Books: The Mystery of the Four Fingers

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"Lord bless you, sir," the woman said, "we haven't any lodgers at all. We
don't need to take them, seeing that my man is comfortably fixed. Of
course, we are pleased to do anything we can for you, but we shouldn't
have had you here at all if it hadn't been to please Mr. Venner. We'd do
anything for him."

"No doubt," Fenwick said, hastily. "I suppose your husband sees a good
many of his old friends occasionally?"

"No, he doesn't," the woman replied. "I don't suppose we have had anybody
in the house except yourself for the last two months. I hope you have
enjoyed your supper, sir?"

"Oh, yes," Fenwick stammered. "I finished all the meat. There is one
thing more I should like to ask you. I may have to go out presently, late
as it is. Do you happen to have such a thing as a latchkey? If you
haven't, the key of the front door will do."

The latchkey was forthcoming, and presently Fenwick heard his landlord
and his wife going upstairs to bed. He did not feel comfortable until he
had crept all over the house and seen that everything was made secure.
Then he sat down to think the matter out. Twice he helped himself
liberally to brandy, a third time his hand went mechanically to the
bottle--then he drew back.

"I mustn't have any more of that," he said. "It would be simply playing
into the hands of the fiend who is pursuing me."

With a resolution that cost him an effort, Fenwick locked the brandy
away in a cupboard and threw the key out of the window. In his present
state of mind he dared not trust himself too far. Partially divesting
himself of his clothing he drew from about his waist a soft leather belt
containing pockets, and from these pockets he produced a large amount of
gold coins and a packet of banknotes. Altogether there were some hundreds
of pounds, and Fenwick congratulated himself on the foresight which had
led him to adopt this plan in case necessity demanded it. He had enough
and more than enough to take him to the other side of the world, if only
he could manage to get rid of Felix Zary.

His mind was made up at length; he would creep out of the house in the
dead of the night and make his way down to the Docks. At every hour ships
of various size and tonnage put out of the port of London, and, no doubt,
the skipper of one of these for a consideration would take him wherever
he wanted to go; and Fenwick knew, moreover, that there were scores of
public-houses along the side of the river which are practically never
closed, and which are run entirely for the benefit of seafaring men. It
would be easy to make inquiries at some of these and discover what
vessels were leaving by the next tide, and a bargain could be struck
immediately, go far as Fen wick was concerned, he inclined towards a
sailing ship bound for the Argentine. His spirits rose slightly at the
prospect before him; his step was fairly light and buoyant as he
proceeded in the direction of his bedroom. There was no light in the
room, so that he had to fumble about in his pockets for a box of matches
which fell from his fingers and dropped on to the floor.

"Confound it," Fenwick muttered. "Where are they?"

"Don't trouble," a calm, quiet voice said out of the darkness. "I have
matches, with which I will proceed to light the gas."

Fenwick could have cried aloud, had he been physically able to do so.
There was no reason for a light to be struck or the gas to be lighted so
that he might see the face of the speaker. Indeed, he recognised the
voice far too well for that. A moment later, he was gazing at the
impassive face of Felix Zary.

"You did not expect to see me," the latter said. "You were under the
impression that you were going to get away from me. Never did man make a
greater mistake. It matters little what you do, it will matter nothing to
you or anybody else in twelve hours from now. Do you realise the fact
that you have but that time to live? Do you understand that?"

"You would murder me?" Fenwick said hoarsely.

"You may calm yourself on that score. You are unarmed, and I have not so
much as a pocket knife in my possession. I shall not lay a hand upon
you--I shall not peril my soul for the sake of a creature like you. There
are other ways and other methods of which you know nothing."

"How did you get here?" Fenwick asked hoarsely. "How did you put that
dreadful thing on my table?"

Zary smiled in a strange, bland fashion. He could have told Fenwick
prosaically what a man with a grasp like his could do in connection with
a water pipe. He could have told, also, how he had dogged and watched his
victim within the last few hours, with the pertinacity of a bloodhound.
But Zary could see how Fenwick was shaken and dazed by some terrible
thing which he could not understand. It was no cue of Zary's to enlighten
the miserable man opposite.

"There are things utterly beyond your comprehension," he said, calmly.
"If you look back to the past you will remember how we laid our mark upon
the man who stole the Four Finger Mine. That man, I need not say, was
yourself. To gain your ends you did not scruple to take the life of your
greatest friend, the greatest benefactor you ever had. You thought the
thing out carefully. You devised a cunning scheme whereby you might
become rich and powerful at the expense of George Le Fenu, and scarcely
was the earth dry upon his coffin before your warnings came. You knew
the legend of the Four Finger Mine, and you elected to defy it. A week
went by, a week during which you took the gold from the mine, and all
seemed well with you. Then you woke one morning to find that in the night
you had lost your forefinger without the slightest pain and with very
little loss of blood. That was the first sign of the vengeance of the
genius of the mine. Shaken and frightened as you were, you hardened your
heart, like Pharaoh of old, and determined to continue. Another week
passed, and yet another finger vanished in the same mysterious fashion.
Still, you decided to stand the test, and your third warning came. With
the fourth warning, your nerves utterly gave way, and you fled from the
mine with less ill-gotten gain than you had expected. It matters nothing
to me what followed afterwards, but you will admit that at the present
moment you have not benefitted much by your crime. I have nothing more to
say to you. I only came here tonight just to prove to you how impossible
it is for you to hide from the vengeance of the mine. In your last bitter
moments I want you to think of my words and realise--"

As Zary spoke he moved across the room in the direction of the gas
bracket; he laid his hand upon the tap, and a moment later the room was
in darkness. There was a sound like the sliding of a window, followed by
a sudden rush of cold air, and by the time that Fenwick had found his
matches and lighted the gas again there was not so much as a trace of
Zary to be seen.

"I wish I hadn't thrown away the key of that cupboard," Fenwick said,
hoarsely. "I would give half I possess for one drop of brandy now. Still,
I won't give in, I won't be beaten by that fellow. At any rate, he can't
possibly know what I intend to do. He could not know that I shall be on
board a vessel before morning."

Half an hour later, Fenwick left the house and made his way straight to
the Docks. At a public-house in the vicinity he obtained the brandy that
he needed so badly, and felt a little stiffened and braced up by the
spirit. He found presently the thing he wanted, in the shape of a large
barque bound for the River Plate. The skipper, a burly-looking man with
an enormous black beard, was uproariously drunk, but not quite so
intoxicated that he could not see the business side of a bargain.

"Oh, you want to go out with me, mister?" he said. "Well, that's
easily enough managed. We've got no passengers on board, and you'll
have to rough it with the rest of us. I don't mind taking you on for
fifty pounds."

"That's a lot of money," Fenwick protested.

The black-bearded skipper winked solemnly at the speaker.

"There's always a risk in dealing with stolen goods," he said. "Besides
fifty pounds isn't much for a man who wants to get out of the country as
badly as I see you do, and once I have passed my word to do it, I'll see
you safe through, and so will my crew, or I'll know the reason why. Now,
my yellow pal, fork out that money, and in half an hour you'll be as safe
as if you were on the other side of the herring-pond and not a policeman
in London will know where to find you. Now, is it a bargain or not?"

Fenwick made no further demur; he accepted the conditions there and then.
There was nothing to be gained by affecting to pose as an honest man, and
he was a little frightened to find how easily this drunken ruffian had
spotted him for a fugitive from justice.

"I can't give you the money just now," he whispered. "I've got it
concealed about me, and to produce a lot of cash in a mixed company like
this would be too dangerous."

The skipper nodded, and proposed further refreshment. Fenwick agreed
eagerly enough; he was feeling desperate now, and he did not seem to care
much what happened to him. He could afford to place himself entirely in
the hands of the black-bearded skipper, who would look after him closely
for his own sake. After all said and done, he had no cause to doubt the
honesty of the seaman, who appeared to be fairly popular with his
companions and well-known in the neighborhood. It was the best part of an
hour before the commander of the barque staggered to his feet and
announced in an incoherent voice that it was time to get aboard.
Presently they were straggling down to the dock, Fenwick propping up his
companion and wondering if the latter was sober enough to find his way to
his ship. It was very dark; a thin rain had begun to fall, and the waters
of the river were ruffled by an easterly breeze. The skipper stumbled
down a flight of steps and into a roomy boat, which was prevented from
capsizing by something like a miracle. Presently they came alongside the
black hull of a vessel, and Fenwick found himself climbing up a greasy
ladder on to a dirty deck, where two seamen were passing the time playing
a game of cards. Down below, the skipper indicated a stuffy little bunk
leading out of his own cabin, which he informed Fenwick would be placed
at his disposal for the voyage.

"If you don't mind I'll turn in now," the latter said. "I'm dead tired
and worn out. My nerves are all jumping like red hot wires. Do you think
I shall be safe here?"

"Safe as houses!" the skipper said. "And, besides, we shall be dropping
down the river in about an hour."

Just as he was, Fenwick rolled into the bunk, and in a moment was fast
asleep. When he came to himself again, the vessel was pitching and
rolling; he could hear the rattling creak of blocks and rigging; there
was a sweeter and fresher atmosphere in the little cabin. A sense of
elation possessed the fugitive. It seemed to him that he was absolutely
safe at last. The skipper had evidently gone on deck after having
finished his breakfast, for the plates lay about the table and some tepid
coffee in a tin had apparently been left for the use of the passenger.

"I don't think much of this," Fenwick muttered. "Still I daresay I can
better it if I pay for it. I'll go on deck presently and see what the
black-bearded pirate has to say. At any rate, I am absolutely safe now,
and can afford to laugh at the threats of Felix Zary. If that man
thinks--"

Fenwick paused, and the knife and fork he was holding over the cold bacon
fell from his hands. It was too cruel, the irony of Fate too bitter, for
there, just in front of him, propped up by the sugar basin, was a cabinet
photograph of the very man who was uppermost in his thoughts. It was
Felix Zary to the life; the same calm, philosophic features, the same
great round eyes like those of a Persian cat. It all came back to Fenwick
now, the whole horror of the situation. His head whirled, and spots
seemed to dance before his eyes; a string snapped somewhere in his brain.
Zary was behind him, he thought, close behind him like an avenging fury.

With a horrid scream, Fenwick tumbled up the stairs on to the slippery
deck. All round him was a wild waste of white waters. The ship heeled
over as Fenwick darted to the side....

CHAPTER XXVIII

EXPLANATIONS

Night was beginning to fight with morning by the time that Venner
returned to Merton Grange. There was no one to be seen; the house was in
total darkness, so that Venner placed the motor in the stable and
returned to his own rooms. On the whole, he was disposed to congratulate
himself upon the result of his night's work. It mattered very little to
himself or anybody else what became of Fenwick, now he was once out of
the way. He was never likely to trouble them again, and as far as Venner
could see, he was now in a position openly to claim his wife before all
the world.

Despite his feeling of happiness, Venner slept but badly, and a little
after ten o'clock the next morning found him back at Merton Grange. Evors
greeted him cordially, with the information that he alone was up as yet,
and that the others had doubtless taken advantage of the opportunity to
get a good night's rest.

"And you will see, my dear fellow," he said, "how necessary such a thing
is. Goodness knows how long it is since I went to bed with my mind
absolutely at rest. The same remark applies with equal force to Miss Le
Fenu--I mean your wife."

"I can quite understand that," Venner said. "It has been much the same
with me, though I must confess that I was so happy last night that I
could not sleep at all. By the way, have you any information as to your
father's movements? He probably knows by this time that his house has
been given over to a gang of swindlers."

"He does," Evors said. "I have had a telegram from him this morning to
say that he will be home some time in the course of the day; and, to tell
the truth, I am looking forward with some dread to meeting my father. But
I think I shall be able to convince him now that I am in earnest and that
I am anxious to settle down in the old place and take my share in the
working of the estate. When my father sees Beth and knows her story, I am
sanguine that he will give us a welcome, and that my adventures will be
over. I want him to meet Beth down here, and last night after you had
gone, and we were talking matters over, Vera promised to go up to town
to-day and fetch her sister. By the way, what has become of your
friend--Gurdon, I think his name is? I mean the fellow who very nearly
lost his life the night he fell down the cellar trap and found himself
landed in the house in Portsmouth Square."

"Oh, Gurdon's all right," Venner laughed.

"I hope you will have the chance of making his acquaintance in the
course of the day. You seem to have been in Charles Le Fenu's
confidence for some time--tell me, why all that mystery about the house
in Portsmouth Square? Of course, I don't mean Le Fenu's reason for
calling himself Bates, and all that kind of thing, because that was
perfectly obvious. Under the name of Bates he was lying low and
maturing his plans for crushing Fenwick. As a matter of fact, Fenwick
was almost too much for him. Indeed, he would have been if Gurdon and
myself had not interfered and given both of you a chance to escape. It
was a very neat idea of Fenwick's to kidnap a man and keep him a
prisoner in his own house."

"Yes," Evors said. "And he used his own house for illegal purposes. But
before I answer your question, let me ask you one. Why was Gurdon
prowling about Portsmouth Square that night?"

"That is quite easily explained," Venner replied. "I sent him. To go back
to the beginning of things, I have to revert to the night when I first
saw Mark Fenwick at the Great Empire Hotel, posing as a millionaire, and
having for company a girl who passed as his daughter. Seeing that this
pseudo Miss Fenwick was my own wife, you can imagine how interested I
was. She has already told in your hearing the reason why she left me on
our wedding day, and if I am satisfied with those reasons it is nothing
to do with anybody. As a matter of fact, I am satisfied with them, and
there is no more to be said; but when I ran against Vera again at the
hotel I knew nothing of past events, and I made an effort to find out the
cause of her apparently strange conduct. In a way, she was fighting
against me; she would tell me nothing, and I had to find out everything
for myself. On the night in question I sent Gurdon to Portsmouth Square,
and he had the misfortune to betray himself."

"It nearly ended in his death," Evors said, soberly. "Charles Le Fenu
was very bitter just about that time. You can quite understand how it
was that he mistook Gurdon for one of Fenwick's spies. But why did he
go there?"

"He followed my wife, and there you have the simple explanation of the
whole thing. But you have not yet told me why those two or three rooms
were furnished in the empty house."

"Who told you about that?" Evors asked.

"What a chap you are to ask questions! We got into the empty house after
the so-called Bates was supposed to have been kidnapped, and to our
surprise we found that all that fine furniture had vanished. There was no
litter of straw or sign of removal outside, so we came to the conclusion
that it had been conveyed from one house to the other. After a good deal
of trouble, we lit upon a moveable panel, and by means of it entered the
house where you and Le Fenu were practically prisoners. We were on the
premises when you managed to get the better of that man in the carpet
slippers and his companion; we heard all that took place in the
drawing-room between Fenwick and Beth and Le Fenu. In fact, we aided and
abetted in getting the police into the house. You will recollect how
cleverly Le Fenu managed the rest, and how he and you got away from the
house without causing any scandal. That was very smartly done. But come,
are you going to tell me the story of the empty house, and why it was
partly furnished?"

"I think I can come to that now," Evors said. "The whole thing was born
in the ingenious brain of Felix Zary. He was going to lay some sort of
trap for Fenwick, but we shall never know what it was now, because Fate
has disposed of Fenwick in some other way. Now, won't you sit down and
have some breakfast with me?"

At the same moment Vera came in. Familiar as her features were and well
as Venner knew her, there was a brightness and sweetness about her now
that he had never noticed before. The cloud seemed to have lifted from
her face; her eyes were no longer sad and sombre--they were beaming with
happiness.

"I am so glad you have come," she said. "We want you to know all that
happened last night after you had gone."

Venner explained that he knew pretty well all that had taken place, as
he had been having it all out with Evors. What he wanted now was to get
Vera to himself, and presently he had his way.

"We are going for a long walk," he said, "where I have something serious
to say to you. Now that you have no longer any troubles on your
shoulders, I can be very firm with you--"

"Not just yet," Vera laughed. "Later on you can be as firm as you like,
and we are not going for a long walk either. We shall just have time to
get to the station and catch the 11.15 to Victoria. I am going up to
London to-day to bring Beth down here. I think the change will do her
good. Of course, we can't remain in the house, so I have taken rooms for
the three of us at a farm close by. When Beth has had everything
explained to her and knows that the man she loves is free, you will see a
change for the better in the poor child. There is nothing really the
matter with her mind, and when she realises her happiness she will soon
be as well as any of us. You will come with me to London, Gerald?"

"My dearest girl, of course I will," Venner said. "I will do anything you
like. Let us get these things pushed through as speedily as possible, so
that we can start on our honeymoon, which has been delayed for a trifling
matter of three years, and you cannot say that I have been unduly
impatient."

Vera raised herself on her toes and threw her arms round her husband's
neck. She kissed him twice. There were tears in her eyes, but there was
nothing but happiness behind the tears, as Venner did not fail to notice.

"You have been more than good," she whispered. "Ah, if you only knew how
I have missed you, how terrified I was lest you should take me at my word
and abandon me to my fate, as you had every right to do. And yet, all the
time, I had a curious feeling that you trusted me, though I dared not
communicate with you and tell you where you could send me so much as a
single line. I was fearful lest a passionate appeal from you should turn
me from my purpose. You see, I had pledged myself to fight the battle for
Beth and her lover, and for the best part of three years I did so. And
the strangest part of it all is that you, my husband, from whom I
concealed everything, should be the very one who eventually struck
straight to the heart of the mystery."

"Yes, that's all right enough," Venner smiled, "but why could not you
have confided in me in the first instance? Do you think that I should
have refused to throw myself heart and soul into the affair and do my
best to help those who were dear to you?"

"I suppose I lost my head," Vera murmured. "But do not let us waste too
much time regretting the last three years; and do not let us waste too
much time at all, or we shall lose our train."

"That is bringing one back to earth with a vengeance," Venner laughed.
"But come along and let us get all the business over, and we can look
eagerly forward to the pleasure of afterwards."

It was all done at length--the long explanation was made in the West End
doctor's drawing-room, and at length Beth seemed to understand the
complicated story that was told her. She listened very carefully, her
questions were well chosen; then she flung herself face downwards on the
couch where she was seated and burst into a passion of weeping. Vera
held her head tenderly, and made a sign to Venner that he should leave
them together.

"This is the best thing that could happen," she whispered. "If you will
come back in an hour's time you will see an entirely different girl.
Don't speak to her now."

It was exactly as Vera had predicted, for when Venner returned presently
to the drawing-room, he found a bright, alert little figure clad in furs
and eager for her journey. She danced across the room to Venner and held
up her lips for him to kiss them.

"I understand it all now," she cried. "Vera has told me absolutely
everything. How good and noble it was of her to sacrifice her happiness
for the sake of Charles and myself, and how wicked I must have been ever
to think that Charles could have been guilty of that dreadful crime. Ever
since then there has been a kind of cloud over my mind, a certain sense
of oppression that made everything dim before my eyes. I could not feel,
I could not even shed a tear. I seemed to be all numb and frozen, and
when the tears came just now, all the ice melted away and I became myself
again. Don't you think I look quite different?"

"I think you look as if you would be all the better for a lot of care and
fussing," Venner said. "You want to go to some warm spot and be petted
like a child. Now let us go and say good-bye to these good friends of
yours and get down to Canterbury. There is somebody waiting for you there
who will bring back the roses to your pale cheeks a great deal better
than I can."

"Isn't Mr. Gurdon coming with us?" Vera asked.

"He can't" Venner explained. "I've just been telephoning to him, and he
says that he can't come down till the last train. He will just look in
presently after dinner--he is sharing my rooms with me. But hadn't we
better get along?"

Canterbury was reached at length, and then Merton Grange, where Le Fenu
and Evors were waiting in the portico. Lord Merton had not yet arrived:
indeed, Evors explained that it was very uncertain whether he would get
there that night or not.

"Not that it makes much difference," he said, eagerly. "Of course, you
will all dine with me. For my part, I can't see why you shouldn't stay
here altogether."

"What?" Vera cried, "without a chaperon?"

"I like that," Le Fenu exclaimed. "What do you call yourself? Have you
so soon forgotten the fact that you are a staid married woman? What do
you think of that, Venner?"

Vera laughed and blushed softly; she was not thinking so much now of her
own happiness as of the expression of joy and delight on the face of her
sister. Beth had hung back a little shyly from Evors as they crossed the
hall, and he, in his turn, was constrained and awkward. Very cleverly
Vera managed to detach her husband and her brother from the others.

"Let them go into the dining-room," she whispered. "It doesn't matter
what becomes of us."

"But is she really equal to the excitement of it?" Le Fenu asked,
anxiously. "She must have had an exceedingly trying day."

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