Books: The Mystery of the Four Fingers
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Fred M. White >> The Mystery of the Four Fingers
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"What for?" Vera asked, passionately.
"Why should we trouble ourselves for the safety of an abandoned wretch
like that? He is the cause of all our troubles and sorrows. For the last
three years he has blighted the lives of all of us, and there is worse
than that--for, as sure as I am speaking to you now, the blood of our
dear father is upon his head."
"Yes, and mine might have been also, but for a mere miracle," Le Fenu
said. "He tried to do away with me--he would have done away with all of
us if he had only dared. But one thing do not forget--he is our mother's
only brother."
Vera started and bit her lips. It was easy to see that the appeal was not
lost upon her, and that she was ready now to fall in with her brother's
idea. She waited quite humbly for him to speak.
"I am glad you understand," he said. "It would never do for us to hand
that man over to justice, richly as he deserves his sentence. And you can
help us if you will. Those men will search every room in the house,
including yours. If you are in there when they come and show a certain
amount of indignation--"
"Oh, I quite understand," Vera responded.
"And I will do what I can for that wretched creature."
"What is he doing now?" Le Fenu asked.
"He has huddled himself up in a wardrobe," Vera explained. "He seems so
paralysed with fear that I could not get anything like a coherent account
of what had happened. Anyway, I will go back to my room now. You need not
be afraid for me."
As matters turned out, Vera had no time to spare, for she was hardly back
in her room before the detectives were at the door. She came out to them,
coldly indignant, and demanded to know what this conduct meant. As was
only natural, the Americans were profoundly regretful and almost abjectly
polite, but they had their duty to perform, and they would be glad to
know if Vera had seen anything of Mark Fenwick, for whose apprehension
they held a warrant.
"Well," Vera said, loftily, "you don't expect to find him in here, I
suppose? Of course, if your duty carries you so far as to ransack a
lady's room, I will not prevent you."
The absolute iciness of the whole thing profoundly impressed the
listeners. Astute as they were, it never occurred to them that the girl
was acting a part; furthermore, with their intimate knowledge of
Fenwick's past, they knew well enough that Vera had no cause to shield
the man of whom they were in search.
"We will not trouble you," Egan stammered. "It is a mere matter of form,
and it would be absurd to suppose that our man is concealed in your room.
In all probability he received news of our coming and got away without
warning his companions. It is just the sort of thing that a man of his
type would do. We have the rest of the gang all safe, but we shall
certainly have to look elsewhere for their chief. Will you please accept
our apologies?"
Vera waved the men aside haughtily. She was glad to turn her back upon
them, so that they could not see the expression of her face. She was
trembling violently now, for her courage had suddenly deserted her. For
some long time she stood there in the corridor, until, presently, she
heard the noise of wheels as two vehicles drove away. Then, with a great
sigh of relief, she recognised the fact that the detectives had left the
house. She opened the door of her room and called aloud to Fenwick. She
called again and again without response.
"You can come out," she said, contemptuously. "There is no cause to fear,
for those men have gone."
A moment later the yellow, fear-distorted face of Mark Fenwick peeped out
into the corridor. He came shambling along on tottering limbs, and his
coarse mouth twitched horribly. It seemed to Vera as if she were looking
at a mere travesty of the man who so short a time ago had been so strong
and masterful and courageous.
"They gave me a rare fright," Fenwick said in a senile way. He seemed to
have aged twenty years in the last few minutes. "That--that--was very
cool and courageous of you, my dear. I couldn't have done any better
myself. You dear, kind girl. He advanced now and would have taken Vera's
hands in his, but she turned from him with loathing. She was wondering
which she disliked most--the cold, cruel, determined criminal, or this
miserable wreck of a man glad to lean on anyone for support.
"Don't touch me," she said, with a shudder. "Don't thank me for anything
for I should have handed you over to those men gladly, I was ready and
willing to do so, only my brother recalled to me the fact that the same
blood runs in the veins of both of us. It was the remembrance of this
that made me lie just now, that caused me to run the risk of a criminal
charge myself. For I understand that anybody who harbors a thief for
whose arrest a warrant has been issued, runs the risk of going to gaol.
And to think that Le Fenu should do a thing of that kind for such a
creature as yourself--it is too amazing."
"I suppose it is, my dear," Fenwick said in the same carneying voice. "I
never expected to find myself shielded behind a woman. But I have lost
all my nerve lately, and the more I drink to drown my troubles, the worse
I get. But you must not think too badly of me, for I am not so black as
I am painted."
"Could you be any blacker?" Vera asked. "Could any human being have
descended lower than you have descended? I think not. You imagine because
I threw in my lot with you three years ago that I knew nothing of your
crimes. As a matter of fact, I knew everything. I knew how you had
shifted the responsibility of that dastardly murder on to the shoulders
of the man who is in love with my sister Beth. It was for her sake that I
pretended ignorance, for her sake that I came with you to try to get to
the bottom of your designs. What I have endured in the time nobody but
myself can know. But it has all come out now, and here am I to-day trying
to shield you from the very vengeance that I have been plotting for you
all this time. Oh, don't say anything, don't deny it, don't add more
useless lies to the catalogue of your vices. Go now. Let us see the last
of you, and never intrude upon us again."
All this outburst of indignation had apparently been wasted on Fenwick
for he did not appear to be listening at all. He had enough troubles of
his own, and, despite the fact that his nerve had failed him, it was no
feeling of remorse that left him stricken and trembling and broken down
before Vera's scornful eyes. He could only whine and protest that he was
absolutely helpless.
"But what can I do?" he murmured, with tears in his eyes. "I am not so
young as I was, indeed I am much older than people take me for. I have no
money and no friends, there is not a place I can go to. Don't turn me
out--let me stay here, where I shall be safe."
"It is impossible," Vera said, coldly. "We have done enough, and more
than enough for you. Now come this way, and I will hand you over to
my brother and Mr. Evors. They are cleverer than I am, and may be
able to devise some means for getting you out of the country. Why
don't you come?"
"I can't," Fenwick almost sobbed. "There is something in my limbs that
renders them powerless. If you will give me your arm, I daresay I shall
be able to get as far as the little room."
The touch of the man was pollution, yet Vera bravely endured it. She
could hear the excited servants talking in whispers downstairs, and one
of them might appear at any moment. It would be far better for the
domestic staff to assume that the culprit had vanished, otherwise their
gossip would assuredly bring the detectives back again without delay.
Vera was glad enough when her task was finished and the trembling form of
Mark Fenwick was lowered into a seat. The cunning look was still in his
eyes; the born criminal would never get rid of that expression, though
for the rest he was an object now more for pity than fear.
"It is very good of you," he said. "It is far better than I deserve. You
will say I can't stay here--"
"That is absolutely certain," Le Fenu said, coldly. "Most assuredly you
can't remain here. You may remain for the night, and Mr. Evors and myself
will try and think of a plan between us."
"And Zary," Fenwick whispered. The mention of that dreaded name set him
trembling again. "Keep me away from Zary. I am afraid of a good many
things, but the mere mention of that man's name stops my heart beating
and suffocates me."
"You had better go away," Le Fenu said to Vera, "and leave the wretched
creature to us. There will be no trouble in hiding him here for a bit.
There are two rooms here that nobody knows anything about except Evors
and his father."
Vera was only too glad to get away into the open air, glad to feel that
at last this nerve-destroying mystery was coming to an end. She wanted to
see Venner, too, and tell him all that had happened. In all probability
he was waiting at the accustomed spot. With a light heart and a feeling
of youthfulness upon her that she had not felt for some time, she set out
on her journey.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE LAST FINGER
In the ordinary course of things, and but for the dramatic events of the
evening, it would have been about the time of night when dinner was
finished and the house-party had gathered in the drawing-room. It had
been somewhere about seven when the Americans reached Merton Grange, and
now it was getting towards nine. It was not exactly the temperature at
which one enjoys an evening stroll, but the recent events had been so
exciting that Vera felt how impossible it would be to settle down to
anything within the limits of the house. There was a moon, too, which
made all the difference in the world. As Vera walked along, she almost
smiled to herself to think how strange her conduct might look in the
eyes of those formal people whose lives run in conventional channels.
She told herself more than once that it would be absurd to hope to see
Gerald at this time of night, but all the same she continued her journey
across the park.
She had not so far to go as she expected, for presently she could see the
glow of a cigar in the distance, and Venner came up. A little joyful cry
came from Vera.
"This is very fortunate," she said. "How lucky it is that I should run
against you in this fashion."
"Well, I was flattering myself that you came on purpose," Venner said.
"And, after all, it is not so very lucky, seeing that I have been hanging
about this house on the chance of seeing you since it became dark. But
you look rather more disturbed and anxious than usual. My dear girl, I do
hope and trust that there are no new complications. I shall really have
to take you by force and carry you out of the country. Why should we have
to go on living this miserable kind of existence when we can take our
happiness in both hands and enjoy it? Now don't tell me that something
fresh has occurred which will keep us apart, for another year or two? By
the way, have you had any visitors to-night?"
"What do you know about them?" Vera asked. "Have you found out anything
about Mr. Fenwick?"
"Well, I should say so," Venner said, drily. "I have absolutely got to
the bottom of that mysterious coin business. In fact, I accompanied Egan
and Grady to London, and I was with them when they arrested that awful
creature, Blossett. Egan and Grady are old friends of mine, and I told
them all about the strange coins and how you literally burnt your fingers
over them. They were coming down here to arrest Fenwick, and I offered to
accompany them; but they declined my offer, so I returned here alone, and
have been hanging about the house, curious to know what had taken place.
Have they bagged our friend Fenwick yet?"
"It is about Mr. Fenwick that I wish to speak to you," Vera replied. "Mr.
Evors is down here. By the way, I don't know whether you are aware of the
fact that he is the son of Lord Merton."
"Perhaps you had better tell me the story," Venner said.
"I am coming to that presently. Mr. Evors is down here; he is the man who
is engaged to my sister Beth."
Venner whistled softly to himself. At any rate, he knew all about that,
for his mind went swiftly back to the series of dramatic events which had
taken place some time previously in the house in Portsmouth Square. He
recollected now the white-faced young man who had broken away from his
captors and joined Le Fenu, otherwise Bates, in the drawing-room. He
recollected the joy and delight of the girl, and how she had clung to the
stranger as if he had come back to her from the other side of the grave.
"There will be a great many things to be explained between us,
presently," he said, gravely. "But for the present, I want to know all
about Fenwick. Where is he now?"
"He is hiding up at the house. I believe they have put him into a secret
room, the whereabouts of which is known only to Charles Evors. Of course,
he will not stay."
"But why shield such a blackguard at all?" Venner asked. "Surely, after
all the trouble he has caused you--"
"You must not forget that he is our own flesh and blood," Vera said,
quietly. "I had almost ignored the fact--I am afraid I should have
ignored it altogether had not my brother taken a strong view of the
matter. At any rate, there he is, and we are in a conspiracy to get him
safely out of the country. For the present the man is utterly broken down
and absolutely incapable of taking care of himself. I want you to do me a
favor, Gerald. I want you to take a hand in this business. While the
police are still hot upon the track it would not be prudent for Mr. Evors
or my brother to be too much in evidence just now."
"My dearest girl, I would do anything in the world for you," Venner
cried. "And if I am to take that sorry old rascal out of the country and
get rid of him altogether, I will do so with pleasure and never count the
cost. If I could see your brother--"
"Then why not come and see him now?" Vera said. "You will have to meet
sooner or later, and there could be no better opportunity for an
explanation."
To Le Fenu and Evors smoking in the dining-room came Vera and Venner. Le
Fenu looked up with a sort of mild surprise and perhaps just a suspicion
of mistrust in his eyes.
"Whom have we here, Vera?" he said.
"This is Mr. Gerald Venner," Vera said. "You know him perfectly well by
name--he was with us, on and off, for a considerable time before our poor
father died. Father had a great regard for him, and I hope you will have
the same, for a reason which I am just going to mention."
"I am sure I am very pleased to meet you," Le Fenu said, politely. "This
is my friend, Mr. Charles Evors, the only son of the owner of the house.
When I come to look at you, Mr. Venner, I confess that your appearance
pleases me, but I have had to deal with so many suspicious characters
lately that really--"
"Don't apologise," Venner laughed. "You will have to make the best of
me. I came here to-night with Vera to have a thorough explanation of
certain matters."
"Oh, indeed," Le Fenu responded with uplifted brows. "My sister and you
appear to be on very familiar terms--"
"It is only natural," Vera laughed. A vivid blush flooded her face.
"Charles, Mr. Venner is my husband."
"I am not in the least surprised to hear it," Le Fenu said. "In fact, I
am not surprised at anything. I have quite outgrown all emotions of that
kind, but perhaps you will be good enough to tell me how this came
about, and why I have not heard it before. As your brother, I am
entitled to know."
"Of course, you are. It was just after our father died that I promised
myself to Gerald. I had my own ideas why the marriage should be kept a
secret. You see, I had more or less thrown in my lot with my uncle, Mark
Fenwick, because I had determined to get to the bottom of the business of
our father's death. I felt certain that Charles here had nothing to do
with it; though, owing to his folly and weakness, he played directly into
the hands of the man who was really responsible for the crime."
"We all know who is responsible for the crime," Le Fenu said. "There is
no necessity to mention his name."
"Oh, I know that," Vera went on. "The explanation I am making now is more
to my husband than either of you. He has been goodness and kindness
itself, and he is entitled to know everything. It was within a few
minutes of my being married that I learned something of the dreadful
truth. I learned that Fenwick had conspired to throw the blame of the
tragedy upon Charles Evors. I found out what an effect this conspiracy
had had on our poor Beth. There and then I came to a great resolution. I
wrote to my husband and told him that in all probability I could never
see him again--at any rate, I could not see him for a long space of time.
I implored him to trust me in spite of all appearances, and he did so.
Now he knows the reason why I acted so strangely. I can see that he has a
thousand questions to ask me, but I hope that he will refrain from doing
so at present. The thing that troubles me now is what has become of poor
little Beth."
"Oh, she is all right enough," Le Fenu said. "I thought of that before I
came down. I have left her in the safe hands of the very clever doctor
who has my case under his charge, and Beth is with his family. We can
have her down here to-morrow if you like."
"Nothing would please me better," Vera said, fervently. "And now, I want
to know if you have done anything or formed any plan for getting rid of
Mark Fenwick. I shall not be able to breathe here until he is gone."
Le Fenu explained that they had come to no conclusion at present. He was
quite alive to the fact that delay was dangerous, seeing that Lord
Merton's agents would have to communicate with him by telegram, and that
the owner of the house might be back again at any moment. Therefore, it
was absolutely necessary that something should be done in the matter of
Mark Fenwick without loss of time. Vera indicated her companion.
"That is why I brought Gerald here," she said.
"I thought he might he able to help us. He knows all sorts and
conditions of people, and it is probable that he may be able to find an
asylum in London where the wretched man upstairs can hide till it is
quite safe to get him out of the way."
"I think I can manage that part of the programme," Venner said. "There is
an old servant of mine living down Poplar way with his wife who will do
anything I ask him. The man has accompanied me all over the world, and he
is exceedingly handy in every way. Those people would take a lodger to
oblige me, and when you come to think of it, Poplar is not at all a bad
place for anybody who wants to get out of the country without being
observed. It is close to the river, and all sorts of craft are constantly
going up and down. What do you think of the idea?"
"Excellent," Evors cried. "Couldn't be better. Do you think those people
would mind if you looked them up very late to-night?"
"Not in the least," Venner said. "There is only one drawback, and that is
the danger of traveling."
Le Fenu suggested that the difficulty could be easily overcome by the use
of Fenwick's motor, which, fortunately, the detectives had brought back
with them when they came in search of the culprit. It was an easy matter
to rig Fenwick up in something suggestive of a feminine garb and smuggle
him out into the grounds, and thence to the stable, where the motor was
waiting. Fenwick came downstairs presently, a pitiable object. His mind
still seemed wandering; but he braced himself up and became a little more
like his old self when the plan of action was explained to him. Vera drew
a deep breath of relief when once the man was outside the house.
"Thank God, we shall never see him again," she said, fervently. "And now,
I believe I could eat something. It is the first time that the idea of
food has been pleasant to me for days."
Meanwhile, Venner and Fenwick were speeding along in the car towards
London. Perhaps it was the knowledge that safety lay before him, perhaps
it was the exhilaration caused by the swift motion of the car, but
Fenwick became more and more like himself as they began to near the
Metropolis.
"This is very kind of you," he said, "considering you are a stranger to
me. If you only knew my unfortunate story--"
"I know your story perfectly," Venner said, coldly. "You see, I had the
pleasure of the friendship of the late Mr. George Le Fenu, and Mr. Evors
and the younger Mr. Le Fenu are also known to me. Not to be behindhand in
exchanging confidence for confidence, I may also say that your niece,
Vera, is my wife."
Fenwick said no more, for which Venner was profoundly grateful. They came
at length to the little house in Poplar, where Fenwick was smuggled in,
and a certain part of the story confided to a seafaring man and his
comfortable, motherly wife, who professed themselves ready and willing to
do anything that Venner asked them.
"Give him a sitting-room and a bedroom," Venner said; "and take this
ten-pound note and buy him a rough workman's wardrobe in the morning as
if you were purchasing it for yourself. Let him lie low here for a day or
two, and I will write you instructions. As to myself, I must get back to
Canterbury without delay."
Trembling with a sort of fearful joy, Fenwick found himself presently in
a comfortable sitting-room at the back of the house. He noted the
cleanliness of the place, and his heart lightened within him. Something
of his own stern self-reliant courage was coming back to him; his busy
mind began to plan for the future. Presently he was conscious of a
healthy desire to eat and drink. In response to his ring, the landlady
informed him that she had some cold meat in the house, and that it was
not yet too late to send out for some wine if he desired it.
"Very well," Fenwick said in high good-humor. "Give me the cold meat, and
ask your husband to get me a bottle of brandy. I shall feel all the
better for a thorough wash, and don't be long, my good woman, for I have
never been so hungry in my life as I am now."
Fenwick returned to the sitting-room a few minutes later to find a decent
meal spread out for him. There was cheese and butter and some cold meat
under a metal cover. A bottle of brandy stood by the side of Fenwick's
plate, with a syphon of soda-water. He took a hearty pull of the mixture.
The generous spirit glowed in his veins. He would cheat the world yet.
"And now for the food," he said. "I trust it is beef. Nothing like beef
on occasions like this. Also--"
He raised the cover from a dish. Then he jumped to his feet with a
snarling oath. He could only stand there trembling in every limb, with a
fascinated gaze on the dish before him.
"God help me," he whispered. "There is no getting away from it. The last
warning--the fourth finger!"
CHAPTER XXVII
NEMESIS
For a long space of time Fenwick stood there, his head buried in his
hands. All the way through, he had never been able to disguise from
himself the feeling that, sooner or later, this dread thing must happen.
Years ago he had taken his life in his hands in exploring the recesses of
the Four Finger Mine; he had more or less known what he had to expect,
for the mine had been a sacred thing, almost a part of the religion of
the diminishing tribe which had imparted the secret to Le Fenu, and any
intruder was bound to suffer. So far as Fenwick knew, the last survivor
of this tribe was Felix Zary. Leaving out of account altogether the
latter's religious fanaticism, he had been deeply and sincerely attached
to the family of Le Fenu, and now he was playing the part of the avenging
genius. All these things came back to Fenwick as he sat there.
He knew full well the character of the man he had to deal with; he knew
how clever and resourceful Felix Zary was. Hitherto, he had scorned the
suggestion that there was some mysterious magic behind Zary's movements,
but now he did not know what to think. All he knew was that he was
doomed, and that all the police in the Metropolis could not shield him
from the reach of Zary's long arm.
And here, indeed, was proof positive of the fact. Two hours before,
nobody, not even Fenwick himself, knew that he would spend the night at
the little house in Poplar. And here was Zary already upon his track,
almost before he had started on the long journey which was intended to
lead to the path of safety. Fenwick never troubled to think what had
become of the meal prepared for him, or how the extraordinary change had
been brought about. Gradually, as he sat there, something like strength
and courage came back to him. Come what might, he would not yield, he
would not surrender himself into the hands of the foe without a struggle.
He replaced the cover on the dish, and rang the bell for his landlady.
She came in a moment later, comfortable and smiling, the very picture of
respectable middle-age. As Fenwick glanced at her, he at once acquitted
her of any connection with his final warning.
"I am sorry to trouble you," he said, "but I should like to know if you
have any other lodgers. You see, I am rather a bad sleeper, suffering a
great deal from nightmare, and I should not like to alarm your other
lodgers in the middle of the night."
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