Tales of Mystery & Suspense: 25+ Thrillers in One Edition. E. Phillips Oppenheim
“What is it, sir?”
There was the sound of a window opening overhead. At that moment Parkins would not have asked in vain for an annuity. Dominey glanced at the little semicircle of servants and raised his voice.
“It is the end, I trust, of these foolish superstitions about Roger Unthank’s ghost. There lies Roger Unthank, half beast, half man. For some reason or other—some lunatic’s reason, of course—he has chosen to hide himself in the Black Wood all these years. His mother, I presume, has been his accomplice and taken him food. He is still alive but in a disgusting state.”
There was a little awed murmur. Dominey’s voice had become quite matter of fact.
“I suppose,” he continued, “his first idea was to revenge himself upon us and this household, by whom he imagined himself badly treated. The man, however, was half a madman when he came to the neighbourhood and has behaved like one ever since.—Johnson,” Dominey continued, singling out a sturdy footman with sound common sense, “get ready to take this creature into Norwich Hospital. Say that if I do not come in during the day, a letter of explanation will follow from me. The rest of you, with the exception of Parkins, please go to bed.”
With little exclamations of wonder they began to disperse. Then one of them paused and pointed across the park. Moving with incredible swiftness came the gaunt, black figure of Rachael Unthank, swaying sometimes on her feet, yet in their midst before they could realise it. She staggered to the prostrate body and threw herself upon her knees. Her hands rested upon the unseen face, her eyes glared across at Dominey.
“So you’ve got him at last!” she gasped.
“Mrs. Unthank,” Dominey said sternly, “you are in time to accompany your son to the hospital at Norwich. The car will be here in two minutes. I have nothing to say to you. Your own conscience should be sufficient punishment for keeping that poor creature alive in such a fashion and ministering during my absence to his accursed desire for vengeance.”
“He would have died if I hadn’t brought him food,” she muttered. “I have wept all the tears a woman’s broken heart could wring out, beseeching him to come back to me.”
“Yet,” Dominey insisted, “you shared his foul plot for vengeance against a harmless woman. You let him come and make his ghoulish noises, night by night, under these windows, without a word of remonstrance. You knew very well what their accursed object was—you, with a delicate woman in your charge who trusted you. You are an evil pair, but of the two you are worse than your half-witted son.”
The woman made no reply. She was still on her knees, bending over the prostrate figure, from whose lips now came a faint moaning. Then the lights of the car flashed out as it left the garage, passed through the iron gates and drew up a few yards away.
“Help him in,” Dominey ordered. “You can loosen his cords, Johnson, as soon as you have started. He has very little strength. Tell them at the hospital I shall probably be there during the day, or to-morrow.”
With a little shiver the two men stooped to their task. Their prisoner muttered to himself all the time, but made no resistance. Rachael Unthank, as she stepped in to take her place by his side, turned once more to Dominey. She was a broken woman.
“You’re rid of us,” she sobbed, “perhaps forever.—You’ve said harsh things of both of us. Roger isn’t always—so bad. Sometimes he’s more gentle than at others. You’d have thought then that he was just a baby, living there for love of the wind and the trees and the birds. If he comes to—”
Her voice broke. Dominey’s reply was swift and not unkind. He pointed to the window above.
“If Lady Dominey recovers, you and your son are forgiven. If she never recovers, I wish you both the blackest corner of hell.”
The car drove off. Doctor Harrison met Dominey on the threshold as he turned towards the house.
“Her ladyship is unconscious now,” he announced. “Perhaps that is a good sign. I never liked that unnatural calm. She’ll be unconscious, I think, for a great many hours. For God’s sake, come and get a whisky and soda and give me one!”
The early morning sunshine lay upon the park when the two men at last separated. They stood for a moment looking out. From the Black Wood came the whirr of a saw. The little troop of men had left their tents. The crash of a fallen tree heralded their morning’s work.
“You are still going on with that?” the doctor asked.
“To the very last stump of a tree, to the last bush, to the last cluster of weeds,” Dominey replied, with a sudden passion in his tone. “I will have that place razed to the bare level of the earth, and I will have its poisonous swamps sucked dry. I have hated that foul spot,” he went on, “ever since I realised what suffering it meant to her. My reign here may not be long, Doctor—I have my own tragedy to deal with—but those who come after me will never feel the blight of that accursed place.”
The doctor grunted. His inner thoughts he kept to himself.
“Maybe you’re right,” he conceded.
CHAPTER XXIX
The heat of a sulphurous afternoon—a curious parallel in its presage of coming storm to the fast-approaching crisis in Dominey’s own affairs—had driven Dominey from his study on to the terrace. In a chair by his side lounged Eddy Pelham, immaculate in a suit of white flannels. It was the fifth day since the mystery of the Black Wood had been solved.
“Ripping, old chap, of you to have me down here,” the young man remarked amiably, his hand stretching out to a tumbler which stood by his side. “The country, when you can get ice, is a paradise in this weather, especially when London’s so full of ghastly rumours and all that sort of thing. What’s the latest news of her ladyship?”
“Still unconscious,” Dominey replied. “The doctors, however, seem perfectly satisfied. Everything depends on her waking moments.”
The young man abandoned the subject with a murmur of hopeful sympathy. His eyes were fixed upon a little cloud of dust in the distance.
“Expecting visitors to-day?” he asked.
“Should not be surprised,” was the somewhat laconic answer.
The young man stood up, yawned and stretched himself.
“I’ll make myself scarce,” he said. “Jove!” he added approvingly, lingering for a moment. “Jolly well cut, the tunic of your uniform, Dominey! If a country in peril ever decides to waive the matter of my indifferent physique and send me out to the rescue, I shall go to your man.”
Dominey smiled.
“Mine is only the local Yeomanry rig-out,” he replied. “They will nab you for the Guards!”
Dominey stepped back through the open windows into his study as Pelham strolled off. He was seated at his desk, poring over some letters, when a few minutes later Seaman was ushered into the room. For a single moment his muscles tightened, his frame became tense. Then he realised his visitor’s outstretched hands of welcome and he relaxed. Seaman was perspiring, vociferous and excited.
“At last!” He exclaimed. “Donner und!—My God Dominey, what is this?”
“Thirteen years ago,” Dominey explained, “I resigned a commission in the Norfolk Yeomanry. That little matter, however, has been adjusted. At a crisis like this—”
“My friend, you are wonderful!” Seaman interrupted solemnly. “You are a man after my own heart, you are thorough, you leave nothing undone. That is why,” he added, lowering his voice a little, “we are the greatest race in the world. Drink before everything, my friend,” he went on, “drink I must