Yes, I did like Chalmers Warriner very much, and he seemed to have a head on him.

Doctor Marcy also left us. His patient had continued to improve, and of course he had his other practice to look after.

It was a pleasanter dinner than that of the night before inasmuch as John Thaneford was at "Thane Court," while Miss Trevor pleaded a headache and had tea and toast served in her room. But there was my Cousin Betty Graeme to do the honors of my board--how strange it still seemed to use the possessive p.r.o.noun!--with all possible grace and dignity. Also I had the pleasure of welcoming a new addition to the household, a Mrs. Anthony, an old family friend and Betty's G.o.dmother to boot. Circ.u.mstances had prevented her attendance at the funeral, but she had reached the "Hundred" at last, to Betty's infinite comfort and satisfaction. Mrs. Anthony was a delightful old person, with the figure of a young girl and the flashing eyes and snowy bob curls of a French marquise. I did myself the honor of kissing the small hand extended to me, and was taken into favor at once.

Yes, we were an entirely congenial dinner party. We spoke of Francis Graeme several times, and without the least embarra.s.sment or restraint; quite as though he might return at any moment to resume his rightful place in the circle. And more and more I came to realize that I had lost a great deal in not knowing him sooner and better. A good and gallant gentleman! who was I that I should presume to stand in his shoes. Even now I am beginning to perceive that a great inheritance has its burdens as well as its privileges; I see that it is no small thing to become Hildebrand of the "Hundred."

The ladies retired early, and a few minutes after ten Warriner redeemed his promise by making a welcome appearance. I told him that I had some necessary letters to write, and that I should not make company of him; he was to consider himself entirely at home. He nodded acquiescently and spent some twenty minutes in wandering about the library; then he settled down with a book.

It really was imperative that I should acquaint certain people--my quasi-partner Anstruthers, the Mercers and others--with the great change that had taken place in my life and fortunes; my affairs in town would have to be wound up, and it might be a fortnight before I could get to Philadelphia. My correspondence proved more lengthy than I had antic.i.p.ated, and it was long after midnight when I had sealed and stamped the last enclosure. Warriner threw down his book, and I crossed the room and joined him. "By way of resting our eyes," I said, and thereupon I extinguished the only light in the room, an Argand-burner oil lamp. We exchanged half a dozen desultory sentences, and then relapsed into that intimate silence which is only possible between real friends. For perhaps half an hour we sat quietly thinking and smoking; then----

"There is nothing I can say or do; understand?"

I recognized the rough, forbidding quality of John Thaneford's voice, and instantly I was all attention. Of course he must be speaking to somebody; who could it be? Presently the answer came. But it was not in words; all I could make out were sounds of weeping and smothered sobs, unmistakably feminine in character.

Now I should have explained that Warriner and I had been sitting close to one of the side walls of the library; indeed our heads were almost in actual contact with the plaster. Thaneford and his companion were undoubtedly in the great hall whose circular walls probably formed a natural whispering gallery. How the sounds could be transmitted through the straight connecting pa.s.sage under the stairs, and then shunted upon the rectangular walls of the library, was a problem in applied acoustics that I did not attempt to solve. The conversation was being conducted under the breath, as we say, but every word fell with perfect distinctness upon my ears. Of course it was a private conversation, one to which I had no right to listen. I did make a motion to pull away from the wall, possibly with the vague idea of uttering a warning admonition to these indiscreet chatterers, but Warriner's ready hand pushed me back in my chair; he laid his finger upon my lips, and I had no option but to yield to his stronger will. This was war, war in which all is fair.

"You've made a mess of it, my girl," went on Thaneford, "and I can't stop to help clear it up. That's flat."

"You mean that you won't keep your promise?" The words were low and thick with emotion; I could not seem to recognize the ownership of the voice.

"No, I don't say that at all. But I'm up to my neck at 'Thane Court,'

and I was counting upon the 'Hundred' to pull me out. Give me half a chance and I'll do the square thing--by you and everybody."

"What more do you want of me?"

"Just keep your eyes and ears open. I saw Grimes to-day, and he thinks there is a fair possibility of breaking the will--_non compos_, you know. Why think of it! Francis Graeme never saw this Yankee Hildebrand but once in his life, and then for a couple of hours only. It stands to reason that a man in his right senses doesn't hand over a fortune as though it were nothing more than a Key West cigar. Grimes advises me to fight, and I'd like nothing better than to do it. But fighting costs a lot of money," he concluded gloomily.

"You know that if I had it----"

"All I know is that you haven't got it," he interrupted coldly. "For heaven's sake! don't let us get sentimental again."

There was a brief silence, and then came a badly suppressed yawn, coupled with a declaration that the speaker was dog-tired and ready to fall asleep standing up. We could hear retreating footsteps, and the occasional creaking of a loose board in the tread of the staircase; then all was quiet again.

"Eunice Trevor, of course," announced Warriner meditatively.

"I should never have known her voice," I protested.

"Exactly so. And for the very sufficient reason that she is accustomed to riding under double-wraps, as the hunting men say. A cold, calculating, iceberg sort of creature--that's the way you've thought of her."

"Dare say you're right."

"But deep in the heart of the iceberg there burns a flame, glowing and intense. Now and then it melts its way out, and for a few minutes there are gorgeous fireworks. That was the young woman's natural voice, and she was improving the infrequent opportunity of using it by letting herself go."

"What do you think----" I began.

"I don't think at all," he broke in. "At least for to-night. In the morning my brain may begin to function again, but it refuses to be squeezed any further at present."

"They've had their five minutes grace," remarked Warriner, after another brief pause, "and I'm off to bed. Good night." Warriner seemed to melt away and become part of the surrounding darkness; after a minute or two I followed, and reached my room without further incident.

Again my night's rest was a troubled one.

Chapter VIII

_Adventuring on "Sugar Loaf"_

It was a glorious summer morning, and as I descended the staircase I could look through the wide opened door and see the rolling acres of "Hildebrand Hundred" lying gracious and fair under a cloudless sky. Bees were humming among the flowers, and a whiff of new mown hay drifted in on a vagrant breeze. Yes, this old world is a pretty pleasant place to live in, provided of course that one doesn't make a tactical mistake and settle down too far East or West, as the case may be. But given the right place and the right people, and existence on this planet may be very comfortable indeed.

n.o.body seemed to be around, although it was nearly nine o'clock, and I walked into the library. There I found Chalmers Warriner bending over a large glazed case which stood in a remote corner of the room.

"Good morning," he smiled. "I've been amusing myself in looking over the collection of b.u.t.terflies and moths made by your predecessor, old Richard Hildebrand. I believe it is considered valuable."

I glanced carelessly at the rows of inanimate insects fixed in their painful museum att.i.tudes. There can be no quarrelling with tastes, but mine do not run in this direction. I made some perfunctory a.s.sent to Warriner's glowing encomiums upon the quality of Uncle Richard's _magnum opus_ (it seems that our good Chalmers is himself an amateur of distinction in entomological science), and then haled him off for breakfast.

Quite naturally we drifted back to the library. It was the pleasantest and most homelike room in the house, a characteristic that persisted for all that the shadow of a possible tragedy still rested there. But after all, men must die somewhere, some time, and it would be impracticable to transform every death chamber into a mortuary chapel. Death is a natural process; why try to invest it with unnatural terror. "My dear," said a very old woman to her blooming G.o.ddaughter, "you will some day come to know that old age needs and desires death just as youth needs and desires sleep."

Warriner started immediately upon a close and systematic examination of the apartment and its appurtenances. From his pocket he drew a geologist's hammer and a slender rod of steel, and for nearly an hour he occupied himself in probing the wainscoting and walls and in making test knocks. I had expected to see him give particular attention to the secret pa.s.sage behind the fireplace, but he ignored it entirely. I expressed some surprise.

"It's told me already all it had to tell," he answered, and did not vouchsafe any further elucidation of his p.r.o.nouncement. Nor did I ask for it; I realized that a man should be allowed to work in his own way.

Finally, Warriner asked me to sit down in the fixed revolving chair that stood before the great, flat-topped library desk. I did so with some inward reluctance, for this was the seat _par excellence_ of the master of "Hildebrand Hundred"; from this very coign of vantage Francis Graeme had toppled to his death. But as well now as ever, and accordingly I complied with the request.

At Warriner's further suggestion I bent forward as though engaged in writing. Suddenly he appeared from behind the screen of stamped Spanish leather which stood between the table and the door leading to the great hall; instantly, I became aware of his presence; involuntarily I looked up.

"Not so easy to surprise a man from this side, even if he were engaged in writing or study," mused Warriner as he walked over to the fireplace.

"Now suppose I had entered from this secret postern or side door," he went on. "I should have no particular difficulty in stealing up behind you and striking a fatal blow."

"Perhaps not," I a.s.sented. "The rug is deeply piled, and a man would have to walk pretty heavily to be heard."

"A man--or a woman," amended Warriner. Of course I understood him, but it was none of my business to prejudice Eunice Trevor's case. The very fact that I instinctively disliked her imposed its obligations.

Warriner motioned me to yield him the revolving chair, and I arose with alacrity. He sat down quite as though intent upon testing the smoothness of the swivelling and the depth and comfort of the upholstery. But presently he swung round and faced the fireplace and windows. Then he drew from his pocket a pair of French folding opera gla.s.ses and continued his observations for several minutes; finally, he glanced at me and beckoned. I went over to the big desk.

"From where I sit," began Warriner, "I can see an odd-appearing break in the woods on 'Sugar Loaf.' Take the chair and I'll explain what I have in mind."

I obeyed and Warriner leaned over my shoulder, pointing. "Look straight," he said, "through that small, square panel in the window on the left of the fireplace; it is called the pridella, I believe. Now take the gla.s.ses."

The window was the one depicting the rebellion of the sons of Korah; it was a vivid representation of the earth opening under the feet of the guilty men, and was brilliant with yellow and crimson flames arising from the abyss. Through the open pridella I could see "Sugar Loaf," the latter a hill of a peculiar conical shape that rose directly from the meadows watered by the little river Whippany. Its distance from the house was about half a mile, and it was covered with a dense growth of oaks and beeches.

Now that I had the gla.s.ses focussed I understood what Warriner was driving at. Framed in the square of the pridella was a small opening in the leafy wall; it looked as though a shelf had been cut out of the cliff face, and evidently with a purpose. But what sort of a purpose?

"An observation post," I hazarded.

Warriner nodded. "Something like that was in my own mind," he said.

"What do you say to our walking over there and making a reconnaissance?"