The Greatest Works of J. S. Fletcher (64+ Titles in One Illustrated Edition). J. S. Fletcher
the situation of things better, if I say that the habitable part of Hathercleugh was a long way from the old part to which I had come. The entire mass of building, old and new, was of vast extent, and the old was separated from the new by a broken and utterly ruinous wing, long since covered over with ivy. As for the old itself, there was a great square tower at one corner of it, with walls extending from its two angles; it was along one of these walls that I was now creeping. And presently—the sound of the gentle throbbing growing slightly louder as I made my way along—I came to the tower, and to the deep-set gateway in it, and I knew at once that in that gateway there was an automobile drawn up, all ready for being driven out and away.
Feeling quietly for the corner of the gateway, I looked round, cautiously, lest a headlight on the car should betray my presence. But there was no headlight, and there was no sound beyond the steady throb of the steam and the ceaseless pouring of the rain behind me. And then, as I looked, came a third flash of lightning, and the entire scene was lighted up for me—the deep-set gateway with its groined and arched roof, the grim walls at each side, the dark massive masonry beyond it, and there, within the shelter, a small, brand-new car, evidently of fine and powerful make, which even my inexperienced eyes knew to be ready for departure from that place at any moment. And I saw something more during that flash—a half-open door in the wall to the left of the car, and the first steps of a winding stair.
As the darkness fell again, blacker than ever, and the thunder crashed out above the old tower, I stole along the wall to that door, intending to listen if aught were stirring within, or on the stairs, or in the rooms above. And I had just got my fingers on the rounded pillar of the doorway, and the thunder was just dying to a grumble, when a hand seized the back of my neck as in a vice, and something hard, and round, and cold pressed itself insistingly into my right temple. It was all done in the half of a second; but I knew, just as clearly as if I could see it, that a man of no ordinary strength had gripped me by the neck with one hand, and was holding a revolver to my head with the other.
Chapter XXXIV. The Bargain
It may be that when one is placed in such a predicament as that in which I then found myself, one's wits are suddenly sharpened, and a new sense is given to one. Whether that is so or not, I was as certain as if I actually saw him that my assailant was the butler, Hollins. And I should have been infinitely surprised if any other voice than his had spoken—as he did speak when the last grumble of the thunder died out in a sulky, reluctant murmur.
"In at that door, and straight up the stairs, Moneylaws!" he commanded. "And quick, if you don't want your brains scattering. Lively, now!"
He trailed the muzzle of the revolver round from my temple to the back of my head as he spoke, pressing it into my hair in its course in a fashion that was anything but reassuring. I have often thought since of how I expected the thing to go off at any second, and how I was—for it's a fact—more curious than frightened about it. But the sense of self-preservation was on me, self-assertive enough, and I obliged him, stumbling in at the door under the pressure of his strong arm and of the revolver, and beginning to boggle at the first steps—old and much worn ones, which were deeply hollowed in the middle. He shoved me forward.
"Up you go," he said, "straight ahead! Put your arms up and out—in front of you till you feel a door—push it open."
He kept one hand on the scruff of my neck—too tightly for comfort—and with the other pressed the revolver into the cavity just above it, and in this fashion we went up. And even in that predicament I must have had my wits about me, for I counted two-and-twenty steps. Then came the door—a heavy, iron-studded piece of strong oak, and it was slightly open, and as I pushed it wider in the darkness, a musty, close smell came from whatever was within.
"No steps," said he, "straight on! Now then, halt—and keep halting! If you move one finger, Moneylaws, out fly your brains! No great loss to the community, my lad—but I've some use for them yet."
He took his hand away from my neck, but the revolver was still pressed into my hair, and the pressure never relaxed. And suddenly I heard a snap behind me, and the place in which we stood was lighted up—feebly, but enough to show me a cell-like sort of room, stone-walled, of course, and destitute of everything in the furnishing way but a bit of a cranky old table and a couple of three-legged stools on either side of it. With the released hand he had snapped the catch of an electric pocket-lamp, and in its blue glare he drew the revolver away from my head, and stepping aside, but always covering me with his weapon, motioned me to the further stool. I obeyed him mechanically, and he pulled the table a little towards him, sat down on the other stool, and, resting his elbow on the table ledge, poked the revolver within a few inches of my nose.
"Now, we'll talk for a few minutes, Moneylaws," he said quietly, "Storm or no storm, I'm bound to be away on my business, and I'd have been off now if it hadn't been for your cursed peeping and prying. But I don't want to kill you, unless I'm obliged to, so you'll just serve your own interests best if you answer a question or two and tell no lies. Are there more of you outside or about?"
"Not to my knowledge!" said I.
"You came alone?" he asked.
"Absolutely alone," I replied.
"And why?" he demanded.
"To see if I could get any news of Miss Dunlop," I answered.
"Why should you think to find Miss Dunlop here—in this old ruin?" he argued; and I could see he was genuinely curious. "Come now—straight talk, Moneylaws!—and it'll be all the better for you."
"She's missing since last night," I replied. "It came to me that she likely took a short cut across these grounds, and that in doing so she fell in with Sir Gilbert—or with you—and was kept, lest she should let out what she'd seen. That's the plain truth, Mr. Hollins."
He was keeping his eyes on me just as steadily as he kept the revolver, and I saw from the look in them that he believed me.
"Aye!" he said. "I see you can draw conclusions, if it comes to it. But—did you keep that idea of yours strictly to yourself, now?"
"Absolutely!" I repeated.
"You didn't mention it to a soul?" he asked searchingly.
"Not to a soul!" said I. "There isn't man, woman, or child knows I'm here."
I thought he might have dropped the muzzle of the revolver at that, but he still kept it in a line with my nose and made no sign of relaxing his vigilance. But, as he was silent for the moment, I let out a question at him.
"It'll do you no harm to tell me the truth, Mr. Hollins," I said. "Do you know anything about Miss Dunlop? Is she safe? You've maybe had a young lady yourself one time or another—you'll understand what I'm feeling about it?"
He nodded solemnly at that and in quite a friendly way.
"Aye!" he answered. "I understand your feelings well enough, Moneylaws—and I'm a man of sentiment, so I'll tell you at once that the lass is safe enough, and there's not as much harm come to her as you could put on a sixpence—so there! But—I'm not sure yet that you're safe yourself," he went on, still eyeing me consideringly. "I'm a soft-hearted man, Moneylaws—or else you wouldn't have your brains in their place at this present minute!"
"There's a mighty lot of chance of my harming you, anyway!" said I, with a laugh that surprised myself. "Not so much as a penknife on me, and you with that thing at my head."
"Aye!—but you've got a tongue in that head," said he. "And you might be using it! But come, now—I'm loth to harm you, and you'd best tell me a bit more. What's the police doing?"
"What police do you mean?" I inquired.
"Here, there, everywhere, anywhere!" he exclaimed. "No quibbles, now!—you'll have had plenty of information."
"They're acting on yours," I retorted. "Searching about Glasgow for Sir Gilbert and Lady Carstairs—you put us on to that, Mr. Hollins."