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Sir Arthur Conan Doyle >> The Doings Of Raffles Haw
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9 This eBook was produced by Lionel G. Sear of Truro, Cornwall, England
THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW
Arthur Conan Doyle
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
1. A DOUBLE ENIGMA
2. THE TENANT OF THE NEW HALL.
3. A HOUSE OF WONDERS.
4. FROM CLIME TO CLIME.
5. LAURA'S REQUEST
6. A STRANGE VISITOR
7. THE WORKINGS OF WEALTH.
8. A BILLIONAIRE'S PLANS.
9. A NEW DEPARTURE
10. THE GREAT SECRET
11. A CHEMICAL DEMONSTRATION.
12. A FAMILY JAR.
13. A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE
14. THE SPREAD OF THE BLIGHT.
15. THE GREATER SECRET.
CHAPTER I.
A DOUBLE ENIGMA.
"I'm afraid that he won't come," said Laura McIntyre, in a disconsolate
voice.
"Why not?"
"Oh, look at the weather; it is something too awful."
As she spoke a whirl of snow beat with a muffled patter against the cosy
red-curtained window, while a long blast of wind shrieked and whistled
through the branches of the great white-limbed elms which skirted the
garden.
Robert McIntyre rose from the sketch upon which he had been working, and
taking one of the lamps in his hand peered out into the darkness. The
long skeleton limbs of the bare trees tossed and quivered dimly amid the
whirling drift. His sister sat by the fire, her fancy-work in her lap,
and looked up at her brothers profile which showed against the brilliant
yellow light. It was a handsome face, young and fair and clear cut,
with wavy brown hair combed backwards and rippling down into that
outward curve at the ends which one associates with the artistic
temperament. There was refinement too in his slightly puckered eyes,
his dainty gold-rimmed _pince-nez_ glasses, and in the black velveteen
coat which caught the light so richly upon its shoulder. In his mouth
only there was something--a suspicion of coarseness, a possibility of
weakness--which in the eyes of some, and of his sister among them,
marred the grace and beauty of his features. Yet, as he was wont
himself to say, when one thinks that each poor mortal is heir to a
legacy of every evil trait or bodily taint of so vast a line of
ancestors, lucky indeed is the man who does not find that Nature
has scored up some long-owing family debt upon his features.
And indeed in this case the remorseless creditor had gone so far as to
exact a claim from the lady also, though in her case the extreme beauty
of the upper part of the face drew the eye away from any weakness which
might be found in the lower. She was darker than her brother--so dark
that her heavily coiled hair seemed to be black until the light
shone slantwise across it. The delicate, half-petulant features, the
finely traced brows, and the thoughtful, humorous eyes were all perfect
in their way, and yet the combination left something to be desired.
There was a vague sense of a flaw somewhere, in feature or in
expression, which resolved itself, when analysed, into a slight
out-turning and droop of the lower lip; small indeed, and yet pronounced
enough to turn what would have been a beautiful face into a merely
pretty one. Very despondent and somewhat cross she looked as she leaned
back in the armchair, the tangle of bright-coloured silks and of drab
holland upon her lap, her hands clasped behind her head, with her snowy
forearms and little pink elbows projecting on either side.
"I know he won't come," she repeated.
"Nonsense, Laura! Of course he'll come. A sailor and afraid of the
weather!"
"Ha!" She raised her finger, and a smile of triumph played over her
face, only to die away again into a blank look of disappointment.
"It is only papa," she murmured.
A shuffling step was heard in the hall, and a little peaky man, with his
slippers very much down at the heels, came shambling into the room.
Mr. McIntyre, sen., was pale and furtive-looking, with a thin straggling
red beard shot with grey, and a sunken downcast face. Ill-fortune
and ill-health had both left their marks upon him. Ten years before he
had been one of the largest and richest gunmakers in Birmingham, but a
long run of commercial bad luck had sapped his great fortune, and had
finally driven him into the Bankruptcy Court. The death of his wife on
the very day of his insolvency had filled his cup of sorrow, and he had
gone about since with a stunned, half-dazed expression upon his weak
pallid face which spoke of a mind unhinged. So complete had been his
downfall that the family would have been reduced to absolute poverty
were it not for a small legacy of two-hundred a year which both the
children had received from one of their uncles upon the mother's side
who had amassed a fortune in Australia. By combining their incomes, and
by taking a house in the quiet country district of Tamfield, some
fourteen miles from the great Midland city, they were still able
to live with some approach to comfort. The change, however, was a
bitter one to all--to Robert, who had to forego the luxuries dear to his
artistic temperament, and to think of turning what had been merely an
overruling hobby into a means of earning a living; and even more to
Laura, who winced before the pity of her old friends, and found the
lanes and fields of Tamfield intolerably dull after the life and bustle
of Edgbaston. Their discomfort was aggravated by the conduct of their
father, whose life now was one long wail over his misfortunes, and who
alternately sought comfort in the Prayer-book and in the decanter for
the ills which had befallen him.
To Laura, however, Tamfield presented one attraction, which was now
about to be taken from her. Their choice of the little country hamlet
as their residence had been determined by the fact of their old
friend, the Reverend John Spurling, having been nominated as the vicar.
Hector Spurling, the elder son, two months Laura's senior, had been
engaged to her for some years, and was, indeed, upon the point of
marrying her when the sudden financial crash had disarranged their
plans. A sub-lieutenant in the Navy, he was home on leave at present,
and hardly an evening passed without his making his way from the
Vicarage to Elmdene, where the McIntyres resided. To-day, however, a
note had reached them to the effect that he had been suddenly ordered on
duty, and that he must rejoin his ship at Portsmouth by the next
evening. He would look in, were it but for half-an-hour, to bid them
adieu.
"Why, where's Hector?" asked Mr. McIntyre, blinking round from side to
side.
"He's not come, father. How could you expect him to come on such a
night as this? Why, there must be two feet of snow in the glebe field."
"Not come, eh?" croaked the old man, throwing himself down upon the
sofa. "Well, well, it only wants him and his father to throw us over,
and the thing will be complete"
"How can you even hint at such a thing, father?" cried Laura
indignantly. "They have been as true as steel. What would they think
if they heard you"
"I think, Robert," he said, disregarding his daughter's protest, "that I
will have a drop, just the very smallest possible drop, of brandy. A
mere thimbleful will do; but I rather think I have caught cold during
the snowstorm to-day."
Robert went on sketching stolidly in his folding book, but Laura looked
up from her work.
"I'm afraid there is nothing in the house, father," she said.
"Laura! Laura!" He shook his head as one more in sorrow than in anger.
"You are no longer a girl, Laura; you are a woman, the manager of a
household, Laura. We trust in you. We look entirely towards you.
And yet you leave your poor brother Robert without any brandy, to say
nothing of me, your father. Good heavens, Laura! what would your
mother have said? Think of accidents, think of sudden illness, think of
apoplectic fits, Laura. It is a very grave res--a very grave respons--a
very great risk that you run."
"I hardly touch the stuff," said Robert curtly; "Laura need not provide
any for me."
"As a medicine it is invaluable, Robert. To be used, you understand,
and not to be abused. That's the whole secret of it. But I'll step
down to the Three Pigeons for half an hour."
"My dear father" cried the young man "you surely are not going out upon
such a night. If you must have brandy could I not send Sarah for some?
Please let me send Sarah; or I would go myself, or--"
Pip! came a little paper pellet from his sister's chair on to the
sketch-book in front of him! He unrolled it and held it to the light.
"For Heaven's sake let him go!" was scrawled across it.
"Well, in any case, wrap yourself up warm," he continued, laying bare
his sudden change of front with a masculine clumsiness which horrified
his sister. "Perhaps it is not so cold as it looks. You can't lose
your way, that is one blessing. And it is not more than a hundred
yards."
With many mumbles and grumbles at his daughter's want of foresight, old
McIntyre struggled into his great-coat and wrapped his scarf round his
long thin throat. A sharp gust of cold wind made the lamps flicker as
he threw open the hall-door. His two children listened to the dull fall
of his footsteps as he slowly picked out the winding garden path.
"He gets worse--he becomes intolerable," said Robert at last.
"We should not have let him out; he may make a public exhibition of
himself."
"But it's Hector's last night," pleaded Laura. "It would be dreadful if
they met and he noticed anything. That was why I wished him to go."
"Then you were only just in time," remarked her brother, "for I hear the
gate go, and--yes, you see."
As he spoke a cheery hail came from outside, with a sharp rat-tat at the
window. Robert stepped out and threw open the door to admit a tall
young man, whose black frieze jacket was all mottled and glistening with
snow crystals. Laughing loudly he shook himself like a Newfoundland
dog, and kicked the snow from his boots before entering the little
lamplit room.
Hector Spurling's profession was written in every line of his face. The
clean-shaven lip and chin, the little fringe of side whisker, the
straight decisive mouth, and the hard weather-tanned cheeks all
spoke of the Royal Navy. Fifty such faces may be seen any night of the
year round the mess-table of the Royal Naval College in Portsmouth
Dockyard--faces which bear a closer resemblance to each other than
brother does commonly to brother. They are all cast in a common mould,
the products of a system which teaches early self-reliance, hardihood,
and manliness--a fine type upon the whole; less refined and less
intellectual, perhaps, than their brothers of the land, but full
of truth and energy and heroism. In figure he was straight, tall, and
well-knit, with keen grey eyes, and the sharp prompt manner of a man who
has been accustomed both to command and to obey.
"You had my note?" he said, as he entered the room. "I have to go
again, Laura. Isn't it a bore? Old Smithers is short-handed, and wants
me back at once." He sat down by the girl, and put his brown hand
across her white one. "It won't be a very large order this time,"
he continued. "It's the flying squadron business--Madeira, Gibraltar,
Lisbon, and home. I shouldn't wonder if we were back in March."
"It seems only the other day that you landed." she answered.
"Poor little girl! But it won't be long. Mind you take good care of
her, Robert when I am gone. And when I come again, Laura, it will be
the last time mind! Hang the money! There are plenty who manage on
less. We need not have a house. Why should we? You can get very nice
rooms in Southsea at 2 pounds a week. McDougall, our paymaster, has
just married, and he only gives thirty shillings. You would not be
afraid, Laura?"
"No, indeed."
"The dear old governor is so awfully cautious. Wait, wait, wait, that's
always his cry. I tell him that he ought to have been in the Government
Heavy Ordnance Department. But I'll speak to him tonight. I'll talk
him round. See if I don't. And you must speak to your own governor.
Robert here will back you up. And here are the ports and the dates
that we are due at each. Mind that you have a letter waiting for me at
every one."
He took a slip of paper from the side pocket of his coat, but, instead
of handing it to the young lady, he remained staring at it with the
utmost astonishment upon his face.
"Well, I never!" he exclaimed. "Look here, Robert; what do you call
this?"
"Hold it to the light. Why, it's a fifty-pound Bank of England note.
Nothing remarkable about it that I can see."
"On the contrary. It's the queerest thing that ever happened to me. I
can't make head or tail of it."
"Come, then, Hector," cried Miss McIntyre with a challenge in her eyes.
"Something very queer happened to me also to-day. I'll bet a pair of
gloves that my adventure was more out of the common than yours, though I
have nothing so nice to show at the end of it."
"Come, I'll take that, and Robert here shall be the judge."
"State your cases." The young artist shut up his sketch-book, and
rested his head upon his hands with a face of mock solemnity.
"Ladies first! Go along Laura, though I think I know something
of your adventure already."
"It was this morning, Hector," she said. "Oh, by the way, the story will
make you wild. I had forgotten that. However, you mustn't mind,
because, really, the poor fellow was perfectly mad."
"What on earth was it?" asked the young officer, his eyes travelling
from the bank-note to his _fiancee_.
"Oh, it was harmless enough, and yet you will confess it was very queer.
I had gone out for a walk, but as the snow began to fall I took shelter
under the shed which the workmen have built at the near end of the great
new house. The men have gone, you know, and the owner is supposed to be
coming to-morrow, but the shed is still standing. I was sitting
there upon a packing-case when a man came down the road and stopped
under the same shelter. He was a quiet, pale-faced man, very tall and
thin, not much more than thirty, I should think, poorly dressed, but
with the look and bearing of a gentleman. He asked me one or two
questions about the village and the people, which, of course, I
answered, until at last we found ourselves chatting away in the
pleasantest and easiest fashion about all sorts of things. The time
passed so quickly that I forgot all about the snow until he drew my
attention to its having stopped for the moment. Then, just as I
was turning to go, what in the world do you suppose that he did?
He took a step towards me, looked in a sad pensive way into my face, and
said: `I wonder whether you could care for me if I were without a
penny.' Wasn't it strange? I was so frightened that I whisked out of
the shed, and was off down the road before he could add another word.
But really, Hector, you need not look so black, for when I look back at
it I can quite see from his tone and manner that he meant no harm. He
was thinking aloud, without the least intention of being offensive.
I am convinced that the poor fellow was mad."
"Hum! There was some method in his madness, it seems to me," remarked
her brother.
"There would have been some method in my kicking," said the lieutenant
savagely. "I never heard of a more outrageous thing in my life."
"Now, I said that you would be wild!" She laid her white hand upon the
sleeve of his rough frieze jacket. "It was nothing. I shall never see
the poor fellow again. He was evidently a stranger to this part of the
country. But that was my little adventure. Now let us have yours."
The young man crackled the bank-note between his fingers and thumb,
while he passed his other hand over his hair with the action of a man
who strives to collect himself.
"It is some ridiculous mistake," he said. "I must try and set it right.
Yet I don't know how to set about it either. I was going down to the
village from the Vicarage just after dusk when I found a fellow in a
trap who had got himself into broken water. One wheel had sunk into the
edge of the ditch which had been hidden by the snow, and the whole thing
was high and dry, with a list to starboard enough to slide him out of
his seat. I lent a hand, of course, and soon had the wheel in the road
again. It was quite dark, and I fancy that the fellow thought that I
was a bumpkin, for we did not exchange five words. As he drove off he
shoved this into my hand. It is the merest chance that I did not chuck
it away, for, feeling that it was a crumpled piece of paper, I imagined
that it must be a tradesman's advertisement or something of the kind.
However, as luck would have it, I put it in my pocket, and there I found
it when I looked for the dates of our cruise. Now you know as much of
the matter as I do."
Brother and sister stared at the black and white crinkled note with
astonishment upon their faces.
"Why, your unknown traveller must have been Monte Cristo, or Rothschild
at the least!" said Robert. "I am bound to say, Laura, that I think you
have lost your bet."
"Oh, I am quite content to lose it. I never heard of such a piece of
luck. What a perfectly delightful man this must be to know."
"But I can't take his money," said Hector Spurling, looking somewhat
ruefully at the note. "A little prize-money is all very well in its
way, but a Johnny must draw the line somewhere. Besides it must have
been a mistake. And yet he meant to give me something big, for
he could not mistake a note for a coin. I suppose I must advertise for
the fellow."
"It seems a pity too," remarked Robert. "I must say that I don't quite
see it in the same light that you do."
"Indeed I think that you are very Quixotic, Hector," said Laura
McIntyre. "Why should you not accept it in the spirit in which it was
meant? You did this stranger a service--perhaps a greater service than
you know of--and he meant this as a little memento of the occasion.
I do not see that there is any possible reason against your keeping it."
"Oh, come!" said the young sailor, with an embarrassed laugh, "it is not
quite the thing--not the sort of story one would care to tell at mess."
"In any case you are off to-morrow morning," observed Robert. "You have
no time to make inquiries about the mysterious Croesus. You must really
make the best of it."
"Well, look here, Laura, you put it in your work-basket," cried Hector
Spurling. "You shall be my banker, and if the rightful owner turns up
then I can refer him to you. If not, I suppose we must look on it as a
kind of salvage-money, though I am bound to say I don't feel entirely
comfortable about it." He rose to his feet, and threw the note down
into the brown basket of coloured wools which stood beside her.
"Now, Laura, I must up anchor, for I promised the governor to be back by
nine. It won't be long this time, dear, and it shall be the last.
Good-bye, Robert! Good luck!"
"Good-bye, Hector! _Bon voyage!_"
The young artist remained by the table, while his sister followed her
lover to the door. In the dim light of the hall he could see their
figures and overhear their words.
"Next time, little girl?"
"Next time be it, Hector."
"And nothing can part us?"
"Nothing."
"In the whole world?"
"Nothing."
Robert discreetly closed the door. A moment later a thud from without,
and the quick footsteps crunching on the snow told him that their
visitor had departed.
CHAPTER II.
THE TENANT OF THE NEW HALL.
The snow had ceased to fall, but for a week a hard frost had held the
country side in its iron grip. The roads rang under the horses' hoofs,
and every wayside ditch and runlet was a street of ice. Over the long
undulating landscape the red brick houses peeped out warmly against the
spotless background, and the lines of grey smoke streamed straight up
into the windless air. The sky was of the lightest palest blue, and the
morning sun, shining through the distant fog-wreaths of Birmingham,
struck a subdued glow from the broad-spread snow fields which might
have gladdened the eyes of an artist.
It did gladden the heart of one who viewed it that morning from the
summit of the gently-curving Tamfield Hill Robert McIntyre stood with
his elbows upon a gate-rail, his Tam-o'-Shanter hat over his eyes, and a
short briar-root pipe in his mouth, looking slowly about him, with the
absorbed air of one who breathes his fill of Nature. Beneath him to the
north lay the village of Tamfield, red walls, grey roofs, and a
scattered bristle of dark trees, with his own little Elmdene nestling
back from the broad, white winding Birmingham Road. At the other
side, as he slowly faced round, lay a vast stone building, white and
clear-cut, fresh from the builders' hands. A great tower shot up from
one corner of it, and a hundred windows twinkled ruddily in the
light of the morning sun. A little distance from it stood a second
small square low-lying structure, with a tall chimney rising from the
midst of it, rolling out a long plume of smoke into the frosty air.
The whole vast structure stood within its own grounds, enclosed by a
stately park wall, and surrounded by what would in time be an extensive
plantation of fir-trees. By the lodge gates a vast pile of _debris_,
with lines of sheds for workmen, and huge heaps of planks from
scaffoldings, all proclaimed that the work had only just been brought to
an end.
Robert McIntyre looked down with curious eyes at the broad-spread
building. It had long been a mystery and a subject of gossip for the
whole country side. Hardly a year had elapsed since the rumour had
first gone about that a millionaire had bought a tract of land,
and that it was his intention to build a country seat upon it. Since
then the work had been pushed on night and day, until now it was
finished to the last detail in a shorter time than it takes to build
many a six-roomed cottage. Every morning two long special trains had
arrived from Birmingham, carrying down a great army of labourers, who
were relieved in the evening by a fresh gang, who carried on their task
under the rays of twelve enormous electric lights. The number of
workmen appeared to be only limited by the space into which they could
be fitted. Great lines of waggons conveyed the white Portland stone
from the depot by the station. Hundreds of busy toilers handed it over,
shaped and squared, to the actual masons, who swung it up with steam
cranes on to the growing walls, where it was instantly fitted and
mortared by their companions. Day by day the house shot higher, while
pillar and cornice and carving seemed to bud out from it as if by magic.
Nor was the work confined to the main building. A large separate
structure sprang up at the same time, and there came gangs of pale-faced
men from London with much extraordinary machinery, vast cylinders,
wheels and wires, which they fitted up in this outlying building.
The great chimney which rose from the centre of it, combined with these
strange furnishings, seemed to mean that it was reserved as a factory or
place of business, for it was rumoured that this rich man's hobby was
the same as a poor man's necessity, and that he was fond of working with
his own hands amid chemicals and furnaces. Scarce, too, was the second
storey begun ere the wood-workers and plumbers and furnishers were busy
beneath, carrying out a thousand strange and costly schemes for the
greater comfort and convenience of the owner. Singular stories were
told all round the country, and even in Birmingham itself, of the
extraordinary luxury and the absolute disregard for money which marked
all these arrangements. No sum appeared to be too great to spend upon
the smallest detail which might do away with or lessen any of the petty
inconveniences of life. Waggons and waggons of the richest furniture
had passed through the village between lines of staring villagers.
Costly skins, glossy carpets, rich rugs, ivory, and ebony, and metal;
every glimpse into these storehouses of treasure had given rise to some
new legend. And finally, when all had been arranged, there had come a
staff of forty servants, who heralded the approach of the owner,
Mr. Raffles Haw himself.
It was no wonder, then, that it was with considerable curiosity that
Robert McIntyre looked down at the great house, and marked the smoking
chimneys, the curtained windows, and the other signs which showed that
its tenant had arrived. A vast area of greenhouses gleamed like a lake
on the further side, and beyond were the long lines of stables and
outhouses. Fifty horses had passed through Tamfield the week before, so
that, large as were the preparations, they were not more than would be
needed. Who and what could this man be who spent his money with so
lavish a hand? His name was unknown. Birmingham was as ignorant as
Tamfield as to his origin or the sources of his wealth. Robert McIntyre
brooded languidly over the problem as he leaned against the gate,
puffing his blue clouds of bird's-eye into the crisp, still air.
Suddenly his eye caught a dark figure emerging from the Avenue gates and
striding up the winding road. A few minutes brought him near enough to
show a familiar face looking over the stiff collar and from under the
soft black hat of an English clergyman.
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