Books: The Mystery of the Four Fingers
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Fred M. White >> The Mystery of the Four Fingers
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There was nothing more for it than this, whereupon Venner went away and
Vera returned thoughtfully to the dining-room. She was just a little bit
in doubt as to whether the man upstairs would guess the trick played upon
him, but that she had to risk.
CHAPTER XX
THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN
Money can do most things, even in the matter of furnishing a large house
with competent servants, and by six o'clock Vera had contrived for the
domestic machine to run a little more smoothly. At any rate, she was in a
position now to provide Fenwick with something in the shape of a
respectable dinner on his return from town.
It was about a quarter to eight when he put in an appearance, and for the
first time for some days he changed into evening dress for the chief meal
of the day. He appeared to be as morose and savage as he had been in the
morning, in fact even more so if that were possible. He answered Vera's
questions curtly, so that she fell back upon herself and ate her soup in
silence. And yet, though Fenwick was so quiet, it seemed to Vera that he
was regarding her with a deep distrust, so that she found herself
flushing under his gaze. He put his spoon down presently, and pointed
with his hand to Vera's swollen fingers.
"What have you got there?" he demanded. "How did you do that?"
"I burnt it," Vera stammered. "It was an accident."
"Well, I don't suppose you burnt it on purpose," Fenwick growled. "I
don't suppose you put your hand into the fire to see if it was hot. What
I asked you was how you did it. Please answer my question."
"I repeat it was an accident," Vera said, coldly. "I burnt my fingers in
such a way--"
"Yes, and you are not the first woman who has burnt her fingers
interfering with things that don't concern her. I insist upon knowing
exactly how that accident happened."
Vera turned a cold, contemptuous face to her companion; she began to
understand now that his suspicions were aroused. It came back to her
vividly enough that she had dropped the hot sovereign on the floor, and
that, owing to the shock and sudden surprise, she had not replaced it. It
was just possible that Fenwick had gone into the little room and had
missed the sovereign from the neat layer of coins on the top of the box.
And then another dreadful thought came to Vera--supposing that the
drugged man had not recovered from the effects of his dose by the time
that Fenwick had returned? It was a point which both she and Venner had
overlooked. There was nothing for it but to take refuge behind an assumed
indignation, and decline to answer offensive questions put in that tone
of voice. Vera was still debating as to the most contemptuous reply when
the dining-room door opened and one of the newly-arrived servants
announced Mr. Blossett.
Fenwick rose to his feet and an unmistakable oath escaped his lips. All
the same, he forced a kind of sickly smile to his face, as a big man,
with an exceedingly red face and an exceedingly offensive swaggering
manner, came into the dining-room. The stranger was quite well dressed,
nothing about his garments offended the eye or outraged good taste, yet,
all the same, the man had "bounder" written all over him in large
letters. His impudent red face, his aggressively waxed moustache, and the
easy familiarity of his manner, caused Vera to shrink within herself,
though she could have been grateful to the fellow for the diversion which
his appearance had created.
"Well, Fenwick, my buck!" he cried. "You didn't expect that I should
accept your invitation quite so promptly, but I happen to be knocking
around here, and I thought I'd drop in and join you in your chop. This is
your daughter, I suppose? Glad to make your acquaintance, miss. I was
told there were many beauties at Merton Grange, but I find that there is
one more than I expected."
Vera merely bowed in reply. The man was so frankly, hopelessly, utterly
vulgar that her uppermost feeling was one of amusement. She could see
that Fenwick was terribly annoyed, though for some reason he had to keep
himself in hand and be agreeable to Blossett.
"Sit down," he said. "Ring the bell, and we will get another cover laid.
I don't suppose you mind missing the soup."
"I have been in the soup too often to care about it," Blossett laughed.
"To tell the truth, we had such a warm time last night that solid food
and myself are not on speaking terms just now. Here, waiter, fill me a
tumbler of champagne. I daresay when I have got that down my neck I shall
be able to pay my proper attentions to this young lady."
Fenwick made no reply; he cut savagely at his fish as if he were passing
the knife over the throat of the intruder. Meanwhile the stranger rattled
on, doubtless under the impression that he was making himself exceedingly
agreeable. Vera sat there watching the scene with a certain sense of
amusement. She was still a little pale and unsteady, still doubtful as to
the amount of information that Fenwick had gleaned as to her movements
that afternoon. She would be glad to get away presently and try to
ascertain for herself whether the drugged man had recovered or not.
Meanwhile, there was no occasion for her to talk, as the intruder was
quite able to carry on all the necessary conversation.
"This is mighty fine tipple," he said. "Waiter, give me another tumbler
of champagne. In my chequered career I don't often run up against this
class of lotion. The worst of it is, it makes one talk too fast, and
seeing that I have got to run the gauntlet with the next little parcel of
sparklers--"
"Fool!" Fenwick burst out. His face was livid with rage, his eyes were
shot with passionate anger. "Fool! can't you be silent? Don't you see
that there is one here who is outside--"
"Beg pardon," Blossett said, unsteadily. "I thought the young woman knew
all about it. Lord, with her dainty face and her aristocratic air, what a
bonnet she'd make. Wouldn't she look nice passing off as the daughter of
the old military swell with a fondness for a little game of cards? You
know what I mean--the same game that old Jim and his wife used to play."
"Be silent," Fenwick thundered in a tone that at last seemed to
penetrate the thick skull of his companion. "My--my daughter knows
nothing of these things."
Blossett stammered something incoherent, his manner became more sullen,
and long before dinner was completed it was evident that he had had far
more wine than was good for him.
"If you will excuse me, I will leave you," Vera said coldly. "I do not
care for any dessert or coffee to-night."
"Perhaps you had better go," Fenwick said with an air of relief. "I will
take care that this thing does not happen again."
But Vera had already left the room; she was still consumed with anxiety,
and desired to know more of what had happened to the man whom Venner had
drugged. She did not dare venture as far as the little room, for fear
that suspicious eyes should be watching her. It was just possible that
Fenwick had given his satellites a hint to note her movements. Therefore,
all she could do was to sit in the drawing-room with the door open. Some
of the men began to pass presently, and after a little time, with a sigh
of relief, Vera caught sight of the one upon whom the trick of the snuff
was played. He seemed all right, as far as she could judge, and the girl
began to breathe a little more freely.
As she sat there in the silence watching and waiting, she saw Fenwick and
his companion emerge from the dining-room and cross the hall in the
direction of the billiard room. Blossett was still talking lightly and
incoherently; he leant on the arm of his host, and obviously the support
was necessary. Vera had never before seen a drunken man under the same
roof as herself, and her soul revolted at the sight. How much longer was
this going on, she wondered? How much more would she be called upon to
endure? For the present, she had only to possess herself in patience and
hope for the best. She was longing now for something like action. The
silence and stillness of the house oppressed her; she would have liked to
be up and doing something. Anything better than sitting there.
The silence was broken presently by the sound of angry voices proceeding
from the billiard-room. Half-a-dozen men seemed to be talking at the same
time--words floated to Vera's ears; then suddenly the noise ceased, as if
somebody had clapped down a lid upon the meeting. Vera guessed exactly
what had happened. The billiard-room door had been closed for fear of the
servants hearing what was going on. It was just possible that behind
those closed doors the mystery that had so puzzled Vera was being
unfolded. She recollected now that between the dining-and the
billiard-room was a fairly large conservatory opening on either side into
the apartments in question. It was just possible that Fenwick and his
companions might have overlooked the conservatory. At any rate, Vera
determined to take advantage of the chance. The conservatory was full of
palms and plants and flowers, behind which it was possible for the girl
to hide and listen to all that was going on.
Vera fully understood the danger she was running, she quite appreciated
the fact that discovery might be visited with unpleasant consequences.
But this did not deter her for a moment. She was in the conservatory a
little later, and was not displeased to find that the door leading to
the billiard-room was open. Behind a thick mask of ferns she took her
stand. Between the feathery fronds she could see into the billiard-room
without being seen. Fenwick was standing by the side of the table laying
down the law about something, while the rest of his men were scattered
about the room.
"Why should I do it?" Fenwick was saying. "Why should I trust a man
like you? You come down to-night on the most important errand, well
knowing the risks you are running, and you start by getting drunk at
the dinner table."
"I wasn't drunk," Blossett said sullenly. "As to the girl, why, I
naturally expected--"
"Who gave you the right to expect?" Fenwick demanded. "Couldn't you see
at a glance that she knew nothing about it. Another word and you would
have betrayed the whole thing. You can stay here all night and talk if
you like, but you are not going to have that parcel to take away to
London with you. In your present condition you would be in the hands of
the police before morning."
"But I haven't got a cent," Blossett said. "I hadn't enough money in my
pocket to pay my cab fare from Canterbury; and don't you try on any of
your games with me, because I am not the sort of man to stand them. You
are a fine lot of workmen I know, but there isn't one of you who has the
pluck and ability to take two thousand pound's worth of that stuff and
turn it into cash in a week. Now look at the last parcel I had, I got
rid of it in such a manner that no one could possibly discover that I
ever handled the metal at all. Who among you could say the same thing?"
"Oh, you are right enough so long as you keep sober," Fenwick said. "But,
all the same, I shall not trust you with the parcel that is waiting
upstairs."
Vera listened, comprehending but little of what was going on. After all,
she seemed to be having only her trouble for her pains. Beyond doubt
these men were doing something illicit with the coinage of the country,
though Vera could not bring herself to believe that they were passing off
counterfeit money, seeing that the sovereigns were absolutely genuine.
"Well, something has got to be done," another of the gang remarked. "We
are bound to have a few thousand during the next few days, and, as
Blossett says, there is nobody that can work the oracle as well as he
can. The best thing I can do is to go to town with him and keep a close
eye on him till he has pulled round once more. He can keep sober enough
on occasions if he likes, and once the drinking fit has passed he may be
right for weeks."
"I am going to have no one with me," Blossett roared. "Do you think I am
going to be treated like a blooming kid? I tell you, I am the best man of
the lot of you. There isn't one of you can hold a candle to me. Fenwick,
with all his cunning, is a child compared with Ned Blossett. Ask any of
the old gang in New York, ask the blistering police if you like; and as
to the rest of you, who are you? A set of whitefaced mechanics, without
pluck enough to rob a hen-roost. Take that, you cur!"
The speaker rose suddenly to his feet and lurched across the room in
Fenwick's direction. He aimed an unexpected blow at the latter which sent
him headlong to the floor, and immediately the whole room was a scene of
angry violence.
Vera shrank back in her shelter, hardly knowing what to do next. She
saw that Blossett had disentangled himself from the mob about him and
was making his way headlong into the conservatory. There was nothing
for it but instant retreat. On the opposite side was a doorway leading
to the garden, and through this Vera hastily slipped and darted across
the grass, conscious of the noise and struggle going on behind. She
paused with a little cry of vexation as she came close to a man who was
standing on the edge of the lawn looking at the house. It was only for
a moment that she stood there in doubt; then a glad little cry broke
from her lips.
"Charles," she said. "Mr. Evors, what are you doing here?"
"We will come to that presently," Evors replied. "Meanwhile, you can be
observed from where you are, and those rioters yonder may make it awkward
for you. When they have patched up their quarrel, I will return to the
house with you and explain. We can get in by the little green door behind
the gunroom."
Vera suffered herself to be led away, feeling now utterly unable to be
astonished at anything. They came at length to the secluded side of the
house, where the girl paused and looked at her companion for an
explanation.
"You seem to be strangely familiar with this place," she said. "You walk
about here in the dark as if you had known this house all your lifetime,
Have you been here before?"
"Many a time," Evors replied sadly. "Up to the time I was twenty my
happiest years were spent here. But I see you are still in the dark.
Cannot you guess who I really am, Vera? No? Then I will enlighten you. My
name is Charles Evors, and I am the only son of Lord Merton. I was born
here, and, if the Fates are good to me, some day I hope to die here."
CHAPTER XXI
THE THIRD FINGER
Vera ought to have experienced a feeling of deepest surprise; but she was
long post any emotion of that kind. On the contrary, it seemed quite
natural that Evors should be there telling her this extraordinary thing.
The sounds of strife and tumult in the house had now died away;
apparently the men in the billiard-room had patched up their quarrel, for
nothing more could be heard save a sudden pop which sounded like the
withdrawal of a cork. With a gesture of contempt, Evors pointed to the
billiard-room window.
"I don't think you need worry about them," he said. "As far as I can
judge, they were bound to come to some truce."
"But do you know what they were doing?" Vera asked.
"I haven't the remotest idea," Evors replied. "Some rascality, beyond
question. There always is rascality where Fenwick is concerned. Is it not
a strange thing that I should come down here and find that fellow settled
in the home of my ancestors?"
"Then you did not come down on purpose to see him?"
"No, I came here entirely on my own responsibility. If you have
half-an-hour to spare, and you think it quite safe, I will tell you
everything. But there is one thing first, one assurance you must give me,
or I am bound to remain silent. The death of your poor father in that
mysterious fashion--"
"Stop," Vera said gently. "I know exactly what you are going to say. You
want me to believe that you had no hand whatever in my father's murder.
My dear Charles, I know it perfectly well. The only thing that puzzles
me is why you acted in that strange weak fashion after the discovery of
the crime."
"That is exactly what I am going to tell you," Evors went on. "It is a
strange story, and one which, if you read it in the pages of a book, you
would be inclined to discredit entirely. And yet stranger and more
remarkable things happen every day."
Evors led the way to a secluded path beside the terrace.
"You need not worry about getting to the house," he said. "I can show you
how to manage that at any time of the day or night without disturbing
anybody. I am afraid that on many occasions I put my intimate knowledge
of the premises to an improper use, and that was the beginning of my
downfall. What will you say to me when I confess to you that when I came
out to Mexico I was driven out of the old country, more or less, like a
criminal?"
"I understood you to be a little wild," Vera said.
"A little wild!" Evors echoed bitterly. "I behaved in a perfectly
disgraceful fashion. I degraded the old name, I made it a byword in the
district. As sure as I am standing here at the present moment, I am more
or less answerable for my mother's death. It is a strange thing with us
Evors that all the men begin in this way. I suppose it is some taint in
our blood. Up to the age of five-and-twenty, we have always been more
like devils than men, and then, for the most part, we have settled down
to wipe out the past and become respectable members of society. I think
my father recognised that, though he was exceedingly hard and stern with
me. Finally, after one more unusually disgraceful episode, he turned me
out of the house, and said he hoped never to look upon my face again. I
was deeply in debt, I had not a penny that I could call my own, and,
finally, I drifted out to Mexico with the assistance of a boon
companion. On the way out I took a solemn oath that I would do my best
to redeem the past. I felt heartily ashamed of my evil ways; and for six
months no one could possibly have led a purer and better life than
myself. It was about this time that I became acquainted with your father
and your sister Beth."
Evors paused a moment and paced up and down the avenue with Vera by his
side. She saw that he was disturbed about something, so that she deemed
it best not to interrupt him.
"It was like getting back to a better world again," Evors went on. "I
believed that I had conquered myself; I felt pretty sure of it, or I
would have never encouraged the friendship with your sister, which she
offered me from the first. I don't know how it was or why it was that I
did not see much of you about that time, but you were not in the
mountains with the others."
"I was down in the city," Vera explained. "There was a friend of mine who
had had a long serious illness, and I was engaged in nursing her. That is
the reason."
"But it doesn't much matter," Evors went on. "You were not there to watch
my friendship for Beth ripening into a warmer and deeper feeling. Mind
you, she had not the remotest idea who I really was, nor had your father.
They were quite content to take me on trust, they had no vulgar curiosity
as to my past. And then the time came when Beth discovered what my
feelings were, and I knew that she had given her heart to me. I had not
intended to speak, I had sternly schooled myself to hold my tongue until
I had completed my probation; but one never knows how these things come
about. It was all so spontaneous, so unexpected--and before I knew what
had really happened, we were engaged. It was the happiest time of my
life. I had rid myself of all my bad habits. I was in the full flush and
vigor of my manhood. I did not say anything to Beth about the past,
because I felt that she would not understand, but I told your father
pretty nearly everything except who I really was, for I had made up my
mind not to take the old name again until I had really earned the right
to do so. Of course, the name of Evors conveyed no impression to anybody.
It did not imply that I was heir to Lord Merton. Your father was
intensely friendly and sympathetic, he seemed to understand exactly. We
became more than friends, and this is how it came about that I
accompanied him finally on one of his secret visits to the Four Finger
Mine. Your father's regular journeys to the mine had resulted in his
becoming a rich man, and, as you know, he always kept the secret to
himself, taking nobody with him as a rule, with the exception of Felix
Zary. I will speak of Zary again presently. You know how faithful he was
to your father, and how he would have laid down his life for him."
"Zary was an incomprehensible character," Vera said. "He was one of the
surviving, or, rather, the only surviving member of the tribe who placed
the Four Finger Mine in my father's hands. That was done solely out of
gratitude, and Zary steadfastly declined to benefit one penny from the
gold of the mine. He had a curious contempt for money, and he always
said that the gold from the Four Finger Mine had brought a curse on his
tribe. I really never got to the bottom of it, and I don't suppose I ever
shall; but I am interrupting you, Charles. Will you please go on with
your story."
"Where was I?" Evors asked. "Oh, yes, I was just leading up to the time
when I accompanied your father on his last fatal journey to the mine. At
one time I understand it was his intention to take with him the
Dutchman, Van Fort, or your mother's brother, Mark Fenwick. However,
your father decided against this plan, and I went with him instead. To a
great extent it was my doing so that kept Van Fort and Fenwick out of
it, for I distrusted both those men, and I believed that they would have
been guilty of any crime to learn the secret of the mine. Your father,
always trustful and confiding, laughed at my fears, and we started on
that fateful journey. I don't want to harrow your feelings
unnecessarily, or describe in detail how your father died; but he was
foully murdered, and, as sure as I am in the presence of my Maker, the
murder was accomplished either by the Dutchman or Fenwick, or between
the two of them. Zary mysteriously vanished about the same time, and
there was no one to back me up in my story. You may judge of my horror
and surprise a little later when Van Fort and Fenwick entered into a
deliberate conspiracy to prove that I was responsible for your father's
death. They laid their plans with such a diabolical ingenuity that, had
I been placed upon my trial at that time, I should have been hanged to a
certainty. They even went so far as to tell Beth what had happened, with
what result upon her mind you know. At this time Van Fort disappeared,
and was never heard of again. Of the strange weird vengeance which
followed him I will talk another time. I suppose I lost my nerve
utterly, for I became as clay in the hands of Mark Fenwick. Badly as he
was treating me, he professed to be my friend, and assured me he had
found a way by which I could escape from the death which threatened me.
Goodness only knows what he had in his mind; perhaps he wanted to part
Beth and myself and get all your father's money into his hands. I
suppose he reckoned without your brother, though the latter did not
count for much just then, seeing that he was in the hospital at Vera
Cranz, hovering between life and death, as the result of his accident.
For my own part, I never believed it was an accident at all. I believed
that Fenwick engineered the whole business. But that is all by the way.
Like the weak fool that I was, I fell in with Fenwick's suggestion and
allowed myself to become a veritable tool in his hands, but I did not go
till I heard that you had come back again to look after Beth."
Vera recollected the time perfectly well; she was following Evors'
narrative with breathless interest. How well she recollected the day
of her own marriage and the receipt of that dreadful letter, which
parted Gerald and herself on the very steps of the altar, and
transformed her life from one of happiness into one of absolute
self-sacrifice. She was beginning to see daylight now, she was
beginning to discern a way at length, whereby she would be able to defy
Fenwick and part with him for all time.
"It is getting quite plain now," she said. "But please go on. You cannot
think how deeply interested I am in all you are saying. Presently I will
tell you my side of the story. How I came to part with Beth, how I placed
her in my brother's hands, how I elected to remain with Mark Fenwick, and
my reasons for so doing. I may say that one of my principal reasons for
staying with my uncle was to discover the real cause of my father's
death. That you had anything to do with it I never really believed,
though appearances were terribly against you, and you deliberately
elected to make them look worse. But we need not go into that now. What
happened to you after you fled from Mexico?"
"I am very much afraid that I dropped back into the old habits," Evors
said, contritely. "I was reckless and desperate, and cared nothing for
anybody. I had honestly done my best to atone for the past, and it seemed
to me that Fate was dealing with me with a cruelty which I did not
deserve. One or two of Fenwick's parasites accompanied me everywhere;
there seemed to be no lack of money, and I had pretty well all I wanted.
There were times, of course, when I tried to break the spell, but they
used to drug me then, until my mind began to give way under the strain.
Sometimes we were in Paris, sometimes we were in London, but I have not
the slightest recollection of how I got from one place to another. I was
like a man who is constantly on the verge of delirium. How long this had
been going on I can't tell you, but finally I came to my senses in the
house in London, and there for two days I was practically all right. All
through this time I had the deepest horror of the drink with which they
plied me, and on this occasion the horror had grown no less. For some
reason or another, no doubt it was an oversight, they neglected me for
two days, and I began to get rapidly better. Then, by the purest chance
in the world, I discovered that I was actually under the same roof as
Beth and your brother, and the knowledge was like medicine to me. I
refused everything those men offered me, I demanded to be allowed to go
out on business. They refused, and a strange new strength filled my
veins. I contrived to get the better of the two men, and half an hour
afterward I left the house in company with your brother."
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