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Page 17
"Hello, there!" he called.
No answer. The sound ceased. The runner had evidently taken to the
silent going of the turf. Fitzgerald came to a stand. Should he go on
or return to the hotel? Whoever was running had no right here.
Fitzgerald rarely carried arms, at least in civilized countries; a
stout cane was the best weapon for general purposes. He swung this
lightly.
"I am going on. I should like to see the library."
He was not overfond of unknown dangers in the night; but he possessed a
keen ear and a sharp pair of eyes, being a good hunter. A poacher,
possibly. At any rate, he determined to go forward and ring the bell.
Both the park and the house were old. Some of those well-trimmed pines
had scored easily a hundred and fifty years, and the oak, standing
before the house and dividing the view into halves, was older still.
No iron deer or marble lion marred the lawn which he was now
traversing; a sign of good taste. Gardeners had been at work here, men
who knew their business thoroughly. He breathed the odor of trampled
pine needles mingled with the harsher essence of the sea. It was tonic.
In summer the place would be beautiful. The house itself was built on
severe and simple lines. It was quite apparent that in no time of its
history had it been left to run down. The hall and lower left wing
were lighted, but the inner blinds and curtains were drawn. He did not
waste any time. It was exactly eight o'clock when he stepped up to the
door and pulled the ancient wire bell. At once he saw signs of life.
The broad door opened, and an English butler, having scrutinized his
face, silently motioned him to be seated. The young man in search of
an adventure selected the far end of the hall seat and dandled his hat.
An English butler was a good beginning. Perhaps three minutes passed,
then the door to the library opened and a young woman came out.
Fitzgerald stood up.
Yes, it was she.
"So you have come?" There was welcome neither in her tone nor face,
nor was there the suggestion of any other sentiment.
"Yes. I am not sure that I gave you my name, Miss Killigrew." He was
secretly confused over this enigmatical reception.
She nodded. She had been certain that, did he come at all, he would
come in the knowledge of who she was.
"I am John Fitzgerald," he said.
She thought for a space. "Are you the Mr. Fitzgerald who wrote the
long article recently on the piracy in the Chinese Seas?"
"Yes," full of wonder.
Interest began to stir her face. "It turns out, then, rather better
than I expected. I can see that you are puzzled. I picked you out of
many yesterday, on impulse, because you had the sang-froid necessary to
carry out your jest to the end."
"I am glad that I am not here under false colors. What I did yesterday
was, as you say, a jest. But, on the other hand, are you not playing
me one in kind? I have much curiosity."
"I shall proceed to allay it, somewhat. This will be no jest. Did you
come armed?"
"Oh, indeed, no!" smiling.
She rather liked that. "I was wondering if you did not believe this to
be some silly intrigue."
"I gave thought to but two things: that you were jesting, or that you
were in need of a gentleman as well as a man of courage. Tell me, what
is the danger, and why do you ask me if I am armed?" It occurred to
him that her own charm and beauty might be the greatest danger he could
possibly face. More and more grew the certainty that he had seen her
somewhere in the past.
"Ah, if I only knew what the danger was. But that it exists I am
positive. Within the past two weeks, on odd nights, there have been
strange noises here and there about the house, especially in the
chimney. My father, being slightly deaf, believes that these sounds
are wholly imaginative on my part. This is the first spring in years
we have resided here. It is really our summer home. I am not more
than normally timorous. Some one we do not know enters the house at
will. How or why I can't unravel. Nothing has ever disappeared,
either money, jewels, or silver, though I have laid many traps. There
is the huge fireplace in the library, and my room is above. I have
heard a tapping, like some one hammering gently on stone. I have
examined the bricks and so has my father, but neither of us has
discovered anything. Three days ago I placed flour thinly on the
flagstone before the fireplace. There were footprints in the
morning--of rubber shoes. When I called in my father, the maid had
unfortunately cleaned the stone without observing anything. So my
father still holds that I am subject to dreams. His secretary, whom he
had for three years, has left him. The butler's and servants' quarters
are in the rear of the other wing. They have never been disturbed."
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