Mrs. Jinks's new lodger1, Mr. Strange, was making himself at home, not only at Mrs. Jinks's, but in the village generally, and gradually getting familiar with its stories and its politics. Talking with the men at the station one hour, chatting to the field labourers the next; stepping into the shops to buy tobacco, or paper, or lozenges, or what not, and staying a good twenty minutes before he came out again: Mr. Strange was ingratiating himself with the local world.
But, though he gossiped freely enough without doors and with Mrs. Jinks within, he did not appear anxious to cultivate intimacy2 with the social sphere; but rather avoided it. The Rev3. Mr. Cattacomb, relying on the information that the new lodger was a gentleman reading for Oxford4, had taken the initiative and made an advance to acquaintanceship. Mr. Strange, while receiving it with perfect civility, intimated that he was obliged to decline it. His health; he said, left him no alternative, and he had come to the country for entire quiet. As to his reading for Oxford, it was a mistake he hinted. He was reading; but not with a view of going to any college. After that, the gentlemen bowed when they chanced to meet in the passages or out of doors, exchanged perhaps a remark on the fine weather; and there it ended.
The reader has not failed to detect that this "Mr. Strange," the name caught up so erroneously by Mrs. Jinks, was in reality the shrewd detective officer sent down by Scotland Yard in search of Philip Salter. His instructions were, not to hurry matters to an abrupt5 conclusion and so miss his game, but to track out Salter patiently and prudently6. A case on which he had been recently engaged had been hurried and lost. Circumstances connected with it had caused him to lose sight of his usual prudence7: he thought he was justified8 in doing what he did, and acted for the best: but the result proved him to have been wrong. No fear, with this failure on his mind, and the caution of his masters in his ears, that he would be in over much hurry now. In point of fact he could not if he would, for there was nothing to make hurry over.
For some time not a trace of any kind could Mr. Strange find of Philip Salter. People with whom he gossipped talked to him without any reserve; he was sure of that; and he would artfully lead the conversation and twist it the way he pleased; but he could hear nothing of any one likely to be Salter. The man might as well never have been within a hundred miles of Foxwood; for the matter of that, he might as well never have had existence, for all the trace there was left of him. Scotland Yard, however, was sure that Salter was to be found not far off, and that was enough: Mr. Strange, individually, felt sure of it also.
Knowing what he had been told of the visits of Sir Karl Andinnian to Detective Burtenshaw, and their object, Mr. Strange's attention was especially directed to Foxwood Court. Before he had been three days in the place, he had won the heart of Giles the footman (much at liberty just then, through the temporary absence of his master and mistress) and treated him to five glasses of best ale at different times in different public-houses. Giles, knowing no reason for reticence9, freely described all he knew about Foxwood Court: the number of inmates10, their names, their duties, their persons, and all the rest of it. Not the least idea penetrated11 his brain that the gentleman had any motive12 for listening to the details, save the whiling away of some of the day's idle hours. There was certainty no one at the Court that could be at all identified with the missing man; and, so far, Mr. Strange had lost his time and his ale money. Of course he put questions as to Sir Karl's movements--where he went to in the day, what calls he made, and what he did. But Giles could give no information that was available. Happily, he was ignorant of his master's visits to the Maze13.
In short--from what Mr. Strange could gather from Giles and others, there was no one whatever in or about Foxwood, then or in time past, that at all answered to Philip Salter. He heard Mr. Smith spoken of--"Smith the agent, an old friend of the Andinnian family"--but it did not once occur to him to attempt to identify him with the criminal. Smith the agent (whom by the way Mr. Strange had not chanced yet to see) was living openly in the place, going about amid the tenants14 on the estate, appearing at church, altogether transacting15 his business and pursuing his course without concealment16: that is not how Salter would have dared to live, and the detective did not give Smith a suspicious thought. No: wherever Salter might be he was evidently in strict concealment: and it must be Mr. Strange's business to hunt him out of it.
In the meantime, no speculation17 whatever had been aroused in the village as to Mr. Strange himself. He had taken care to account for his stay there at the first onset18, and people's minds were at rest. The gentleman in delicate health was free to come and go; his appearance in the street, or roads, or fields, excited no more conjecture19 or observation than did that of the oldest inhabitant. The Reverend Mr. Cattacomb was stared at whenever he appeared, in consequence of the proceedings20 of St. Jerome's: Mr. Strange passed along in peace.
Still, he learnt nothing. Sir Karl and Lady Andinnian had returned home long and long ago; he often saw them out (though he took care they should not see him), together or separately as might be, Sir Karl sometimes driving her in a beautiful little pony-chaise: but he could learn no trace of the man he was sent after. Sir Karl heard that some young student was in the village, out of health and reading for Oxford; he somehow caught up the notion that it was only a lad, and as he never chanced to see him, thought no more of him. And whether Mr. Strange might not have thrown up the game in a short time for utter lack of scent21, cannot be told. A clue--or what he thought was a clue--arose at last.
It arose, too, out of a slight misfortune that happened to himself. Entering the house one evening at dusk before the passage lamp was lighted, he chanced to put his foot into a tray of wine-glasses, that the young maid had incautiously placed on the floor outside the parlour-door. In trying to start back and save the glasses, Mr. Strange slipped, went down with his right hand upon the tray, broke a glass or two, and cut his hand in three or four places. Miss Blake was there at the time, helping22 to catechise some young children: she felt really sorry for the mishap23, and kindly24 went upstairs to the drawing-room to see its extent. The hand was in a bowl of warm water, and Mrs. Jinks was searching for linen25 to bind26 it up.
"Why do you put it into warm water, Mr. Strange?" she asked. "It will make it bleed all the more."
"Some bits of glass may have got in," he replied.
"Will you have Mr. Moore?"
But he laughed at the notion of sending for a doctor to cut fingers, and he bound up the hand himself, saying it would be all right. The next day, in the afternoon, Miss Blake made her appearance in his room to inquire how the damage was progressing, and found Mrs. Jinks in the act of assisting him to dress it with some precious ointment27 that she vowed28 was better than gold, and would not fail to heal the cuts in a day or two.
Miss Blake had previously29 a speaking acquaintanceship with Mr. Strange, having often met him going in and out. She sat down; and the three were chatting amicably30 when they were pounced31 in upon by little Mrs. Chaffen. Happening to call in to see her cousin, and hearing from the maid downstairs what Mrs. Jinks was then engaged upon--dressing the gentleman's hand--the nurse ran up to offer her more experienced services.
She took the hand out of Mrs. Jinks's into her own, and dressed it and bound it up as well as Mr. Moore himself could have done. It was nearly over when, by a curious coincidence--curious, considering what was to come of it--the conversation turned upon ghosts. Upon ghosts, of all things in the world! Some noise had been heard in the house the previous night by all the inmates--which noise had not been in any way accounted for. It was like the falling down of a piece of heavy furniture. It had awoke Mr. Cattacomb; it had awoke Mrs. Jinks; it had startled Mr. Strange, who was not asleep. The history of this was being given to Miss Blake, Mr. Strange gravely asserting it could have been nothing but a ghost--and that set Mrs. Chaffen on. She proceeded to tell them with real gravity, not assumed, that she did believe a ghost, in the shape of a gentleman in dinner dress, haunted the Maze: or else that her eyes were taking to see visions.
It should be mentioned that after a week's attendance on Mrs. Grey, Nurse Chaffen had been discharged. The patient was then going on quite well: and, as Mr. Moore saw that it worried her to have the nurse there--for whom she seemed to have conceived an insurmountable dislike--he took her away. The summary dismissal did not please the nurse: and she revenged herself by reporting that the Maze had a ghost in it. As a rule, people laughed at her, and thought no more about it: this afternoon her tale was to bear different fruit.
She told it consecutively32. How she had been quite flurried by being called out by Dr. Moore all on a sudden; how he had taken her straight off to the Maze without saying where it was she was going till she got to the gate; how she and the doctor had seen the gentleman at the top of the stairs (which she took it to be the sick lady's husband), and watched him vanish into an end room, and had never seen the least sign of him afterwards; how the servant, Mrs. Hopley, had vowed through thick and thin that no gentleman was, or had been, or could have been in the house, unbeknown to her and Hopley.
Nurse Chaffen talked away to her heart's content, enlarging upon points of her story. Not one of them interrupted her: not one but would have listened with interest had she run on until midnight. Mrs. Jinks from her love of marvellous tales; the detective because he believed this might be the clue he wanted to Philip Salter; and Miss Blake in her resentful condemnation33 of Sir Karl Andinnian. For, that the "gentleman in dinner dress" was no other than Sir Karl, who had stolen in on one of his secret visits, she could have staked her life upon.
"A tall gentleman with dark hair, you say it looked like?" questioned Mr. Strange indifferently.
"Tall for certain, sir. As to his hair, I don't know; it might have been darkish. I see he had nice white teeth."
"Salter had good teeth," was the mental comment of the detective. "I have found him."
"And in dinner dress?" added Miss Blake with a cough.
"So it looked like, ma'am. The sort of coat that gentlefolks wears in an evening."
"And you mean to say you never see him after; never but that there one time?" tartly34 interposed the Widow Jinks.
"Never at all. The rooms was all open to daylight while I was there, but he wasn't in never a one of 'em."
"Then I tell you what, Betsey Chaffen; it was a ghost, and you need not hesitate to stand to it."
"Well, you see he didn't look like a ghost, but like an ordinary gentleman," confessed Mrs. Chaffen. "What came over me, and what I can't make out, was Ann Hopley's standing35 it out that neither ghost nor gentleman was there: she said she'd take her oath to it."
"Thank you, you've done my hand up beautifully, Mrs. Chaffen," said the patient. "I should give my credence36 to the spirit theory. Did Mr. Moore see the appearance of this ghostly gentleman?"
"Yes he did, sir. I'm sure he did. For he lifted his head like at the gentleman, and stood still when he got to the top of the stairs, staring at the room he had vanished into. I told him a day or two afterwards that Mrs. Hopley denied that any one had been there, and the doctor quietly said, 'Then we must have been mistaken.' I did not like to ask whether he thought it was a ghost."
"Oh I think you may depend upon the ghost," returned Mr. Strange, biting his lips to prevent a laugh.
"Well, sir, queer stories was told of that Maze house in the late tenant's time. My cousin Jinks here knows that well enough."
"It was haunted by more than one ghost then, if all folks told true," assented37 Mrs. Jinks. "Mr. Throckton's son--a wild young blade he was--hung hisself there. I was but a girl at the time."
"Ah, one of the old ghosts come back again; not been laid yet," solemnly remarked the detective, staring at Mrs. Chaffen. "Did the lady herself seem alarmed?"
"Well, sir, I can't say she did then, because she couldn't have seen it, and was too ill besides. But she had got a curious manner with her."
"Curious?" questioned Mr. Strange.
"Yes, sir, curious. As if she was always frightened. When everything was as still as still could be, she'd seem to be listening like, as though expecting to hear something. Now and then she'd start up in bed in a fright, and cry out What was that?--when there had been no noise at all."
"Feverish38 fancies," quietly remarked Mr. Strange, with a cough.
By and by, the party separated. As Nurse Chaffen was descending39 to the kitchen, leaving Mrs. Jinks putting the room straight, Miss Blake, who had gone down first, put forth40 her hand and drew the nurse into Mr. Cattacomb's parlour; that reverend man being absent on some of his pastoral calls.
"I have been so much interested in this that you have been telling us, nurse," she breathed. "It seems quite to have taken hold of me. What was the gentleman like? Did he resemble any one you know--Sir Karl Andinnian, for instance?"
"Why, ma'am, how can I tell who he resembled?---I didn't get enough look at him for that," was the answer. "I saw his head and the tails of his coat when he turned--and that was all. Except his teeth: I did see them."
"And they were white teeth--good teeth?"
"Oh, beauties. White and even as a die."
"Sir Karl's teeth are white and even," nodded Miss Blake to herself. "Had Mrs. Grey any visitors while you were there, nurse?"
"Never a one. Never a soul came inside the gates, good or bad, but the doctor. I don't fancy the lady has made friends in the place at all, ma'am. She likes to keep herself to herself, Ann Hopley thinks, while Mr. Grey's away."
"Oh, naturally," said Miss Blake. And she dismissed the woman.
The Widow Jinks had a surprise that night. Mr. Strange, hitherto so quiet and well conducted, asked for the latch-key! She could not forbear a caution as she gave it him; not to stay out too late on account of his health. He laughed pleasantly in answer; saying he expected a friend down by the last train from London, and might stay out late with him.
But he never went near the station, and he met no friend. Keeping as much in the shades of night as the very bright moon allowed him to do, Mr. Strange arrived by a roundabout way at the gate of the Maze, and let himself in with a master-key.
"The dolt41 I was, never to have suspected this shut-in place before!" he exclaimed. "Salter is lying here in concealment: there can be no doubt of it: and if his career's at an end he may thank his own folly42 in having allowed himself to be seen by the woman, Chaffen. Wonder who the sick lady is? Perhaps his wife: perhaps not. And now--how to get through this maze that they talk of? Knowing something of mazes43, I daresay I shall accomplish it without trouble."
And he did. His keen intelligence, sharpened no doubt by experience, enabled him, if not to hit upon the clue, at least to get through the maze. A small compass was hanging to his watch-guard, and he lighted a match frequently to consult it. So he got through. He regarded the house from all points; he penetrated to the outer path or circle, and went round and round it: he made, so to say, the outer premises44 his own. Then he went through the maze to reconnoitre the house again.
It lay quiet, steeped in the moonlight. He stood at the back of the lawn, against the laurel trees that were beyond the flower beds, and gazed at it. In one of the rooms a night-light was burning faintly, and he fancied he could hear the continuous wail45 of an infant. To make sure whether it was so, or not--though in truth it mattered not to him, and was a very probable thing to happen--he stood forward a little on the lawn: but as that brought him into the moonlight, he retreated into the shade again. Most of the windows had blinds or curtains drawn46 before them; the only one that had none was the casement47 over the portico48. Mr. Strange stood there as if rooted to the spot, making his silent observations.
"Yes; that's where my gentleman is lying concealed49, safe enough! Safe enough as he thinks. There may be some difficulty in as safely unearthing50 him. He'd not dare to be here without facilities for guarding against surprise and for getting away on the first sound of the alarm bugle51. This is a queer old house: there may be all kinds of hiding places in it. I must go to work cautiously, and it may be a long job. Suppose I look again to the door fastenings?"
The moon was beginning to wane52 when the detective officer with his false key got out again; and he thought he had his work tolerably well cut out to his hand.
The faint wailing53 had not been fancy. For the first week or two of the child's life it had seemed to thrive well, small though it was; but, after that, it began to be a little delicate, and would sometimes wail as though in pain. On this night the child--who slept with its mother--woke up and began its wail. Ann Hopley, whom the slightest noise awoke, hearing that her mistress did not seem to be able to soothe54 it, left her own bed to try and do so. Presently, in going to fetch some medicine-cordial for the child, she had to pass the casement window in the passage; the one that was uncurtained. The exceeding beauty of the night struck her, and she paused to look out upon it, the old black shawl she had thrown on being drawn closely round her. The grass shone in the moonlight; some of the leaves of the laurels55 flickered56 white in its rays. At that self-same moment, as the woman looked, some movement directed her attention to these very laurels: and to her utter horror she thought she saw a man standing there, apparently57 watching the house.
The sickness of intense fear seized upon her as she drew aside--but the black shawl and the small diamond panes58 of the casement window had prevented her from being observed. Yes: she was not mistaken. The man came forth for an instant into the moonlight, and then went back again. Ann Hopley's fear turned her heart to sickness. Her first impulse was to rush on through the passages and arouse Sir Adam Andinnian. Her second impulse was to wait and watch. She remembered her master's most dangerous fiery59 temperament60, and the pistols he kept always loaded. This intruding61 man might be but some wretched night marauder, who had stolen in after the fruit. Watching there, she saw him presently go round in the direction of the fruit-trees, and concluded that her surmise62 was correct.
So she held her tongue to her master and mistress. The latter she would not alarm; the former she dared not, lest another night he should take up his stand at the window, pistol in hand. Two things puzzled her the next morning: the one was, how the man could have got in; the other, that neither fruit nor flowers seemed to have been taken.
That same day, upon going to the gate to answer a ring, she found herself confronted by a strange gentleman, who said he had called from hearing the house was to let, and he wished to look at it. Ann Hopley thought this rather strange. She assured him it was a mistake: that the house was not to let: that Mrs. Grey had no intention of leaving. When he pressed to go in and just look at the house, "in case it should be let later," she persisted in denying him admittance, urging her mistress's present sick state as a reason for keeping out all visitors.
"Is Mr. Grey still at home?" then asked the applicant63.
"Mr. Grey has not been at home," replied Ann Hopley. "My mistress is alone."
"Oh, indeed! Not been here at all?"
"No, sir. I don't know how soon he may be coming. He is abroad on his travels."
"What gentleman is it, then, who has been staying here lately?"
Ann Hopley felt inwardly all of a twitter. Outwardly she was quietly self-possessed.
"No gentleman has been here at all, sir. You must be mistaking the house for some other one, I think. This is the Maze."
"A lady and gentleman and two servants, I understand, are living here."
"It is quite a mistake, sir. My mistress and us two servants live here--me and my husband--but that's all. Mr. Grey has not been here since we came to the place."
"Now that's a disappointment to me," cried the stranger. "I have lost sight of a friend of mine, named Grey, for the past year or two, and was hoping I might find him here. You are sure you don't know when Mr. Grey may be expected?"
"Quite sure, sir. My mistress does not know, herself."
The stranger stepped back from the gate to take his departure. In manner he was a very pleasant man, and his questions had been put with easy courtesy.
"And you are equally sure the house is not about to be vacated?"
"I feel sure of this, that if Mrs. Grey had thoughts of vacating it, she would have informed me. But in regard to any point connected with the house, sir, you had better apply to the landlord, Sir Karl Andinnian."
"Thank you; yes, that may be the best plan. Good morning," he added, taking off his hat with something of French civility.
"Don't think she is to be bribed," thought he as he walked away. "At least not easily. Perhaps I may in time work my way on to it."
Ann Hopley, locking the gate with double strength--at least, in imagination--pushed through the maze without well knowing whether she was on her head or her heels, so entirely64 had terror overtaken her. In the height and shape of this man, who had been thus questioning her, she fancied she traced a resemblance to the one who was watching the house in the night. What if they were the same?
"The end is coming!" she murmured, clasping her faithful hands. "As sure as my poor master is alive, the end is coming."
Not to her master or his wife, but to Karl Andinnian, did she impart all this. It happened that Karl went over to the Maze that evening. Ann Hopley followed him out when he departed, and told him of it amidst the trees.
It startled him in a more painful degree even than it had startled her: for, oh, what were her interests in the matter as compared with his?
"Inside the grounds!--watching the house at night!" he repeated with a gasp65.
"Indeed, indeed he was, sir!"
"But who is it?"
"I don't know," said Ann; "I hoped it was only some thief who had come after the fruit: I thought he might have got over from the fields by means of a high ladder. That would have been nothing. But if the man who came to the gate to-day is the same man, it must mean mischief66."
"You have not told my brother?"
"How could I dare to tell him, sir? He might watch for the man; and, if he came another night, shoot him. That would make things worse."
"With a vengeance," thought Karl. What was there to do? What could he do? Karl Andinnian went out, the question beating itself into his brain. Why, there seemed nothing for it but to wait and watch. He took off his hat and raised his bare head to the summer sky, in which some stars were twinkling, wishing he was there, in that blessed heaven above where no pain can come. What with one tribulation67 and another, earth was growing for him a hard resting-place.
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lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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prudently
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| adv. 谨慎地，慎重地 | |
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prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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inmates
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penetrated
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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transacting
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| v.办理（业务等）( transact的现在分词 )；交易，谈判 | |
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concealment
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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onset
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conjecture
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proceedings
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scent
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helping
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mishap
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kindly
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linen
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bind
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ointment
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vowed
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previously
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amicably
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pounced
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consecutively
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condemnation
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tartly
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standing
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credence
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assented
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feverish
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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dolt
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| n.傻瓜 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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mazes
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| 迷宫( maze的名词复数 )； 纷繁复杂的规则； 复杂难懂的细节； 迷宫图 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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50
unearthing
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| 发掘或挖出某物( unearth的现在分词 )； 搜寻到某事物，发现并披露 | |
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51
bugle
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| n.军号，号角，喇叭；v.吹号，吹号召集 | |
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wane
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| n.衰微，亏缺，变弱；v.变小，亏缺，呈下弦 | |
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53
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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laurels
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| n.桂冠，荣誉 | |
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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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intruding
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| v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的现在分词)；把…强加于 | |
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surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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applicant
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| n.申请人，求职者，请求者 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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65
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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tribulation
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| n.苦难，灾难 | |
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