Books: The Mystery of the Four Fingers

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"I am quite sure that she is perfectly safe," Vera said. "Of course, she
was terribly excited and upset at first, but she was quite calm and
rational all the way down, as Gerald will tell you. All Beth wants now is
quiet and change, and to feel that her troubles are over. Let's go and
have tea in that grand old hall. If the others don't care to come in to
tea we will try not to be offended."

The others did not come in to tea, neither were they seen till it was
nearly time to dress for dinner. Assuredly Vera had proved a true
prophet, for Beth's shy, quiet air of happiness indicated that she had
suffered nothing through the events of the day. It was a very quiet meal
they had later on, but none the less pleasant for that. Dinner had come
to an end and the cigarettes were on the table before Gurdon appeared. He
carried a copy of an evening paper in his hand, and despite his usual air
of calmness and indifference, there was just the suspicion of excitement
about him that caused Venner to stand up and reach for the paper.

"You have news there for us, I am sure," he said. "I think we are all in
a position to stand anything you like to tell us."

"You have guessed it correctly," Gurdon said. "It is all here in the
_Evening Herald_."

"What is all here?" Le Fenu demanded.

"Can't you guess?" Gurdon asked. "I see you can't. It is the dramatic
conclusion, the only conclusion of the story. Our late antagonist,
Fenwick, has committed suicide!"

CHAPTER XXIX

THIS MORTAL COIL

It cannot be said that Gurdon's announcement caused any particular
sensation. To all of those who knew anything about the inner history of
the Four Finger Mine the conclusion appeared to be perfectly logical. It
was Venner who mentioned the secret of the mine before anybody had even
the curiosity to ask to see the paper.

"Do you think that this has been the outcome of anything that Zary did?"
he asked Le Fenu. "You see, as far as I am concerned, I was only in the
mine once or twice, and before your father's death my knowledge of its
romantic history was limited. I can't altogether bring myself to believe
that the mine was haunted by avenging spirits and all that kind of thing.
In this twentieth century of ours, one is naturally very cynical about
such matters."

"I really cannot tell you," Le Fenu replied. "Of course there must be
human agency afoot. Zary always declared that he was the last of his
tribe, and when he died the secret of the mine would belong to our family
alone. As a matter of fact, my father died first, so that Zary alone is
in possession of the strange secret of that dread place. One thing is
very certain. It was none of us who took vengeance on the Dutchman who
murdered my father. Who was responsible for that I do not know. Still,
there was something very terrible and awe-striking about the way in which
the Dutchman's fingers returned to his wife, one by one. I should like to
have known, also, how Fenwick lost his fingers. But Zary would never tell
me. I think he professed that it had been done through the agency of the
spirits of his departed ancestors, who guarded the mine. Mind you, I
don't say that it is impossible, for we are beginning to understand that
there are hidden forces in Nature which till quite recently were a sealed
book to us. It is no use speculating about the matter, because we shall
never know. Zary has been always fond of us, but I have a feeling now
that we shall never see him again. I believe he came to England on
purpose to accomplish the death of Mark Fenwick, and you may rely upon it
that he will vanish now without making any further sign."

"That is more than possible," Gurdon said, thoughtfully; "but so far as I
can judge from what this paper says, Fenwick's death seems to have been
prosaic enough. Perhaps I had better read you the account in the
newspaper."

Without waiting for any further permission, Gurdon began to read aloud:--

"STRANGE SUICIDE IN THE CHANNEL.

"DEATH OF MR. MARK FENWICK.

"Late this afternoon the barque _British Queen_ put back into the Port of
London with the schooner _Red Cross_ in tow. It appears that the barque
in question was bound for the River Plate, and had dropped down the river
with the morning tide. Outside the mouth of the Thames she had
encountered exceedingly squally weather, so much so that she had lost a
considerable amount of running gear owing to the gusty and uncertain
condition of the wind. About eleven o'clock in the morning an extra
violent squall struck the vessel, and the skipper, Luther Jones, decided
to put back again and wait till the next tide. It was at this point that
the _Red Cross_ was sighted making signals of distress. At considerable
hazard to himself and his crew the skipper of the _British Queen_ managed
to get the schooner in tow, and worked her up the river on a short sail.
This in itself is simply an incident illustrating the perils of the sea,
and merely leads up to the dramatic events which follow. It appears,
according to Captain Jones' statement, that very early this morning a man
called upon him in a public-house and demanded to know what he would
require for a passage to the River Plate. Satisfactory terms having been
arranged, the stranger came aboard the _British Queen_ and immediately
repaired to his bunk. So far as the captain could see, his passenger was
exceedingly reticent, and desirous of avoiding publicity; in fact, the
skipper of the _British Queen_ put him down as a fugitive from justice.
All the same he asked no questions; presumably he had been well content
to hold his tongue in return for a liberal fee in the way of passage
money. So far as Captain Jones knows, his passenger slept comfortably
enough, and it is quite evident that he partook of breakfast in the
morning. What happened subsequently, it is somewhat difficult to say, for
Captain Jones was busy on his own deck looking after the safety of his
ship. These events took place shortly before the _Red Cross_ was sighted.

"It was at this time that Captain Jones believes that he heard a shrill
scream coming from the cabin, as if his passenger had met with an
accident, or had been frightened by something out of the common. He came
on deck a moment later, looking like a man who had developed a dangerous
mania. He seemed to be flying from some unseen terror, and, indeed, gave
every indication suggestive of the conclusion that he was suffering from
a severe attack of _delirium tremens_. Captain Jones does not share this
view, though it is generally accepted by his crew. Before anybody could
interfere or stretch out a hand to detain the unfortunate man, he had
reached the side of the vessel and thrown himself into the tremendous sea
which was running at the time. It was absolutely out of the question to
make any attempt to save him, though, naturally, Captain Jones did what
he could. Then occurred one of the strange things which so frequently
happen at sea. Five minutes later a great wave breaking over the foredeck
cast some black object at the feet of Captain Jones, which object turned
out to be the body of the unhappy suicide. The man was quite dead;
indeed, he had sustained enough bodily injuries to cause death, without
taking drowning into consideration.

"As before stated, Captain Jones came in contact with the _Red Cross_ a
little later, and on reaching the safety of the Pool he immediately
communicated with the police, who took possession of the body of the
suicide. On Scotland Yard being communicated with, a detective was sent
down and immediately recognised the body as that of Mr. Mark Fenwick, the
American millionaire.

"No doubt is entertained that the police officer is right, as Mr. Fenwick
was well-known to thousands of people in London, not only on account of
his wealth, but owing, also, to his remarkable personal appearance. At
the present moment the body lies in a public-house by the side of the
Thames, and an inquest will be held in the morning.

"Later.--Since going to press, we hear that startling developments are
expected in the matter of the suicide of Mr. Mark Fenwick. On excellent
authority we are informed that the police hold a warrant for the arrest
of Fenwick and others, on a series of criminal charges, among which that
of uttering counterfeit coin is not the least prominent. If these facts
prove to be correct, it will be easy to see why Mr. Fenwick was
attempting to leave the country in fugitive fashion. Further details will
appear in a later edition."

"That is the whole of the story," Gurdon said when he had concluded. "On
the whole, I should say that Mark Fenwick is very well out of it. He has
had a pretty fair innings, but Fate has been too strong for him in the
long run. It is just as well, too, that he has escaped his punishment--I
mean, for your sakes, more than anything else. If that man had been put
upon his trial, a charge of murder would have been added sooner or later,
and you would have all been dragged from police court to criminal court
to give evidence over and over again. In fact, you would have been the
centre of an unpleasant amount of vulgar curiosity. As it is, the inquest
will be more or less of a formal affair, and the public will never know
that Fenwick has been anything more than a common swindler."

Venner was emphatically of the same view; personally, he was exceedingly
glad to think that the knot had been cut in this fashion and that the
unpleasant business was ended. He discussed the matter thoughtfully with
Gurdon as he and the latter walked in the direction of his rooms, for he
had refused to spend the night at Merton Grange, though Vera, of
necessity, had arranged to stay there.

"I suppose one ought to be thankful," he said, "that matters are no
worse. Still, at the same time, I must confess that I should like to
have a few words with Zary. I wonder if we could get him to take us back
to Mexico with a view to exploring the Four Finger Mine. After all said
and done, it seems a pity that that rich treasure house should be lost
to the world."

"Better leave it alone," Gurdon said. "It makes me creep when I think of
it. All the same, I am with you in one thing. I should certainly like to
see Zary again."

Gurdon and his companion were destined to have their wish gratified
sooner than they had expected. They let themselves into the farmhouse
where they were staying, and Venner turned up the lamp in the big
rambling sitting-room. There, half-asleep in a chair before the fire, sat
the very man whom they had been discussing. He appeared to be heavy with
sleep--his melancholy eyes opened slowly as he turned to the newcomers.

"You have been thinking about me," he said--"you have been wondering what
had become of me. We are strangers, and yet we are not strangers. Mr.
Venner is known to me, and Mr. Venner's wife also. I was aware that my
dear young mistress was his wife when it was still a secret to everybody
else. You are puzzled and mystified over the death of Mark Fenwick. Mr.
Gurdon has been reading an account to you from a newspaper."

"You are certainly a very remarkable man," Gurdon said. "As a matter of
fact, that is exactly what I have been doing. But tell me, Zary, how did
you know?"

"You have a great poet," Zary said, calmly and deliberately. "He was one
of the noblest philosophers of his time. I have read him, I hope to read
him again many times. His name is Shakespeare, and he says 'there are
more things in Heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy.'
Gentlemen, that is so, as you would know if you possessed the powers that
I do. But I could not explain--you would not understand, for your minds
are different from mine. I am going away; I shall never see my dear
friends again--for the last time we have met. And because I could not
endure a formal parting I have come to you to give them all a message
from me. It is only this, that I shall never cease to think of them
wherever I may be--but I need not dwell upon that. As to Fenwick, I did
not design that he should die so peaceful a death. I had gauged his mind
incorrectly; I had goaded him into a pitch of terror which drove him over
the border land and destroyed his reason. Therefore, he committed
suicide, and so he is finished with."

There was a pause for some time, until it became evident that Zary had no
more to say. He rose to his feet, and was advancing in the direction of
the door when Gurdon stopped him.

"Pardon me," the latter said, "but like most ordinary men, I am by no
means devoid of my fair share of curiosity. What is going to be done in
the matter of the Four Finger Mine?"

Zary's large round eyes seemed to emit flashes of light. His face had
grown hard and white like that of a statue.

"Well," he demanded, "what about the mine?"

"Why, you see, it practically belongs to Mr. Le Fenu's children," Gurdon
said. "In which case it should prove an exceedingly valuable property."

"The mine belongs to us, it belongs to me," Zary cried. "I am the last of
my tribe, and the secret shall die with me. Man, do you suppose that
happiness lies in the mere accumulation of money? I tell you that the
thing is a curse, one of the greatest curses that ever God laid on
humanity. To hundreds and thousands of us this life of ours on earth is a
veritable hell through the greed for gold. Of all the wars that have
brought pain and suffering to humanity, none has done a tithe of the harm
wrought by the incessant battle for the yellow metal which you call
gold. If there had been no such thing on earth, the tribe to which I
belong would to-day walk as gods amongst ordinary men. No, I shall do
nothing to pander to this disease. When I die the secret of the mine
perishes with me. Never more will man work there as long as I have the
health and strength to prevent it."

The latter part of Zary's speech had sunk almost to a whisper; he made a
profound bow to Venner and Gurdon, then left the room softly. He seemed
to vanish almost like the spirit of one of his departed ancestors, and
his place knew him no more.

"Curious man," Gurdon said, thoughtfully. "Very quiet and gentle as a
rule, but not the kind of person you would care to have as a foe. I have
a very strong feeling that none of us will ever see Felix Zary again.
Now, don't you think we can begin to forget all about this kind of thing?
Surely we have had enough horrors and mysteries, and I can only wonder at
the way in which those girls have borne up against all their troubles.
Tell me, what are you going to do? I mean as to your future."

"Upon my word, I really haven't given it a thought," Venner said. "It is
not very often that a man has the unique experience of being married
three years without a honeymoon, and without more than half an hour in
his wife's company. You can but feebly guess, my dear fellow, how
terribly I have suffered during the time to which I refer. Still, I
trusted my wife implicitly, though all the dictates of common-sense were
against me, and I am sincerely and heartily glad now that I took the line
I did. As soon as possible, I intend to take Vera away for a long tour on
the Continent. When I come back I shall have the old house done up again,
and, I suppose, settle down to the life of a country gentleman. But, of
course, I can't do anything till Beth's future is settled. I suppose, for
the present, she will go back again to Le Fenu's doctor friends, pending
her marriage with Charles Evors."

"The programme is all right," Gurdon said. "But suppose Lord Merton
objects to the arrangement?"

"I don't fancy that he will do that, from what I hear," Venner said. "All
the Evors have been wild in their youth, and the present lord is no
exception to the rule. Depend upon it, he will be very glad to have his
son back again, happily married, and eager to become domesticated.
Besides, from what I understand from Vera, her father worked the Four
Finger Mine to considerable advantage during his lifetime, and Beth is
something quite considerable in the way of an heiress. On the whole, I am
not disposed to worry. Now let us have one quiet cigar, and then go to
bed like a pair of average respectable citizens."

CHAPTER XXX

A PEACEFUL SUNSET

"Upon my word," Evors was saying to Beth, "I feel as nervous as an Eton
boy sent up to the head for a flogging. It is just the same sensation as
I used to enjoy in my schooldays; but I don't care what he says, I am
going to marry you whether he likes it or not, though, of course, he is
bound to like it. No one could look at that dear sweet little face of
yours without falling in love with you on the spot."

Beth demurely hoped so; she pretended an easy unconcern, though, on the
whole, she was perhaps more anxious than Evors, for the latter had
written to his father at some length explaining how matters stood, and
Lord Merton had telegraphed to say that he would be at home the following
afternoon. The afternoon had arrived in due course, and now the wheels of
his carriage might be heard at any moment. Vera and her husband were not
far off; they had promised to come in and give their moral support if it
became necessary.

"I don't see how he can possibly help liking you," Evors went on.
"Thank goodness, we shall be spared the trouble of making a long
explanation. If my father had been against the arrangement he probably
would have done something else besides telegraphing that he was coming;
but I don't care, it doesn't matter what he says, I have quite made up
my mind what to do."

"But you couldn't go against your father," Beth said, timidly.

"Oh, couldn't I? My dear girl, I have been doing nothing else all my
lifetime. I have been a most undutiful son, and I have no doubt that I
have come near to breaking my father's heart many a time, as he nearly
broke the heart of his father before him. In common fairness he will have
to admit that we Evors are all alike as young men; and, in any case, I
couldn't give you up, Beth. Just think how faithful you have been to me
all these years, when all the time it has seemed as if I had a terrible
crime on my conscience. Your father's death--"

Beth laid her little hand upon the speaker's mouth.

"Oh, hush, hush," she whispered. "I implore you never to speak of that
again. They told me, or, at least, that dreadful man told me, that you
had committed that awful deed. He gave me the most overwhelming proofs,
and when I demanded a chance to speak to you and hear from your own lips
that it was all a cruel lie, you were nowhere to be found. This, Fenwick
told me, was proof positive of your guilt. It was such a shock to me
that, for the time being, I lost my reason--at least, I did not exactly
lose my reason, but my brain just seemed to go to sleep in some strange
way. And yet, from first to last, I never believed a word that Mark
Fenwick said. There was always present the knowledge that your name would
be cleared at last, and the most gratifying part of it all is the
knowledge that there can be no scandal, no slanderous tongues to say that
there is no smoke without fire, and those wicked things that sound so
small and yet imply so much."

"Don't let us think of it. Let our minds dwell only on the happy future
that is before us. We shall be able to marry at once; then we can go and
live in the old Manor House by the park gates. The place is already
furnished, and needs very little doing up. Sooner or later you will be
mistress of this grand old home, though I hope that time may not come for
many years. It seems to me--"

But Beth was not attending. She seemed to be listening with more or less
fear to the sound of wheels crunching on the gravel outside. Evors had
hardly time to reassure her, when the door opened and Lord Merton came
in. He was a tall man of commanding presence, a little cold and
haughty-looking, though his lips indicated a genial nature, and he could
not altogether suppress the grave amusement in his eyes.

"This is an unconventional meeting," he said. "I received your letter,
Charles, and I am bound to say the contents would have astonished me
exceedingly had they been written by anybody but an Evors. But our
race has always been a law unto itself, with more or less disastrous
consequences. We have been a wild and reckless lot, but this is the
first time, so far as I know, that one of the tribe has been accused
of murder."

"It is a wicked lie," Beth burst out, passionately. She had forgotten all
her fears in her indignation. "My father was killed by the man Fenwick
and his colleagues. That has all been proved beyond a doubt!"

Lord Merton smiled down upon the flushed, indignant face. It was quite
evident that Beth had made a favorable impression upon him.

"I admire your loyalty and your pluck," he said. "My dear child, many
a woman has risked her happiness by marrying an Evors--not one of
them did so except in absolute defiance of the advice of their
friends. In every case it has been a desperate experiment, and yet, I
believe, in every case it has turned out perfectly happily. It was the
same with Charles's mother. It was the same with my mother. No Evors
ever asked permission of his sire to take unto himself a wife; no
Evors ever cared about social position. Still, at the same time, I am
glad to know that my boy has chosen a lady. When he was quite a young
man, I should not have been in the least surprised if he had come home
with a flaunting barmaid, or something exquisitely vulgar in the way
of a music hall artiste."

Beth laughed aloud. She had quite forgotten her fears now; she was
beginning rather to like this caustic old gentleman, whose cynical words
were belied by the smile in his eyes.

"I am very glad to know that you are satisfied with me," she said,
timidly: "It is good to know that."

"I suppose it would have been all the same in any case," Lord Merton
replied with a smile. "You would have married Charles and he would have
had to have earned his own living, which would have been an excellent
thing for him."

"Indeed, he wouldn't," Beth laughed. "Do you know, Lord Merton, that I am
quite a large heiress in my way. I am sure you won't mind my speaking
like this, but I feel so happy to-day that I hardly know what I am
saying. If you only knew the dread with which I have been looking forward
to meeting you--"

"Oh, they are all like that," Lord Merton laughed. "To strangers, I am
supposed to be a most terrible creature, but everybody on my estate knows
how lamentably weak I am. They all take advantage of me and bully me,
even down to the lads in the stable, and I won't disguise from you the
satisfaction I feel in the knowledge that you have money of your own. For
some considerable time past I have been severely economising with a view
to paying off some alarming mortgages on the estate, so that I should not
have been in a position to allow Charles much in the way of an income. It
will be my ambition when my time comes to hand you over the property
without a penny owing to anybody."

"May that day be a long way off, sir," Charles said, with feeling. "I
hope to assure you how I appreciate the noble manner in which you have
forgiven--"

"Say no more about it, say no more," Lord Merton said. He seemed to have
some little difficulty in the articulation of his words. "Let us shake
hands on the bargain and forget the past. I was profoundly interested in
your long letter, and I must confess to some little curiosity to see your
other friends, especially Mrs. Venner, who seems to have played so noble
a part in the story. I understand that she and her husband are down here.
I suppose you made them more or less comfortable, which must have been a
rather difficult undertaking in the circumstances. However, I have
arranged to have all the old servants back to-morrow, and it will be some
considerable time before I let the old house again. Now run away and
enjoy yourselves, and let us meet at dinner as if nothing had happened. I
don't want it to appear that there has been anything like a quarrel
between us."

So saying, Lord Merton turned and proceeded to his own room, leaving
Beth in a state of almost speechless admiration. It was so different from
anything she had expected, that she felt as if she could have cried for
pure happiness. The sun was shining outside; through the window she could
see the deer wandering in the park. It was good to know that the old dark
past was gone, and that the primrose path of happiness lay shining before
them. Presently, as they wandered out in the sunshine, Vera came on the
terrace and watched them. There was no need to tell her that the
interview with the master of the house had been a smooth one. She could
judge that by the way in which the lovers were walking side by side.
Venner came and stood by his wife's side.

"So that's all right," he said. "As far as one can judge, they have
managed to propitiate the ogre."

"What do you mean by calling a man an ogre in his own house?" the voice
of Lord Merton asked at the same moment. "For some few minutes I have
been keeping an eye on you two, but I suppose I must introduce myself,
though you will guess who I am. Mr. Venner, will you be good enough to do
me the honor of introducing me to your wife? I have heard a great deal of
her from my son. Mrs. Venner, if you will shake hands with me I shall
esteem it a great favor."

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