Devil's Tor (37 page)

The proprietor was a man turned fifty, short, pale, smooth-skinned and bearded, with shrewd brown eyes that still required no glasses. He was one of those safe, judicious persons to be found in rural communities, whose respectability, financial standing and personal weight, joined to a lifelong intimacy with local affairs and histories, render them, even apart from public office, the headmen of their district, naturally to be consulted in cases demanding a knowledge of procedure or the quick obtaining of special assistance. Saltfleet, on his first arrival that morning, had instantly recognised the type—the competent intelligence of the man, with its inevitable limitations, and his willingness to shoulder whatever practical responsibility should confront him in the course of the day's work. He approved his quietly respectful caution of address, judged his resources to be sufficient, and so, from the first minute of that detestable hillside find, had determined to surrender all the consequent morbid arrangements to his hands.

Now, by an impatient gesture, he stopped the attempted offer of service to refreshment, straightway to launch his news.

"Dunn, there has been a bad accident on Devil's Tor. I mentioned I was going round to Whitestone, to find a Mr. Drapier. You didn't seem to know him personally."

"No, sir, I don't. Dear me! what's happened?"

"I was sent on after him to Devil's Tor, from the house. You are probably aware the place was struck by lightning a couple of nights ago, and some rocks were dislodged. Well, one of them, temporarily perched midway down the slope, started for the rest of the journey this morning, catching Drapier very nastily. … There is nothing to be done—he's dead. But how can he be brought down?"

Dunn's pale face, in his disinterested agitation, grew yet paler. He was already standing, pen in hand.

"This is very terrible news, sir. Are you sure..."

"Unhappily, yes. It was a beast of a boulder, and caught him squarely from behind."

"Have they been told at the house?"

"No, I came straight here. No one has been told."

"Then you want me to see to it, sir?"

"If you will."

"I'll get on to it at once. There will be a hurdle wanted, and four men. A lorry can take them as far as the road goes. I'll 'phone the doctor, and the police, besides. You won't go away, sir?"

"No. And as I suspect I shall have to give evidence at the inquest, perhaps I'd better fix up a couple of rooms here at once—a bedroom and private sitting-room. … Then, another thing before you vanish, Dunn! Drapier—where do you propose to bring him to?"

The proprietor's face fell into guarded hesitation.

"You suggest, sir..."

"That there will be neither advantage of convenience nor humanity in imposing this additional excruciation on his friends."

"I see your point, sir, of course." ... Dunn rubbed his cheek in perplexity.

"You probably have some suitable outbuilding. If they dispute your charge afterwards, refer it to me."

"No, it's not that at all, but my trade. And they mayn't wish it, at the house."

"There will be ample time to countermand the arrangement if it isn't desired. I think it will be desired."

"You are to break the news to them yourself, sir, as the friend of Mr. Drapier?"

"Yes, I'll do that."

"Then you won't go up again with the men?"

"I don't want to. The spot should be findable without me. It's half-way up this side of the Tor, where all the boulders have tumbled."

"The district coroner might be over on Saturday—the day after to-morrow. The inquests are mostly held at the Institute here."

"Very well. I am staying. And the other accommodation?"

"Well, sir, I won't absolutely say it can't be managed, if you are convinced..."

"I'm convinced that it will be an act of Christian charity, Dunn."

"I would certainly like to spare the ladies and the old gentleman all I can, sir. Then we will leave it like that. … I must be off at once. You too, I suppose?"

"Soon. Let them get their lunch over in peace."

"Follow me upstairs, then, sir, and I'll show you your rooms before I go. Or a small tonic to steady you, first!"

"Send me up a bottle of any whisky, with a siphon."

The sitting-room was a rather cheerless apartment on the first floor, overlooking the village street. Saltfleet identified it at once as his prison of unutterable boredom for the next couple of days. He wondered if he should send for Arsinal, to hear by word of mouth his account of their extraordinary escape from an unexpected bog; but would not trust the public wires from a place about to be so suddenly full of ears, eyes, and tongues, and believed that later in the day he might be able to slip down to Plymouth for an hour, and dispatch his news from there. He drank some whisky, looked repeatedly at his watch, once or twice drew out for inspection the stone he had recovered from the dead man's hand, and at last, for sheer want of occupation, went to his other room to lay out the few necessaries he had brought down in case of detention.

At two o'clock Dunn was still not returned to report. Saltfleet hastily swallowed some more whisky, put on his hat, and left the room and the hotel. The life of the street was quiet and normal. Intelligence of the tragedy could not as yet be generally abroad.

It simplified matters that the same servant opened the door to him as last time. Without delay she brought him to the room where he had been before. In less than a minute the mistress of the house came in to him.

Her manner was of controlled agitation, and her eyes fastened themselves on his face searchingly and anxiously. Ingrid's apparition had been strange and ghastly, while Hugh had not returned to lunch. Peter was no more than fifteen minutes out of the house; by Ingrid's urgent request, to seek him on the moor as far as Devil's Tor. Now he, Saltfleet, was back so unexpectedly, and it could surely only mean that he had bad news of Hugh! ...

Something stony and inaccessible in the caller's look sent her heart down in the certainty that he was here as an evil guest.

"Have you seen Hugh?" she asked, in a hissing whisper, that sounded unreal to herself.

Saltfleet glanced at the door, to make sure it was shut. "Please sit down!" But Helga continued standing.

"What's the matter?"

"I am sorry to have to report that Drapier has met with an accident on Devil's Tor."

An involuntary cry escaped from her. "Oh dear! Then it has happened!... What—"

"You will be better sitting."

"No, no!—I am not to be foolish. But please tell me quickly! ..."

"I got to the hill, and half-way up it. It was very obscured by fog. Apparently, one of the loose blocks thrown down the other day started moving again, and caught him from behind unawares."

Helga put a hand on her heart.

"He is dead?"

"I fear so," was his low answer.

"He is
certainly
dead?"

Saltfleet bowed. She turned away, and covered her face with her two hands, but not to weep. Then, when she came back, its expression was markedly harder and sharper for him.

"Who has been told? Has a doctor certified death?"

"One should be on his way up there now from the village. I have handed everything over to Dunn, of the 'Bell'."

"He was
so
when you got there?"

"Yes; I found him lying."

"Still living?"

"No, life was gone already—I should say, not many minutes before."

"Was the death from injury, or shock?"

"He was badly hurt. On the other hand, I would imagine his heart was sound enough."

"Would it have been instantaneous?"

"I cannot quite decide that, but his sufferings must at least have been very short."

"What is the nature of the injury?"

"The spine, and no doubt some of the internal organs."

"Was no one else up there?"

"No; I should have been the first and only one to discover him."

"Your evidence, of course, will be required at the inquest."

"Of course," said Saltfleet. "And I have already made arrangements to stop at the 'Bell' in order to be in readiness. … For the rest, Mrs. Fleming, I am entirely at your service, in case you wish to send for me at any time. I have taken it on myself to have Drapier temporarily lodged at an annex of the 'Bell'. I fancied you would wish it. You need not discuss that now with me, but as soon as Dunn is free, I shall send him round to you."

"If you please. It is quite essential that I should have an immediate talk with him."

The flint was not mentioned between them. Saltfleet, in the assurance that it was already securely in his possession, had nothing more to gain by declaring the fact, whereas the moment was inappropriate; but Helga could not trust herself to address this suddenly fearful man except shortly, to learn from him what she had to learn, and then at once dismiss him.

All her efforts were towards maintaining her outward composure. She felt as if the flesh of her face were being flayed from her soul, leaving her appalling, wicked, indefensible thoughts exposed to the cold glare of his eye. … Hugh's presentiment of death, Ingrid's vision of his ghostly return, her own unreasoning fear of this man from the first, they were all parts of one supernatural predetermined event; and
therefore
her thoughts were justified; and the times would correspond so terribly. It would be about forty minutes, or little less, from Saltfleet's leaving the house to her daughter's vision; his legs were long, and the distance was three miles. She dared not, while he was still in the room, go on blindly wrestling with these diabolical imaginations. She must push them away from her wholly, wholly! ...

And always the same things were to happen to her in her life. Like a very far-off scene, but oh! so vividly dark and clear, was that time when, still with years and years before her, one had come to break the news to her of poor Dick's hunting crash; and now this was the same. … But that had left her poor, and this, rich. So grimly ironical was fortune! She did not want his money, and Ingrid had been right to say so. …

Why wasn't Saltfleet demanding his property? It must be always in his head, and now that there was to be no more obstruction... could the deliberate refraining be from delicacy?—or was he fearing to put it to the test, fearing to be confronted? ... And she—if she could have spoken of it now, still Ingrid held the stone, and she too must first be prepared. Surely, she would not break in on them in the room, as she had done before. He must go—yes, he must go! ...

"Then there is nothing more that I can do for you till then?" asked Saltfleet gravely. He sensed her new antipathy to him, and could even suspect its monstrous cause, but at such a time a woman's head would naturally be flooded with wildness and confusion, that must presently subside; and the facts were on their way. He was sorrier for her distress than indignant with her folly.

"No, nothing," was her faint answer. But the faintness was still hard, while her eyes continued to wander, with a hunted look, everywhere except to his person. "I will say what else I have to say to Mr. Dunn. Will you please ask him to see me personally? My uncle is old, and I do not wish him to be troubled. … There is only one more thing I would like to know, before you go. You say this dreadful accident has happened on Devil's Tor. How can you be so sure?"

"I am going in part upon your daughter's instruction to me of the way, and in part upon the number of recently-lodged rocks down the hillside."

She detained him no longer. But on his way back to the inn, Saltfleet conceived an inspiration concerning Drapier's unnaturally-closed fist. Had he been examining Arsinal's flint while slowly descending the hill, his palm would have been open; while his preoccupation would also have made him unaware of the great block bounding towards him from the rear, until there was no more time to get clear. Then, at the instant before the fatal impact, Drapier's unreflecting instinct would have been to secure his treasure by closing his fingers over it.

A fascinating talisman, since he was unable to leave it even when walking on the moor! And his determination to try to keep it for himself; and Arsinal's more considered valuation of it. God knew
he
had spent enough of his life and money to get it. The inherent enchantment must be there, so to magnetise two adult men, unconnected, of quite different natures and avocations. Arsinal must have heard of its strangeness beforehand; he would not have excited himself thus over a mere souvenir of a dead creed. … Then if others could discover its magic, why not himself? At the "Bell" he would have more than enough leisure. …

But at Whitestone, alone in the refuge of her own room, Helga was wrestling with her womanishness, that she was apprised once more by this blow was always to rise against her fancied strength of character and calmness in the hour of black crisis. She only of those in the house knew of this awful shell about to explode within it; while up on the moor Hugh was lying crushed, bloody, neglected... and the room's walls seemed to crush her too! ... She had hated that Saltfleet should be with her, and facing her, but now that he was gone she realised the support of his vigour. He had at least been a man, while she was the weakest of weak women. Now she must begin her loathsome peregrination of the house, or some second blundering messenger from the callous practical world would anticipate her. …

As she still attempted to drag her feet from the room, Ingrid entered to her; and appeared, by an indefinable change in her face, to be preinformed of the tragedy. She regarded her mother in silence, and Helga could not speak.

"Mr. Saltfleet has been here again," the girl at last said, "and he must have brought bad news of Hugh with him. I can see that he has. Won't you tell me, mother?"

"Yes!"... Helga mastered her sensation of choking, and proceeded: "Yes, my dear—he has brought bad news; and your apparition was a true one..."

"Hugh has died!"

"He has met with a fatal accident on Devil's Tor."

The girl embraced and kissed her mother. There was no more said for a minute.