Books: The Mystery of the Four Fingers

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All this was news indeed to Vera, but she asked no questions--she was
quite content to stand there and listen to all that Evors had to say.

"I would not stay with your brother," he went on. "I went off
immediately to an old friend of mine, to whom I told a portion of my
story. He supplied me with money and clothing, and advised me that the
best thing I could do was to go quietly away into the country and give
myself an entire rest. I followed his advice, and I drifted down here, I
suppose, in the same way that an animal finds his way home. I did not
know my father was away, and you can imagine my surprise when I
discovered to whom he had left the house. I feel pretty much myself now;
there is no danger of my showing the white feather again. If you are in
any trouble or distress, a line to the address on this card will bring me
to you at any time. In this house there are certain hiding-places where I
could secrete myself without anybody being the wiser; but we need not go
into that. Now perhaps you had better return to the house, or you may be
missed. Good-night, Vera. You cannot tell how wonderfully helpful your
sympathy has been to me."

He was gone a moment later, and Vera returned slowly and thoughtfully to
the house. The place was perfectly quiet now; the billiard-room door was
open, and Vera could see that the apartment was deserted. Apparently the
household had retired to rest, though it seemed to be nobody's business
to fasten up the doors. Most of the lights were out, for it was getting
very late now, so that there was nothing for it but for Vera to go up
the stairs to her own room. She had hardly reached the landing when a
door halfway down burst open, and Fenwick stood there shouting at the top
of his voice for such of his men as he mentioned by name. He seemed to be
almost beside himself with passion, though at the same time his face was
pallid with a terrible fear. He held a small object in his hand, which he
appeared to regard with disgust and loathing.

"Why don't some of you come out?" he yelled. "You drunken dogs, where
have you all gone to? Let the man come out who has played this trick on
me, and I'll break every bone in his body."

One or two heads emerged, and presently a little group stood around the
enraged and affrighted Fenwick. Standing in a doorway, Vera could hear
every word that passed.

"I locked my door after dinner," Fenwick said. "It is a patent lock, no
key but mine will fit it. When I go to bed I find this thing lying on the
dressing table."

"Another of the fingers," a voice cried. "The third finger. Are you quite
sure that you locked your door?"

"I'll swear it," Fenwick yelled. "And if one of you--but, of course, it
can't be one of you. There is no getting rid of this accursed thing. And
when the last one comes--"

Fenwick stopped as if something choked him.

CHAPTER XXII

"THE TIME WILL COME"

The startled group on the stairs stood gazing at Fenwick as if they were
stricken dumb. There was not one of them who had the slightest advice to
offer, not one of them but felt that Fenwick's time was close at hand.
Every man there knew by heart the strange story of the Four Finger Mine,
and of the vengeance which had overtaken the Dutchman. The same unseen
vengeance was very near Fenwick now; he had had his three warnings, and
there was but one more to come before the final note of tragedy was
struck. Most of them looked with dazed fascination at the mutilated left
hand of their chief.

"How did you lose yours?" somebody whispered.

"Don't ask me," Fenwick said hoarsely. "I break into a cold sweat
whenever I think of it. But why don't you do what I tell you? Why don't
you find Zary? Find him out and bring him down here, and then I can laugh
at the vengeance of the Four Fingers. But I have my plans laid, and I
shall know how to act when the times comes. Now you all get off to bed
again and forget all my foolishness. I suppose I was startled by seeing
that accursed thing lying on my table, and lost my nerve."

The little group melted away, and once more the house became silent. When
morning came there was no sign or suggestion of the events of the night
before. For the first time for many months, Vera felt comparatively
happy. She felt, too, that at last she was reaping the reward of all her
self-sacrifice, and was approaching the time when she would be able to
throw off the yoke and take up her life at the point where she had
dropped it. She could afford to wait on events now; she could afford to
possess her soul in patience till the hour and the man came together.

Somewhat to her relief, Fenwick did not appear at breakfast, so that, for
once, she could partake of the meal in comparative comfort. Swaggering up
and down the terrace outside, with a large cigar in his mouth, was the
man who called himself Blossett. He had the air of one who is waiting for
something; possibly he was waiting for the parcel which had been the
means of breeding last night's disturbance in the billiard-room. Anyway,
Vera noticed that Fenwick was very busy up and downstairs, and that all
his parasites had gathered in the little room at the end of the corridor.
For the present, at any rate, Vera's curiosity was satisfied. She had no
intention of running any more risks, and as soon as she had finished her
breakfast she went out into the grounds, with no intention of returning
before lunch. She made her way across the wood which led to the high
road, on the possible chance of meeting Gerald. It was not Gerald,
however, who advanced from the deepest part of the copse to meet her, but
the thin, cadaverous form of Felix Zary. He advanced towards the girl,
and, in a grave, respectful way, he lifted her hand to his lips.

"You had not expected me, dear lady," he said.

"Well no, Felix," Vera said. "Though I am not in the least surprised. I
suppose Mr. Venner has been to see you and has explained to you the
meaning of that sheet of blank paper which reached you in an envelope
bearing my handwriting."

"I have seen Mr. Venner," Zary replied in his smooth, respectful, even
voice, "and he explained to me. I did not suspect--if I had received your
letter I should have come to you at once--I believe I would come beyond
the grave at the call of one bearing the beloved name of Le Fenu. There
is nothing I would not do for you. At this moment I owe my life to your
resourcefulness and courage. Had I come in response to your letter, I
should never have left the house alive. Fenwick would have murdered me,
and the vengeance of the Four Fingers would have been lost."

"Why should it not be?" Vera said with a shudder. "Why extract blood for
blood in this fashion? Can all your revenge bring my dear father back to
life again? And yet the vengeance draws nearer and nearer, as I know. I
saw Mark Fenwick last night after he had received the third of those
dreadful messages, and he was frightened to the depths of his soul. Let
me implore you not to go any further--"

"It is not for me to say yes or no," Zary responded in the same quiet,
silky manner. It seemed almost impossible to identify this man with
murder and outrage. "I am but an instrument. I can only follow the
dictates of my instinct. I cannot get away from the traditions of the
tribe to which I belong. For two years now I have been a wanderer on the
face of the earth; I have been in many strange cities and seen many
strange things; with the occult science that I inherited from my
ancestors, the Aztecs, I have earned my daily bread. I am what some call
a medium, some call a conjurer, some call a charlatan and a quack. It is
all the same what they call me, so long as I have the knowledge. For
generations the vengeance of the Four Fingers has descended upon those
who violate the secret of the mine, and so it must be to the end of time.
If I did not obey the voice within me, if I refused to recognise the
forms of my ancestors as they come to me in dreams, I should for ever and
ever be a spirit wandering through space. Ah, dear lady, there are things
you do not know, things, thank God, beyond your comprehension, so,
therefore, do not interfere. Rest assured that this thing is absolute and
inevitable."

Zary spoke with a certain gentle inspiration, as if all this was part of
some ritual that he was repeating by heart. Quiet, almost timid as he
looked, Vera knew from past experience that no efforts of hers could turn
him from his intention. That he would do anything for a Le Fenu she knew
full well, and all this in return for some little kindness which her
father had afforded one or two of the now almost extinct tribe from which
had come the secret of the Four Finger Mine. And Zary was absolutely the
last of his race. There would be none to follow him.

"Very well," she said, "I see that anything I could say would be wasted
on you, nor would I ask you what you are going to do next, because I am
absolutely convinced that you would not tell me if I did. Still, I have a
right to know--"

"You have a right to know nothing," Zary said, in a tone of deep
humility. "But do not be afraid--the vengeance will not fall yet, for are
not the warnings still incomplete? I will ask you to leave me here and go
your way."

There was nothing for it but to obey, and Vera passed slowly through the
wood in the direction of the high road. A strange weird smile flickered
about the corner of Zary's mouth, as he stood there still and motionless,
like some black statue. His lips moved, but no words came from them. He
appeared to be uttering something that might have passed for a silent
prayer. He took a battered gold watch from his pocket and consulted it
with an air of grim satisfaction. Then, suddenly, he drew behind a
thicket of undergrowth, for his quick ears detected the sound of
approaching footsteps. Almost immediately the big form of Fenwick loomed
in the opening, and a hoarse voice asked if somebody were there. Zary
stepped out again and confronted Fenwick, who started back as if the slim
black apparition had been a ghost.

"You here!" he stammered. "I did not expect to see you--I came here
prepared to find somebody quite different."

"It matters little whom you came to find," Zary said. "The message sent
to bring you here was merely a ruse of mine. Murderer and treacherous dog
that you are, so you thought to get me here in the house among your hired
assassins by means of the letter which you compelled my dear mistress to
write? Are you mad that you should pit your paltry wits against mine?"

"I am as good as you," Fenwick said.

"Oh, you rave," Zary went on. "I am the heir of the ages. A thousand
years of culture, of research, of peeps behind the veil, have gone to
make me what I am. Your scientists and your occult researchers think they
have discovered much, but, compared with me, they are but as children
arguing with sages. Before the letter was written, the spirits that float
on the air had told me of its coming. I have only to raise my hand and
you wither up like a drop of dew in the eye of the sunshine. I have only
to say the word and you die a thousand lingering deaths in one--but for
such cattle as you the vengeance of the Four Fingers is enough. You shall
die even as the Dutchman died, you shall perish miserably with your
reason gone and your nerves shattered. If you could see yourself now as I
can see you, with that dreadful look of fear haunting your eyes, you
would know that the dread poison had already begun its work. The third
warning came to you last night, the message that you should get your
affairs in order and be prepared for the inevitable. The Dutchman is no
more, his foul wretch of a wife died, a poor wreck of a woman, bereft of
sense and reason."

"This is fine talk," Fenwick stammered. "What have you against me that
you should threaten me like this?"

Zary raised his hand aloft with a dramatic gesture; his great round black
eyes were filled with a luminous fire.

"Listen," he said. "Listen and heed. I am the last of my race, a race
which has been persecuted by the alien and interloper for the last three
centuries. Time was when we were a great and powerful people, educated
and enlightened beyond the dreams of to-day. Our great curse was the
possession of large tracts of land which contained the gold for which
you Eastern people are prepared to barter honor and integrity and
everything that the honest man holds dear. For it you are prepared to
sacrifice your wives and children, you are prepared to cut the throat of
your best friend. When you found your heart's desire in my country, you
came in your thousands, and by degrees murders and assassination worked
havoc with my tribe. It was not till quite recently that there came
another man from the East, a different class of creature altogether. I
am alluding to your late brother-in-law, George Le Fenu. He sought no
gold or treasure; he came to us, he healed us of diseases of which we
knew no cure. And in return for that we gave him the secret of the Four
Finger Mine. It was because he had the secret of the mine and because he
refused to share it with you that you and the Dutchman, with the aid of
his foul wife, killed him."

"It's a lie," Fenwick stammered. "George Le Fenu suffered nothing at my
hands. It was the young man Evors."

"It is false," Zary thundered. His eyes were dark, and in a sudden flood
of fury he reached out a long thin hand and clutched Fenwick by the
collar. "Why tell me this when I know so well how the whole thing
happened? I can give it you now chapter and verse, only it would merely
be a waste of breath. I declare as I stand here with my hand almost
touching your flesh that I can scarcely wait for the vengeance, so eager
am I to extract the debt that you owe to George Le Fenu and his
children."

By way of reply, Fenwick dashed his fist full into the face of Zary. The
latter drew back just in time to avoid a crushing blow; then his long
thin arms twisted about the form of his bulky antagonist as a snake winds
about his prey. So close and tenacious, so wonderfully tense was the
grip, that Fenwick fairly gasped for breath. He had not expected a virile
force like this in one so slender. A bony leg was pressed into the small
of his back--he tottered backward and lay upon the mossy turf with Zary
with one bony hand at his throat, on the top of him. It was all so sudden
and so utterly unexpected that Fenwick could only gasp in astonishment.
Then he became conscious of the fact that Zary's great luminous eyes were
bent, full of hate, upon his face. A long curved knife gleamed in the
sunshine. Very slowly the words came from Zary.

"I could finish you now," he whispered. "I could end it once and for all.
It is only for me to put in action the forces that I know of, and you
would utterly vanish from here, leaving no trace behind. One swift blow
of this knife--"

"What are you doing?" a voice asked eagerly. "Zary, have you taken leave
of your senses? Release him at once, I say."

Very slowly Zary replaced the knife in his pocket and rose to his feet.
There was not the least trace of his recent passion--he was perfectly
calm and collected, his breathing was as even and regular as it had been
before the onslaught.

"You are quite right, master," he said. "I had almost forgotten myself. I
am humiliated and ashamed. The mere touch of that man is pollution. We
shall meet again, Mr. Evors."

Zary went calmly away and vanished in the thick undergrowth as quickly
and mysteriously as if he had been spirited from the spot. Fenwick rose
to his feet and wiped the stains from his clothing.

"I certainly owe you one for that," he growled. "That fellow would most
assuredly have murdered me if you had not come up just at the right
moment. It is fortunate, too, that you should have turned up here just
now. Come as far as the house. I should like to say a few words to you
in private."

It was well, perhaps, that Evors could not see the expression of his
companion's face, that he did not note the look of mingled triumph and
malice that distorted it. It never for a moment occurred to him as
possible that black treachery could follow so closely upon the heels of
his own magnanimity. Without the slightest demur he followed Fenwick to
the house. The latter led the way upstairs into a room overlooking the
ancient part of the house, murmuring something to the effect that here
was the thing that he wished to show Evors. They were inside the room at
length, then, with a muttered excuse, Fenwick hastened from the room.
The key clicked in the door outside, and Evors knew that he was once
more a prisoner.

"You stay there till I want you," Fenwick cried. "I'll teach you to play
these tricks on me after all I have done for you."

"You rascal," Evors responded. "And so you think that you have me a
prisoner once more. Walk to the end of the corridor and back, then come
in here again and I will have a pleasant surprise for you. You need not
be afraid--I am not armed."

Perhaps some sudden apprehension possessed Fenwick, for he turned rapidly
as he was walking away and once more opened the door. Evors had been as
good as his word--the surprise which he had promised Fenwick was complete
and absolute.

"Vanished," Fenwick cried. "Gone! Curse him, what can have become of
him?"

CHAPTER XXIII

SMOKED OUT

A feeling of helpless exasperation gripped Fenwick to the exclusion of
all other emotions. Everything seemed to be going wrong just now; turn
in any direction he pleased some obstacle blocked his path. Like most
cunning criminals he could never quite dispossess himself of the idea
that honesty and cleverness never went together. All honest men were
fools of necessity, and therefore the legitimate prey of rogues like
himself. And yet, though he was more or less confronted now with men of
integrity, he was as helpless in their hands as if he had been a child.
The maddening part of the whole thing was his inability to find anything
to strike. He was like a general leading an army into the dark in a
strange country, and knowing all the time that he had cunning unseen
foes to fight.

Thoughts like these were uppermost in Fenwick's mind as he gazed in
consternation about the little room from which Evors had vanished. So far
as Fenwick knew, Evors had saved his life from Zary, but that had not
prevented Fenwick from behaving in a dastardly fashion. It seemed to him
as if Fate were playing into his hands by bringing Evors here at this
moment. Hitherto he had found Evors such plastic material that he had
never seriously considered him in the light of a foe. Now, for the first
time, he saw how greatly he had been mistaken.

"Where can the fellow have gone to?" he muttered. "And whence comes his
intimate knowledge of the house?"

He tapped the walls, he examined the floor, but there was no sign
whatever of the means by which Evors had made good his escape.

Fenwick furiously rang the bell and demanded that the old caretaker
should be sent to him at once. The man came to him, shambling unsteadily
along and breathing fast as if he had been running. His aged features
were quivering with some strange excitement, as Fenwick did not fail to
notice, despite his own perturbation.

"What on earth is the matter with you?" he exclaimed. "You look as if you
had seen a ghost! What is it? Speak up, man!"

"It isn't that, sir," the old man said in trembling tones. "It is a sight
that I never expected to see again. A bit wild he was--aye, a rare
handful at times, though we were all precious fond of him. And to see him
back here again like this--"

"What the devil are you talking about?" Fenwick burst out furiously. "The
old fool is in his second childhood."

"It was the young master," the caretaker babbled on. "Why, you could
have knocked me down with a feather when he came in the house with you.
As soon as I set eyes on Mr. Charles--"

"Mr. what?" Fenwick asked. "Oh, I see what you mean. You are speaking of
Mr. Evors, who came in with me."

"That's it, sir, that's it," the old man said. "Mr. Evors, only we used
to call him Mr. Charles."

Fenwick began to understand.

"Let's have it out," he said. "Mr. Evors, whom you saw with me just now,
is Lord Merton's only son?"

"That he be, sir, that he be. And to think that he should come home like
this. It'll be a good day for the old house when he returns to settle
down altogether."

Fenwick dismissed the old man with a contemptuous gesture. He had found
out all he wanted to know, though his information had come to him as an
unpleasant surprise. It was a strange coincidence that Fenwick should
have settled upon Merton Grange for a dwelling-place, and thus had picked
out the actual home of the young man who had suffered so much at his
hands. But there was something beyond this that troubled Fenwick. It was
a disturbing thought to know that Charles Evors could find his way about
the house in this mysterious fashion. It was a still more disturbing
thought to feel that Evors might be in league with those who were
engaged in tracking down the so-called millionaire. There were certain
things going on which it was imperative to keep a profound secret.
Doubtless there were secret passages and panels in this ancient house,
and Fenwick turned cold at the thought that perhaps prying eyes had
already solved the problem of the little room at the end of the corridor.
He lost no time in calling his parasites about him. In a few words he
told them what had happened.

"Don't you see what it means?" he said. "Charles Evors is here, he has
come back to his old home, and what is more he has come back to keep an
eye on us. I feel pretty certain that someone is behind him. Very likely
it is that devil Zary. If the police were to walk in now, guided by
Evors, we should be caught like rats in a trap. I didn't want to trust
that stuff to Blossett, but he must get away with it now without delay.
There is a train about twelve o'clock to London, and he must get one of
the servants to drive him over in a dogcart. Now don't stand gazing at me
with your mouths open like that, for goodness knows how close the danger
is. Get the stuff away at once."

The man Blossett came into the garden, a big cigar between his lips. He
laughed in his insolent fashion when he was told of his errand. The hot
blood was in Fenwick's face, but he had not time to quarrel with the
swaggering Blossett.

"I thought you would come to your senses," the latter said. "Nobody
like me to do a little thing of that sort. Now let me have the case and
I'll be off without delay. Better put it in a Gladstone bag. If I have
any luck I shall be back here to-night, and then we can share the
bank-notes and there will be an end of the matter. You had better sink
all the materials in the moat. Not that I am afraid of anything
happening, myself."

Half an hour later Blossett was being bowled down the drive behind a
fleet horse. A little later still, as the train pulled out of the
station, Egan and Grady stood there watching it with rueful faces. Venner
was with them, and smiled to himself, despite the unfortunate nature of
the situation.

"I thought we had cut it a bit too fine," Grady said. "It is all the
fault of that confounded watch of mine. Now what's the best thing to be
done? Shall we telegraph to Scotland Yard and ask to have Blossett
detained when he reaches Victoria?"

"I don't quite like the idea," Egan said. "If we were English detectives
it wouldn't much matter, but I guess I don't want Scotland Yard to have
the laugh of me like this. It may cost a deal of money, and I shall
probably have to pay it out of my own pocket, but I am going to have a
special train."

"My good man," Venner said, "it is absurd to think that you can get a
special train at a roadside station like this. Probably they do things
differently in America, but if you suggest a special to the
station-master here, he will take you for an amiable lunatic. I have an
idea that may work out all right, though it all depends upon whether the
train that has gone out of the station is a fast or a slow one."

The inquiry proved the fact that the train was a slow one, stopping at
every station. It would be quite two hours in reaching Victoria. Venner
smiled with the air of a man who is well pleased with himself. He turned
eagerly to his companions.

"I think I've got it," he said. "We will wound Fenwick with one of his
own weapons. It will be the easiest thing in the world to got from here
to Victoria well under two hours in a motor."

"I guess that's about true," Grady said, drily. "But what applies to
the special equally applies to the motor. Where are we to get the
machine from?"

"Borrow Fenwick's," Venner said. "I understand the working of a Mercedes,
and, I know where the car is kept. If I go about this thing boldly, our
success is assured. Then you can wait for me at the cross roads and I can
pick you up."

"Well, you can try it on, sir," Egan said doubtfully. "If you fail we
must telegraph to Scotland Yard."

But Venner had not the slightest intention of failing. There were no
horses in the stable at Merton Grange, and consequently no helpers
loafing about the yard. There stood the big car, and on a shelf all the
necessaries for setting the machine in motion. In an incredibly short
space of time Venner had backed the Mercedes into the yard; he turned her
dexterously, and a moment later was speeding down a side avenue which led
to the Park. The good old saying that fortune favors the brave was not
belied in this instance, for Venner succeeded in reaching the high road
without mishap. It was very long odds against his theft being discovered,
at any rate, for some considerable time; and even if the car were
missing, no one could possibly identify its loss with the chase after
Blossett. It was consequently in high spirits that the trio set out on
their journey. Naturally enough Venner was curious to know what the
criminal charge would be.

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