CHAPTER XII. A DARK CORNER IN THE AVENUE.

Far away below me—for Ravenor Castle stood on the highest point in the country—a dull-red glow in the sky, and many twinkling lights stretched far and wide, marked the place where a great town lay. On my right hand was a smooth stretch of green turf, dotted all over with thickly growing spreading oak trees. On the left was a straggling plantation, bounded by a low greystone wall, which sloped down gradually to one of the bracken-covered, disused slate-quarries, with which the neighbourhood abounded.

Breathless, I stood still and looked searchingly around. Save in the immediate vicinity, the fast falling night had blotted out the view, reducing fields, woods, and rocks to one blurred chaotic mass. But where my eye could pierce the darkness I could see no sign of any moving object. By degrees my apprehension grew less strong. The cry, if it had not been wholly a trick of the imagination, must have been the cry of some animal. I drew a long breath of relief and moved forward again.

Immediately in front of me the avenue curved through a small plantation of fir trees, which, growing thick and black on either side, made it appear almost as though I were confronted with a tunnel; around its mouth the darkness was intense, but my eyesight, always good, had by this time become quite accustomed to the uncertain light, and just as I was entering it I fancied that I could see something moving only a few yards in front of me. I stopped short at once and waited, peering forwards into the gloom with straining eyes and beating heart. My suspense, though keen, was not of long duration, for almost immediately the dark shape resolved itself into the figure of a man moving swiftly towards me.

My first impulse was, I am afraid, to turn and run for it, my next to give the advancing figure as wide a berth as possible. With that idea I stepped swiftly on one side and leaned right back against the ring fence which bordered the drive. But I was too late, or too clumsy in my movements, to escape notice. With a quick, startled exclamation, the man whom I had nearly run into stopped and, just at that moment the moon, which had been struggling up from behind a thick mass of angry clouds, shone feebly out and showed me the white, scared face of Mr. Ravenor’s secretary.

“Good heavens!”

It seemed to me as though the ejaculation was hurled out from those trembling lips. Then, with a sudden start, he recovered himself, and so changed was his manner that I could almost have fancied that his first emotion of terror had been imagination on my part.

“Am I so formidable that you should leap out of my way as though you had seen a ghost?” he said, with a short laugh. “Come, come; a young man of your size should have more pluck than that.”

I felt rather ashamed of myself, but I answered him as carelessly as possible.

“I don’t think I was any more startled than you were. We came upon one another suddenly, and it’s a very dark night.”

“Dark! Dark is not the word. This part of the drive is a veritable Hades.”

“By-the-bye, Mr. Marx,” I remarked, “I fancied that I heard a cry a few min——”

“A cry! What sort of a cry?” he interrupted sharply, in an altered tone.

“Well, it sounded to me very much like the moan of a man in pain,” I explained, looking half fearfully around. “Of course, it might have been a hare, but it was wonderfully like a human voice. Listen! Can’t you hear something now?” I cried, laying my hand upon his arm.

We stood close together in silence, listening intently. A faint wind had sprung up, and was sighing mournfully through the trees, which were soaked and weighed down by the heavy rain. Drip, drip, drip. At every sigh of the breeze a little shower of rain-drops fell pattering on to the soddened leaves and the melancholy music was resumed.

It was altogether very depressing and I was palpably shivering.

“I can hear nothing,” he said, with chattering teeth. “It must have been your fancy, or a hare squealing, perhaps.”

“I suppose so,” I admitted, glad enough to be forced into this conclusion.

“I wouldn’t say anything about it at the lodge,” he remarked, preparing to depart. “Anderson is as nervous as a cat already.”

“All right, I won’t. Good night.”

“You’re not frightened, are you?” he asked. “If you like, I’ll walk down to the lodge with you.”

“Not in the least, thanks,” I answered, a little indignantly. “I thought that noise was queer, that’s all. Good night.”

I walked swiftly away, listening all the time, but hearing no unusual sound. In a few minutes I reached the gates and found Anderson waiting about outside. He let me through at once.

“May I go in here for a minute?” I asked, pointing to the room in which I had been kept waiting on my way up to the Castle. “I have a message to give you from Mr. Ravenor.”

“Certainly, sir,” he answered, opening the door. I stepped inside, half expecting to see the man whom Mr. Ravenor had refused to receive; but it was quite empty.

“So Mr. Richards has decided not to wait, after all?” I remarked, looking round. “He was wise. I’m sure Mr. Ravenor wouldn’t have seen him.”

“Yes, sir,” the man answered; “he slipped out without leaving any message or anything, while I had gone across the way for some coal. I was a bit taken aback when I returned and found the place empty, for he’d been swearing ever so a minute or two before that he’d see Mr. Ravenor, or stop here for ever.”

“He can’t have gone on up to the Castle, can he?” I asked, looking around.

The man shook his head confidently.

“Impossible, sir! The gates were locked and the keys in my pocket, and there are no windows to this room, you see, on the Castle side.”

“But there is a door,” I said, pointing to the upper end of the apartment.

“Go and look at it, sir,” Anderson answered, smiling.

I did so and examined it closely. There were no bolts, but it was fastened with a particularly strong patent lock.

“Who keeps the key?” I inquired.

“Mr. Ravenor, sir. I haven’t got one at all. You were saying something about a message?”

“Yes. Mr. Ravenor was annoyed with you for letting Lady Silchester through, but he has decided to overlook it this time. You need not go up to the Castle for your money.”

The man was evidently pleased.

“I’m sure I’m very much obliged to you, sir,” he said warmly. “That’s good news and no mistake. It isn’t a place that one would care to lose.”

“Well, good night, Anderson. Oh, I say,” I added, turning back on a sudden impulse, “how long is it since Mr. Marx was here?”

Anderson looked puzzled.

“Mr. Marx, sir! Why, I haven’t seen him all day!”

“What!” I exclaimed.

“I haven’t seen him all day. He hasn’t been here,” the man repeated.

I stood still, breathless, full of swiftly rising but vague suspicions.

“Not seen him to-day! Why, I met him in the avenue just now,” I declared.

“I daresay, sir,” the man remarked quietly. “He often walks down this way. In fact, he does most evenings before dinner. Queer sort he is, and no mistake.”

The man’s words changed the current of my thoughts, and my half-conceived suspicions faded away almost before they had gathered shape. I made some trifling remark and started homewards.