasting an unnecessary moment.

She must have been safe in the street and away with it, in less than
five minutes from when she first saw it. Oh, she had been quick and
dexterous! And he? He had been a gull, and false to his trust, and
altogether contemptible. What should he say to Lord Ashiel? Why in the
world hadn't he locked up the letter when Higgs brought it in? This was
what came of making red-tape regulations about not being disturbed. After
all, he comforted himself, she would be a good deal disappointed when she
found what she had got. The key to a cipher; that was all. And a key with
nothing to unlock was an unsatisfactory kind of loot to risk prison for.
Evidently she expected something more important; perhaps the very
documents she had invited Gimblet to steal for her, regardless of
expense. This, he thought, was a reassuring sign for Lord Ashiel. For it
was plain they meant to steal the papers, if they could; but not so plain
that they looked to murder as the means by which to gain that end, since
they applied for help from him.

Gimblet rang up the Carlton Club and asked for his client, but he was not
in, nor did he succeed in communicating with him that afternoon; and when
he rang up the Club for the fifth time after dinner he was told that Lord
Ashiel had already left for Scotland.

With a groan, and fortifying himself with chocolates, the detective sat
down to write a long and full account of his failure to keep what had
been confided to his care, for the space of one hour.

In a couple of days he had an answer. Ashiel did not seem much perturbed
at the loss of the cipher.

"It is a nuisance, of course," he said. "I must think out another, and
will let you have it in a few days before sending you other things. No, I
did not recognize the person I met as I was leaving your rooms. In spite
of what you say as to your belief that theft and not murder is the object
of these people, I am still convinced that my life is aimed at. However,
I think that for the present I have hit on a way of frustrating their
plans. With regard to the other problem you are helping me to solve, I am
seeing a great deal of both the young people, and I believe there can be
no doubt as to the identity of one of them, but I will write to you on
this subject also in a few days' time."

He sent Gimblet a couple of brace of grouse, which the detective devoured
with great satisfaction, and for the next week no more letters bearing a
Scotch postmark were delivered at the Whitehall flat.

CHAPTER VI

"Here they come again."

Lord Ashiel spoke in a voice scarcely above a whisper, and Juliet
crouched low against the peaty wall of the butt. There was an instant's
silence, and then crack, crack, shots sounded from the other end of the
line. Another minute and Lord Ashiel's gun went up; she heard the whirr
of approaching wings before she covered both ears with her hands to
deaden the noise of the explosions she knew were coming.

Then several guns seemed to go off at once. Bang! bang! bang! Bang!
bang! bang!

Juliet did not really enjoy grouse-driving, but she tried to appear as if
she did, since every one else seemed to, and at all events there were
intervals between drives when she could be happy in the glory of the
hills and the wild free air of the moors.

Meanwhile she knelt in her corner of the butt beside her host's big
retriever, and waited. There was a little bunch of heather growing
level with her nose, and she bent forward silently and sniffed at it.
But the honey-sweet scent was drowned for the moment by the smell of
gunpowder and dog.

Bang! bang! bang!

Presently Lord Ashiel turned and looked down at her, with a smile.

"The drivers are close up," he said. "The drive is over."

They went out of the butt, and she stood watching the dog picking up the
birds Lord Ashiel had shot. He found nineteen, and the loader picked up
three more. Juliet was glad her host shot so well. She thought him a
wonderful man. And how kind he was to her. But she could not help looking
over from time to time to the next butt, round which three other people
were wandering: Sir David Southern, and his loader, and Miss Maisie
Tarver, to whom he was engaged to be married.

One of Sir David's birds had fallen near his uncle's butt, and presently
he strolled across to look for it, his eyes on the heather as he
zigzagged about, leading his dog by the chain which his uncle insisted on
his using.

"There is something here," called Juliet. "Yes, it is a dead grouse. Is
this your bird?"

Sir David came up and took it.

"That's it," he said. "Thanks very much. How do you like this sort
of thing?"

He leant against the butt and looked down at her.

"Oh, it's so lovely here," began Juliet.

"But you don't like the shooting, eh?"

"I don't know," Juliet stammered. "I think it's rather cruel."

"You must remember there wouldn't be any grouse at all if they weren't
shot," he said seriously, "and besides, wild birds don't die comfortably
in their beds if they're not killed by man. A charge of shot is more
merciful than a death from cold and starvation, or even from the attack
of a hawk or any of a bird's other natural enemies. Just think. Wouldn't
you rather have the violent end yourself than the slow, lingering one?"

"Yes," admitted Juliet, "I would. I believe you're right But I don't
really much like seeing it happen, all the same."

"I think you'd get used to it; it's a matter of habit. I believe
everything is a matter of habit, or almost everything. I suppose one gets
used to any kind of horror in time."

He spoke reflectively; more, or so it seemed to Juliet, as if trying to
convince himself than her; and as he finished speaking, she was conscious
that his eyes, which had never left her face while they were talking, had
done so now, and were fixed on some object or person behind her. She
turned instinctively and saw Miss Maisie Tarver approaching, a brace of
grouse swinging in each hand.

"I've got them all, right here, David," she informed him, as she came up.
She was a tall dark girl, with the look of breeding which often proves so
confusing to Europeans when they first come in contact with certain of
her countrywomen. "This bird," she added, holding up one which still
fluttered despairingly, "was a runner, but now he won't do any more
running than the colour of my new pink shirt-waist; and that's guaranteed
a fast tint, I guess."

Juliet looked away, trying not to show her dismay at the struggles of the
wounded bird.

"Here, give me that bird, Maisie," said David rather abruptly. "I'll
knock it on the head."

"Oh, I can do that, if it makes Miss Byrne feel badly," Maisie laughed.

Raising her small foot on to a stone, she began to make ineffectual
attempts to beat the bird's head against her toe. David snatched it from
her unceremoniously, and turned his back while he put an end to the poor
creature's sufferings. His face was very red. When he had killed the bird
he tossed it to Lord Ashiel's loader, and strode away across the heather.

Maisie looked at Juliet with a laugh.

"Your English young men are perfectly lovely," she remarked, "and David
is just elegant, I think, or I'd not have gone and engaged myself to be
led to the altar by him; but I can't kind of get used to the British way
of looking at things. It's quite remarkable the manner you people have
of admiring a girl one moment, because she's a good sport, and throwing
fits of disapprobation the next, because she tries to act like she is
one. Why, David looked at me just now as if he'd have taken less than two
cents to put knock-out drops in my next cocktail."

"Oh," protested Juliet. "I'm sure he didn't mean to. I think his
expression is naturally rather stern."

"Stern nothing," said Miss Tarver. "When I came up he was looking at you
as if he reckoned he could eat you, shooting-stick and all. Oh, there
aren't any flies on me! I know just what myself and dollars are worth to
Sir David Southern, and I'm beginning to do some calculating on my own
account as to what Sir David Southern is worth to me."

"Oh, surely you are wrong," cried Juliet. "I am certain Sir David has
never thought about your money. Oh, I feel sure you misjudge him; and you
mustn't talk like that, even in fun!"

"I don't know," said Miss Tarver doubtfully. "His cousin says David's
really vurry attached to me, but it's the sort of thing one ought to be
able to see for oneself, and I don't seem to feel a really strong
conviction on the subject. As for his thinking of my dollars, I fail to
see how he can help that when he's over head and ears in debt, the way he
is. He told me so himself when he proposed. He put it as a business
proposition. Said his ancient name was up for auction, and did I reckon
it worth my while to make a bid, or words to that effect. There's a
romantic love-story for you. He was the only titled man I'd ever struck
up till a month ago, and I always did think it would be stunning to marry
into an aristocratic British family, so I was pleased to death at the
idea of putting his on its legs again with my dollars. What else could I
do with them anyway? But I believe if I'd met your friend, Lord Ashiel,
before I'd taken the fatal step, I'd have waited to see if he didn't
fancy an Amurrican wife. But of course _he_ doesn't care a hill of beans
whether I'm rich or not. He's got plenty himself, I'm told, and I guess
he'd never have looked at me while you were around, any old way. All the
same I call him a real striking-looking man."

"Oh, don't talk so loud," implored Juliet. "He'll hear you. He's
quite close."

"Not he," said Miss Tarver. "He's back of the butt still. And I will say
he is a real high-toned gentleman, and it's my opinion the girl who gets
him will be able to give points to the man who took a piece of waste land
for a bad debt, and struck the richest vein of gold in Colorado on it."

She looked at Juliet with an insinuating eye.

"Come along," said Lord Ashiel, as he strolled up to them with a bird
he had been looking for, "we're going on now to the next drive," and
they started off down the hillside, wading deep through the heather to
the track.

Juliet had been nearly a week at Inverashiel. A week of wet weather which
had sadly interfered with the shooting, but which had thrown the house
party on its own resources and given her plenty of chances to get well
acquainted with the other guests at the castle. They were most of them
related to Lord Ashiel and already well known to each other. The
American, David Southern's fiancee, the half Russian girl, Julia
Romaninov, who had arrived on the same day as Juliet, and Juliet herself,
were the only strangers. Mrs. Haviland, Lord Ashiel's sister, had been
there when she arrived, but had left a day or two later as her husband,
who was in the south, had fallen ill and needed her presence. Her place
as hostess had been taken by Lady Ruth Worsfold, a distant cousin of the
McConachans, who lived in a little house a mile down the loch, which was
given her rent free by Lord Ashiel. Another cousin of his, Mrs. Clutsam,
a young widow, he had also provided this year with a small house on the
estate which was sometimes let to fishing tenants, and she, too, was at
present staying at Inverashiel.

The guns consisted of Col. Spicer and Sir George Hatch, both well-known
soldiers of between forty and fifty years of age, and Lord Ashiel's two
nephews, David Southern, the son of a widowed sister, and Mark
McConachan, whose father, now dead, had been Lord Ashiel's only brother.
Both were tall, good-looking young men, though there was not even a
family resemblance between the grey-eyed and fairhaired David, with his
smooth-shaven face and slender well-proportioned figure, and his
loose-limbed, rather ungainly cousin, whose appearance of great strength
made up for his lack of grace, and whose large melting brown eyes made
one forget the faults which the hypercritical might have found in the
rest of his face: the rather large nose, and the mouth which was apt too
often to be open except when it closed on the cigarette he was always
smoking. He had been, so Juliet had heard some one say, one of the most
popular men in the cavalry regiment he had lately left on account of its
being ordered to India.

They were all very nice to Juliet, and she thought them all charming.
Especially, she told herself with unnecessary emphasis, did she think
Miss Maisie Tarver a delightful person; rather strange, possibly, to
European ways and customs and manner of conversation, a very different
type, certainly, from the new Lady Byrne--to whom Juliet was beginning to
feel she had perhaps not hitherto sufficiently done justice--but open as
the day, and with a heart of gold. She even went so far as to defend her
to old Lady Ruth Worsfold, who had lamented one morning when David and
his fiancee had gone out shooting together--for Miss Tarver, though not a
good shot, was fond of ferreting rabbits--that the lad should be throwing
himself away on this young lady from a provincial American town.

"I forget which, my dear, but it's something to do with chickens, I
believe." They were sitting in the hall, and Lady Ruth looked up from her
embroidery as she spoke, with art interrogative glance towards Mrs.
Clutsam and Julia.

"Chicago," said Mrs. Clutsam, turning round from the table where she was
writing. "That's where she comes from."

"Yes, that's it," said Lady Ruth; "the name had slipped my memory. It's
the place where they all kill pigs, isn't it? I've read about it in
Kipling. Her having been brought up to do that accounts for her passion
for wounding rabbits, no doubt. I daresay one has to keep one's hand in.
That reminds me, I will tell the cook not to send up sausages for
breakfast. The poor girl is probably tired of the sight of them, though I
suppose they mean money to her, which is always pleasant. When I had a
poultry farm I used to feel my heart warm at the thought of poor dear
Duncan's bald head. You know, my dear," she went on, turning to Juliet,
"my husband had the misfortune to lose all his hair some years before he
died, though really I don't believe there was a patent hair-wash he
didn't try, till the house fairly reeked of them: but they never did any
good, and he got to look more and more like one of my nice new-laid eggs;
though not so brown of course, for I always kept Wyandots which lay the
most beautiful dark brown ones, like _cafe au lait_"

"Well, the money will be very useful to poor David," said Mrs. Clutsam,
without turning her head. She was rather annoyed because she had found
that she had written "I am so glad you can kill pigs," instead of "I am
so glad you can come" to some one she had invited to stay with her.

"There's plenty of money on this side of the duck pond, or whatever they
call it," said Lady Ruth severely.

And it was then that Juliet had burst in.

"I am sure Sir David has never given a thought to Miss Tarver's
money," she said.

"Why not, my dear?" said Lady Ruth, turning upon her mild, surprised
eyes. "He is terribly badly off; it is his duty to marry money; but he
needn't have gone so far for it."

"I don't believe he would marry for money. He would be above doing such a
thing!" Juliet declared.

Julia, who had said nothing, stared at her, and laughed softly. She had a
very low, musical laugh.

"I don't think you understand the position," said Mrs. Clutsam, turning
round at last and laying down her pen with an air of resignation. "David
Southern has inherited a lot of debts from his father, who only died last
year, and he had piled up a good many on his own account before then,
never suspecting that he would not be very well off. But he found the
place mortgaged up to the hilt. There is really nothing between his
mother and starvation, except her brother-in-law Ashiel's charity, and
that is not pleasant for her because she has never been on good terms
with him. It is very important that David should obtain money somehow,
for her sake more than for his own, and I'm sure he feels that deeply. He
is devoted to her."

"But there are other ways of getting money than by marrying,"
Juliet objected.

"Yes, there are; but they are slow and uncertain, and David can't bear to
see his mother poor. I am sure it was for her sake that he proposed to
Miss Tarver."

"I think he would have tried some other way first, unless he had been in
love with her," Juliet repeated, flushed and obstinate.

"Mr. McConachan says Sir David is very fond of Miss Tarver, really,"
said Julia, speaking for the first time. She spoke English fluently, but
with a slight foreign accent. "He says his cousin is so reserved that
he conceals his feelings as much as possible, but that, _au fond_, he
adores her."

There was a short silence; Mrs. Clutsam seemed about to speak, but her
eyes met those of Lady Ruth fixed on her with an expressionless gaze, and
she turned round without a word and took up her discarded pen.

They were both thinking the same thing. If David concealed his feelings
in the presence of Miss Tarver he was not so successful when he was in
Juliet's neighbourhood. Both women had noticed the change that came over
him when she was in the room. It was not that he did not try to appear
indifferent; he did not talk to her, or seek her society. On the contrary
he seemed to avoid it, and relapsed into silence at her approach. But
both Lady Ruth and Mrs. Clutsam had caught him looking at her when he
thought himself unobserved, and their observations had not left either of
them in any doubt as to how the land lay.

Sir David Southern might be engaged to marry Miss Tarver, but he had
fallen in love with some one quite different, and some one who was,
moreover, or so they imagined, destined for quite another person.

For what was Miss Juliet Byrne doing at Inverashiel Castle?

This was a question which much exercised the minds of Lord Ashiel's
relations and, when she was not present, formed the subject of many
discussions.

Where had this girl, this extremely pretty and attractive girl, suddenly
appeared from? Well, they all knew, of course, where she really had come
from; but why? Why had Lord Ashiel suddenly sprung her on them like
this? He had not even told Mrs. Haviland that he had invited her until
the day before she arrived. Why this mystery? Where had he met her? How
long had he known her? To a casual question Juliet had replied guardedly
that she had not known him very long, but that he knew her family.
Fervently did she hope that what she said was true.

One thing, however, seemed certain. No matter how, where, or why, Ashiel
had made friends with Juliet Byrne, he was bent on becoming even better
acquainted. He appeared to be on excellent terms with her already, and
every day saw them grow more familiar, and, on Ashiel's side, almost
affectionate. If he went shooting or fishing Juliet must go too; to her
he addressed his remarks; it was she whom he consulted when he made plans
for the following days. His health was bad, he was subject to terrible
headaches, and if she were not present he grew quickly nervous and
irritable; when she was, he seldom took his eyes off her. He seemed to
watch her, Mrs. Clutsam thought, with a certain expectancy; but also with
a distinct and unmistakable pride. There was little doubt in the mind of
anyone in the house that there would soon be a second Lady Ashiel.

As the party walked between the butts on that brilliant August day, Miss
Tarver tacked herself on to her host and strode on ahead with him,
keeping up a flow of interminable, drawling inanities, which made him
wonder for the fortieth time what David could see in her.

The others tailed out after them, followed by dogs and loaders.

Without knowing how it came about, Juliet found herself walking beside
David; and, as she was not used to the rough going on the hillside, they
insensibly dropped behind the rest of the long, straggling procession.
The way was uphill; Juliet panted and stumbled; and her companion seemed
disinclined to talk.

They came to a burn, and he gave her his hand to cross from stone to
stone. The burn was high, and one stone was under water, leaving a space
too wide for Juliet to jump. David stepped on to the flooded rock, and
turned to her.

"I will lift you over here," he said shortly. "Oh, I can wade quite
well," said she. "My shoes are wet already."

But without more words he put his arms round her, and lifted her over.
When he put her down he found his tongue.

"If Maisie stands with my uncle at the next drive," he said, "will you
come to my butt?"

"I should like to," she said. For some reason his tone made her breath
come quickly.

David stood looking down at her as though considering.

"I can't go back on my word," he said at last inconsequently. "I shall
have to marry her, if she wants it, I suppose. But I can't bear you to
think that I care for her. I've got to think of other people."

"You mustn't say that!" she cried. "Oh, you mustn't say that to me!"

"Why not?" he said, looking at her strangely. "What have I said that
isn't right?"

"Nothing, I suppose," Juliet faltered. "But--but--Oh," she cried, "if
you don't care for her, you must tell her so, and she will break it off.
Anything would be better than to go on with it!"

"I think she knows," he answered gloomily. "She won't break it off,
because she wants to be 'my Lady,' It's a business matter, really. And
I'd have to stick to it for my mother's sake, anyhow."

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