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Page 47
He returned to it, however, and it was almost with the shock of a
new surprise he remembered that Peter Hardcastle, a man of European
repute, had just died in his house. But he could not in the least
realize the new tragedy. He had as yet barely grasped the truth
of his son-in-law's end, and still often found himself expecting
Tom's footfall and his jolly voice. That such an abundant vitality
was stilled, that such an infectious laugh would never sound again
on mortal ear he yet sometimes found it hard to believe.
But now it seemed that the impact of this second blow rammed home
the first. He brooded upon his dead son-in-law, and it was long
before he returned to the event of that day. A thought struck him,
and though elementary enough, it seemed to Sir Walter an important
conclusion. There could be no shadow of doubt that Tom May and
Peter Hardcastle had died by the same secret force. He felt that
he must remember this.
Again he puzzled, and then decided with himself that, if he meant
to keep sane, he must practice faith and trust in God. Septimus
May had said that such unparalleled things sometimes happened in
the world to try man's faith. Doubtless he was right.
Henceforth the old man determined to stand firmly on the side of
the supernatural with the priest. He went further, and blamed his
scepticism. It had cost the world a valuable life. He could not,
indeed, be censured for that in any court of inquiry. Sceptical
men would doubtless say that he had done rightly in refusing Mr.
May his experiment. But Sir Walter now convinced himself that he
had done wrongly. At such a time, with landmarks vanishing and
all accepted laws of matter resolved into chaos, there remained
only God to trust. Such a burden as this was not to be borne by
any mortal, and Sir Walter determined that he would not bear it.
Were we not told to cast our tribulations before the Almighty?
Here, if ever, was a situation beyond the power of human mind to
approach, unless a man walked humbly with his hand in his Maker's.
Septimus May had been emphatically right. Sir Walter repeated
this conviction to himself again and again, like a child.
He descended to details presently. The hidden being, that it had
been implicitly agreed could only operate by night in the Grey Room,
proved equally potent under noonday sun. But why should it be
otherwise? To limit its activities was to limit its powers, and
the Almighty alone knew what powers had been granted to it. He
shrank from further inquiries or investigations on any but a
religious basis. He was now convinced that no natural explanation
would exist for what had happened in the Grey Room, and he
believed that only through the paths of Christian faith would
peace return to him or his house.
Then the present dropped out of his thoughts. They wandered into
the past, and he concerned himself with his wife. She it was who
had taught him to care for foreign travel. Until his marriage he
had hardly left England, save when yachting with friends, and an
occasional glimpse of a Mediterranean port was all that Sir Walter
knew of the earth outside his own country. But he remembered with
gratitude the opportunities won from her. He had taken her round
the world, and found himself much the richer in great memories for
that experience.
He was still thinking when Mary found him, with his old dog asleep
at his feet. She brought him a coat and umbrella, for the
threatened storm advanced swiftly under clouds laden with rain.
Reluctantly enough he returned to the present. A telegram had been
received from London, directing Dr. Mannering to reach the nearest
telephone and communicate direct. The doctor was gone to Newton
Abbot, and nothing could be done until he came back. Not knowing
what had occupied Sir Walter's mind, Mary urged him to leave
Chadlands without delay.
"Put the place into the hands of the police and take me with you,"
she said. "Nothing can be gained by our stopping, and, after this,
it is certain the authorities will not rest until they have made a
far more searching examination than has ever yet been carried out.
They will feel this disaster a challenge."
"Thankfully I would go," he answered. "Most thankfully I would
avoid what is hanging over my head. It was terrible enough when
your dear husband died; but now we shall be the centre of interest
to half England. Every instinct cries to me to get out of it, but
obviously that is impossible, even were I permitted to do so. It
is the duty of the police to suspect every man and woman under my
roof--myself with the rest. These appalling things have occurred
in my home, and I must bear the brunt of them and stand up to all
that they mean. No Lennox ever ran from his duty, however painful
it might be. The death of this man--so eminent in his calling--
will attract tremendous attention and be, as you say, a sort of
direct challenge to the authorities for whom he worked. They will
resent this second tragedy, and with good reason. The poor man,
though I cannot pretend that I admired him, was a force for good
in the world, and his peculiar genius was devoted to the detection
of crime and punishment of criminals--a very worthy occupation,
however painful to our ideas."
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