Chapter Thirty Eight. The Room of the Bear Cub.

Judith, who was no stranger to that house of mystery, first led me into the front room, where I had once awaited her; but the rays of light that came through the chinks of the closed shutters revealed nothing unusual. It was neglected and dusty, but orderly as before. The room behind was a bedroom, in disorder, with the bed unmade; but there was no occupant.

In eager breathlessness we ascended the stairs to the room in which stood the stuffed bear cub, but found the door locked and the key gone. We looked through the keyhole, but could discern nothing. To our loud raps there was no response.

“We must break it open,” I remarked, seeing no other way. And drawing back I rushed at it, throwing all my force against it.

Once—twice—I repeated the attempt, but in vain. At length, however, my love, in frantic haste to learn the truth, threw her weight against the door at the same instant as mine, and with our combined efforts we succeeded in breaking the cheap lock from its fastenings, and the door giving way, we went head foremost into the long, old-fashioned drawing-room, furnished in faded green rep of a style long since out of date.

The one blind being up gave sufficient light, and next instant our eyes fell upon a scene which filled us both with horror, and caused cries of dismay to break involuntarily from our lips.

Selby was seated in a collapsed position in an arm-chair, his head hanging listlessly upon his breast; while the hunchback, with hands outstretched and tightly clenched, lay face downwards upon the carpet behind the table.

I bent and touched their faces, one after the other. They were cold as marble.

Both men had evidently been dead some hours.

“But my father—my poor father?” wailed Judith. “Where is he? He must be in this house! Let us search.” And she started off frantically from room to room, I following her in breathless amazement at this tragic discovery.

Yet although we searched the garrets and even the cellars, we failed to discover him. He was evidently not there.

Again we ascended the stairs to that room of horror, where the two men lay white and dead, a ghastly sight indeed; and as we re-entered she suddenly complained of an acute pain in her left arm and a curious sensation in the head.

Singularly enough I experienced the very same symptoms in my left arm—very similar, indeed, to those I had felt after examining The Closed Book.

“Ah?” she shrieked, “I know. I ran my hands along the rail on the stairs and felt a scratch. Look at my hand! Look—I—I’m poisoned!”

I glanced at her left hand and saw a slight abrasion of the skin straight across the palm. Then I glanced at my own, and discovered to my dismay that I had received an exactly similar scratch.

“What makes you suspect poisoning!” I demanded quickly. “Do you believe these men have died from the same cause?”

“Undoubtedly,” she answered. But on quickly examining the hands of the dead men I discovered no marks there. “Ah?” she wailed; “you do not know. I am doomed to die, and no power can now save me.”

I did not mention my own symptoms for fear of increasing her alarm, but merely said:

“If you really believe you have been poisoned secretly, I think I can give you something which may be of benefit. We must not, however, lose an instant, but go to the nearest chemist’s.”

“No medicine is of avail against this. I have fallen a victim, as I knew I must, sooner or later. In half an hour I shall be dead,” she added hoarsely, gazing fixedly at the almost imperceptible scratch upon her delicate white flesh. “Ah! why did I come to this house of death when I suspected—nay, when I knew too well—the doom of those who enter here!”

“Come, Lady Judith!” I cried quickly. “Do not linger a moment. I feel sure that your case is not so utterly hopeless as you think. Come at once to a chemist’s.” And taking her forcibly by the arm I led her downstairs and out into the street.

There was no cab in sight, but I knew there was a chemist’s in Theobald’s Road, next door to the public-house where I had had refreshment on that first night of my return to London.

On entering the shop I seated her and quickly obtained a hypodermic syringe. Then, taking from my pocket the old green glass phial wherein the Borgia antidote was still hermetically sealed, I broke it open, half filled the tiny syringe with the dark-brown fluid, and injected it into her left arm. It was, indeed, fortunate that I had kept it in my pocket instead of placing it in the case with the other objects.

“What is that?” she inquired; but, promising to explain all later, I administered to myself an injection of the precious compound.

She felt better almost instantly, she said, and I myself began to derive great benefit from it. The sharp pains in my limbs grew easier, and the drowsiness that had already come over me was dispelled. It acted like magic, and, whatever was its nature, it had, after lying concealed through three centuries, lost none of its potency in counteracting the effects of a powerful venom.

As we had descended the stairs my quick eye had detected a sharp steel point slightly protruding from the polished mahogany handrail. The colour of the wood was darker there, as though stained by some liquid that had been applied to the point from time to time. Was it possible that the steel point was actually envenomed with evil intent? It certainly seemed so.

Yet the mysterious death of those two men who had been my enemies was certainly not attributable to the same cause, for the skin upon their hands was quite uninjured.

I examined my own hand while I gave some fictitious explanation to the chemist, whose curiosity had been aroused by my actions. The skin was cut slightly for quite two inches across, like the scratch of a pin, and yet I had felt nothing until Lady Judith had directed my attention to it. The venom, whatever it was, had the effect of producing insensibility in the actual part lacerated. It was true that the little crystal bottle discovered at Threave had been stolen from Dover Street; but although the antidote had acted so successfully, I could not believe that the actual liquid from that bottle had been used to envenom us. There was some further and deeper explanation, for had not the woman I loved admitted that she was aware how those who entered that gloomy, dismal house were doomed, and that the sign of the bear cub was synonymous with death?

Presently, when Judith felt better, we went forth again into the street. It was our duty to inform the police of the mysterious tragedy that had been enacted in Harpur Street, yet she pointed out that in the circumstances it would be far better to allow the discovery to be made by others. Some passer-by would undoubtedly notice that an entry had been made by the kitchen window, a search would be instituted for thieves, and the truth would then be revealed.

“But will you not tell me all you know regarding that strange place and its inmates?” I demanded.

“Later on, when I am certain of what has happened to my father,” was her response. “I shudder to think how near to death we both have been. You have saved my life, Mr Kennedy.”

“It was my duty. I, too, was envenomed by the same secret means. We might both have succumbed, just as those two men have done, had it not been for the fortunate circumstance of my possession of an antidote.”

“Ah?” she sighed. “Death comes sooner or later to those who visit that fatal house.” Then she added, “Let us take a cab home. I’m unnerved by what we have just discovered, for it renders the mystery greater.”

“Is it then a mystery—even to you?”

“Yes, even to me,” she answered; and then lapsed into silent thought.

When, a quarter of an hour later, we entered the hall at Grosvenor Street, the footman handed her a telegram, which she scanned, and quickly handed to me to read. It ran as follows:

“Abbey treasure discovered at Crowland this morning by the rector and Kennedy’s friends. Have been present at excavations. Arrive home at 4:30. Tell Kennedy.—Glenelg.”

“Look?” she cried in wild excitement. “My dear father is safe after all! He has apparently been helping your companions to search, and the hidden treasure has actually been discovered.”

I stood with the telegram in my hand, utterly staggered.

She refused to make any further explanation without her father’s consent, and as it was then half-past three o’clock, I was compelled to await the Earl’s return. In wonder whether any message had been sent me from my friends at Crowland, I took a cab to Dover Street, where the porter handed me a telegram from Walter also announcing the great find, and saying that he was returning to London with the Earl, and would meet me at Grosvenor Street.

Therefore, in hot haste, I drove back to Judith, and sat with her in the cozy little room she used as boudoir until there came a loud ring at the door, and the two men entered.

“Father!” cried Judith, springing up and throwing her arms round his neck. “We are safe—safe at last!”

“Safe?” he echoed. “How? What has occurred?”

“Both men are dead,” she declared. “They are lying dead in that room at Harpur Street. Mr Kennedy has broken into the place, and we have both seen them.”

“Dead!” gasped the Earl, gazing fixedly at his daughter. “Who could have killed them?”

“Ah! who knows?” she cried. “But I feared for you, knowing their deep cunning. Yet they have fortunately fallen victims, and you—whom they intended should die—have escaped.”

“Really, Lady Judith, this is very extraordinary!” exclaimed Walter Wyman. “Cannot you explain matters? Who are these men who are dead?”

“Selby and the hunchback,” was her reply. “Ask Mr Kennedy. He will tell you.”

Walter then turned to me, and I briefly explained our gruesome discovery and our very narrow escape from death. He stood aghast, and then in turn told me how they had recovered the whole of the abbey treasure, corresponding almost item for item with the list given in The Closed Book. As soon as they had started excavating, aided by a dozen labourers, Lord Glenelg had approached, introduced himself, and to their amazement, had rendered valuable assistance. At first of course, they had been mistrustful, recollecting the midnight search of some weeks ago; but at last, assured of his lordship’s good will, and that his interest was that of an enthusiastic antiquary, his friendship was accepted.

He had expressed a wish to Walter to meet me, and that was the reason the pair had travelled up to London, leaving the valuable treasure recovered in the hands of the rector, Fred, and Sammy Waldon.

“If, as you assure me, both men are dead, Mr Kennedy, I see no reason for any further secrecy,” exclaimed the Earl, turning his grey face towards me at last, and standing with one hand tenderly upon his daughter’s shoulder. “Judith would perhaps explain matters to you better than I can; but as she desires it, I will relate the facts as far as they are known to me.”

Her sweet gaze met mine, and I saw that she was breathless and nervous, as though in dread of the truth being told. Her face was white and attentive; and she half-clung to her father, as though relying upon his paternal protection. She seemed apprehensive as if, even now, she would withhold her strange secret from me.