The Mystery of the Ravenspurs. Fred M. White
fiend is at work yonder—a fiend with knowledge absolutely supernatural. You smile! I myself have seen the powers of darkness doing the bidding of mortal man. All the detectives in Europe will never lay hands upon the destroyer of the Ravenspurs. And yet, in certain circumstances, I could.”
“Then, in that case, sir, why don’t you?”
“Do it? I said in certain circumstances. I have part of a devilish puzzle; the other part is in the hands of a man who may be dead. I hold half of the banknote; somebody else has the other moiety. Until we can come together, we are both paupers. If I can find that other man, and he has the nerve and the pluck he used to possess, the curse of the Ravenspurs will cease. But, then, I shall never see my friend again.”
“But you might solve the problem alone.”
“Impossible. That man and myself made a most hazardous expedition in search of dreadful knowledge. That formula we found. For the purposes of safety, we divided it. And then we were discovered. Of what followed I dare not speak; I dare not even think.
“I escaped from my dire peril, but I cannot hope that my comrade was so fortunate. He must be dead. And without him I am as powerless as if I knew nothing. I have no proof. Yet I know quite well who is responsible for those murders at Ravenspur.”
Abell stared at his chief in astonishment. He knew Tchigorsky too well to doubt the evidence of his simple word. The Russian was too strong a man to boast.
“You cannot understand,” he said. “It is impossible to understand without the inner knowledge that I possess, and even my knowledge is not perfect. Were I to tell the part I know I should be hailed from one end of England to the other as a madman. I should be imprisoned for malignant slander. But if the other man turned up—if only the other man should turn up!”
Tchigorsky broke into a rambling reverie again. When he emerged to mundane matters once more he ordered Abell to read the paragraph relating to the latest phase of the tragedy of the lost Ravenspur.
“It runs,” said Abell. “‘Another Strange Affair at Ravenspur Castle. The mystery of this remarkable case still thickens. Late on Wednesday night Mr. Rupert Ravenspur, the head of the family, was awakened by a choking sensation and a total loss of breath. On attempting to leave his bed, the unfortunate gentleman found himself unable to move.
“‘He states that the room appeared to be filled with a fine spray of some sickly, sweet drug or liquid that seemed to act upon him as chloroform does on a subject with a weak heart. Mr. Ravenspur managed to cry out, but the vapor held him down, and was slowly stifling him—”
“Ah!” Tchigorsky cried. “Ah! I thought so. Go on!”
His eyes were gleaming; his whole face glistened with excitement.
“‘Providentially the cry reached the ears of another of the Ravenspurs. This gentleman burst open his father’s door, and noticing the peculiar, pungent odor, had the good sense to break a window and admit air into the room.
“‘This prompt action was the means of saving the life of the victim, and it is all the more remarkable because Ravenspur, a blind gentleman, who, had just returned from foreign parts.’”
A cry—a scream, broke from Tchigorsky’s lips. He danced about the room like a madman. For the time being it was impossible for the astonished secretary to determine whether this was joy or anguish.
“You are upset about something, sir,” he said.
Tchigorsky recovered himself by a violent effort that left him trembling like a reed swept by the wind. He gasped for breath.
“It was the madness of an overwhelming joy!” he cried. “I would cheerfully have given ten years of my life for this information. Abell, you will have to go to Ravenspur for me to-day.”
Abell said nothing. He was used to these swift surprises.
“You are to see this Ralph Ravenspur, Abell,” continued Tchigorsky. “You are not to call at the castle; you are to hang about till you get a chance of delivering my message unseen. The mere fact that Ralph Ravenspur is blind will suffice for a clue to his identity. Look up the timetable!”
Abell did so. He found a train to land him at Biston Junction, some ten miles from his destination. Half an hour later he was ready to start. From an iron safe Tchigorsky took a small object and laid it in Abell’s hand.
“Give him that,” he said; “You are simply to say, ‘Tchigorsky—Danger,’ and come away, unless Ralph Ravenspur desires speech with you. Now go, and as you value your life do not lose that casket.”
It was a small brass box no larger than a cigarette-case, rusty and tarnished, and covered with strange characters, evidently culled from some long-forgotten tongue.
V - A RAY OF LIGHT
A sense of expectation, an uneasy feeling of momentous event about to happen, hung over the doomed Ravenspurs. For once, Marion appeared to feel the strain. Her face was pale, and though she strove hard to regain the old gentle gaiety, her eyes were red and swollen with weeping.
All through breakfast she watched Ralph in strange fascination. He seemed to have obtained some kind of hold over her. Yet nothing could be more patient, dull and stolid than the way in which he proceeded with his meal. He appeared to dwell in an unseen world of his own; the stirring events of the previous night had left no impression on him whatever.
For the most part, they were a sad and silent party. The terror that walked by night and day was stealing closer to them; it was coming in a new and still more dreadful form. Accident or the intervention of Providence had averted a dire tragedy. But it would come again.
Ravenspur made light of the matter. He spoke of the danger as something past. Yet it was impossible wholly to conceal the agitation that filled him. He saw Marion’s pale, sympathetic face; he saw the heavy tears in Vera’s eyes, and a dreadful sense of his absolute impotence came upon him.
“Let us forget it,” he said, almost cheerfully. “Let us think no more of the matter. No doubt, science can explain the new mystery.”
“Never,” Ralph said, in a thrilling whisper. “Science is powerless here.”
The speaker’s sightless eyes were turned upwards; he seemed to be thinking aloud rather than addressing the company generally. Marion turned as if something had stung her.
“Uncle Ralph knows something that he conceals from us,” she cried.
Ralph smiled. Yet he had the air of one who is displeased with himself.
“I know many things that are mercifully concealed from pure natures like yours,” he said. “But as to what happened last night, I am as much in the dark as any of you. Ah! if I were not blind!”
A strained silence followed. One by one the company rose until the room was deserted, save for Ralph, Ravenspur and his nephew Geoffrey. The handsome lad’s face was pale, his lips quivered.
“I am dreadfully disappointed, uncle,” he observed.
“Meaning from your tone that you are disappointed with me, Geoff. Why?”
“Because you spoke at first as if you understood things. And then you professed to be as ignorant as the rest of us. Oh, it is awful! I—I would not care so much if I were less fond of Vera than I am. I love her; I love her with my whole heart and soul. If you could only see the beauty of her face you would understand.
“And yet when she kisses me goodnight, I am never sure that it is not for the last time. I feel that I must wake up presently to find that all is an evil dream. And we can do nothing, nothing, nothing but wait and tremble, and—die.”
Ralph had no reply; indeed there was no reply to this passionate outburst. The blind