CHAPTER XVIII.
DISCLOSES THE TRAP
The woman's words held me speechless.
She seemed so cold, so determined, so certain of her facts that I felt, when I came to consider what I already had proved, that she was actually telling me the ghastly truth.
And yet I loved Phrida. No. I refused to allow my suspicions to be increased by this woman who had approached the police openly and asked for payment for her information.
She was Phrida's enemy. Therefore it was my duty to treat her as such, and in a moment I had decided upon my course of action.
"So I am to take it that both Digby and yourself are antagonistic towards Phrida Shand?" I exclaimed, leaning against the round mahogany table and facing her.
She did not speak for a few seconds, then, springing to her feet, exclaimed:
"Would you excuse me for a few seconds? I forgot to give an order to my servant who is just going out."
And she bustled from the room, leaving me alone with my own confused thoughts.
Ah! The puzzling problem was maddening me. In my investigations I now found myself in a cul-de-sac from which there seemed no escape. The net, cleverly woven without a doubt, was slowly closing about my poor darling, now so pale, and anxious, and trembling.
Had she not already threatened to take her own life at first sign of suspicion being cast upon her by the police!
Was that not in itself, alas! a sign that her secret was a guilty one?
I knew not what to do, or how to act.
I suppose my hostess had been absent for about five minutes when the door suddenly re-opened, and she entered.
"When we were interrupted, Mrs. Petre," I said, as she advanced towards me, "I was asking you a plain question. Please give me a plain reply. You and Phrida Shand are enemies, are you not?"
"Well, we are not exactly friends," she laughed, "after all that has occurred. I think I told you that in London."
"I remember all that you told me," I replied. "But I want to know the true position, if – whether we are friends, or enemies? For myself, it matters not. I will be your friend with just as great a satisfaction as I will be your enemy. Now, let us understand each other. I have told you, I'm a man of business."
The woman, clever and resourceful, smiled sweetly, and in a calm voice replied:
"Really, Mr. Royle, I don't see why, after all, we should be enemies, that is, if what you tell me is the positive truth, that you owe my friend Digby no ill-will."
"I owe no man ill-will until his perfidy is proved," was my reply. "I merely went to Brussels to try and find him and request an explanation. He charged me with a mission which I discharged with the best of my ability, but which, it seems, has only brought upon me a grave calamity – the loss of the one I love. Hence I am entitled to some explanation from his own lips!"
"Which I promise you that you shall have in due course. So rest assured upon that point," she urged. "But that is in the future. We are, however, discussing the present. By the way – you'll take something to drink, won't you?"
"No, thank you," I protested.
"But you must have something. I'm sorry I have no whisky to offer you, but I have some rather decent port," and disregarding my repeated protests, she rang the bell, whereupon the young man who had admitted me – whom I now found to my surprise to be a servant – entered and bowed.
"Bring some port," his mistress ordered, and a few moments later he reappeared with a decanter and glasses upon a silver tray.
She poured me out a glass, but refused to have any herself.
"No, no," she laughed, "at my time of life port wine would only make me fat – and Heaven knows I'm growing horribly stout now. You don't know, Mr. Royle, what horror we women have of stoutness. In men it is a sign of ease and prosperity, in women it is suggestive of alcoholism and puts ten years on their ages."
Out of politeness, I raised my glass to her and drank. Her demeanour had altered, and we were now becoming friends, a fact which delighted me, for I saw I might, by the exercise of a little judicious diplomacy, act so as to secure protection for Phrida.
While we were chatting, I suddenly heard the engine of my taxi started, and the clutch put in with a jerk.
"Why!" I exclaimed, surprised. "I believe that's my taxi going away. I hope the man isn't tired of waiting!"
"No. I think it is my servant. I 'phoned for a cab for her, as I want her to take a message into Colchester," Mrs. Petre replied. Then, settling herself in the big chair, she asked:
"Now, why can't we be friends, Mr. Royle?"
"That I am only too anxious to be," I declared.
"It is only your absurd infatuation for Phrida Shand that prevents you," she said. "Ah!" she sighed. "How grossly that girl has deceived you!"
I bit my lip. My suspicions were surely bitter enough without the sore being re-opened by this woman.
Had not Phrida's admissions been a self-condemnation to which, even though loving her as fervently as I did, I could not altogether blind myself.
I did not speak. My heart was too full, and strangely enough my head seemed swimming, but certainly not on account of the wine I had drunk, for I had not swallowed more than half the glass contained.
The little room seemed to suddenly become stifling. Yet that woman with the dark eyes seemed to watch me intently as I sat there, watch me with a strange, deep, evil glance – an expression of fierce animosity which even at that moment she could not conceal.
She had openly avowed that the hand of my well-beloved had killed the unknown victim because of jealousy. Well, when I considered all the facts calmly and deliberately, her words certainly seemed to bear the impress of truth.
Phrida had confessed to me that, rather than face inquiry and condemnation she would take her own life. Was not that in itself sufficient evidence of guilt?
But no! I strove to put such thoughts behind me. My brain was awhirl, nay, even aflame, for gradually there crept over me a strange, uncanny feeling of giddiness such as I had never before experienced, a faint, sinking feeling, as though the chair was giving way beneath me.
"I don't know why, but I'm feeling rather unwell," I remarked to my hostess. Surely it could not be due to my overwrought senses and my strained anxiety for Phrida's safety.
"Oh! Perhaps it's the heat of the room," the woman replied. "This place gets unpleasantly warm at night. You'll be better in a minute or two, no doubt. I'll run and get some smelling salts. It is really terribly close in here," and, rising quickly, she left me alone.
I remember that instantly she had disappeared a red mist gathered before my eyes, and with a fearful feeling of asphyxiation I struggled violently, and fell back exhausted into my chair, while my limbs grew suddenly icy cold, though my brow was burning.
To what could it be due?
I recollect striving to think, to recall facts, to reason within myself, but in vain. My thoughts were so confused that grim, weird shadows and grotesque forms arose within my imagination. Scenes, ludicrous and tragic, wildly fantastic and yet horrible, were conjured up in my disordered brain, and with them all, pains – excruciating pains, which shot through from the sockets of my eyes to the back of my skull, inflicting upon me tortures indescribable.
I set my teeth in determination not to lose consciousness beneath the strain, and my eyes were fixed upon the wall opposite. I remember now the exact pattern of the wallpaper, a design of pale blue trellis-work with crimson rambler roses.
I suppose I must have remained in that position, sunk into a heap in the chair, for fully five minutes, though to me it seemed hours when I suddenly became conscious of the presence of persons behind me.
I tried to move – to turn and look – but found that every muscle in my body had become paralysed. I could not lift a finger, neither would my lips articulate any sound other than a gurgle when I tried to cry out. And yet I remained in a state of consciousness, half blotted out by those weird, fantastic and dreamy shapes, due apparently to the effect of that wine upon my brain.
Had I been deliberately poisoned? The startling truth flashed across my mind just as I heard a low stealthy movement behind me.
Yes. I was helpless there, in the hands of my enemies. I, wary as I believed myself to be, had fallen into a trap cunningly prepared by that clever woman who was Digby's accomplice.
I now believed all that Edwards had told me of the man's cunning and his imposture. How that he had assumed the identity of a clever and renowned man who had died so mysteriously in South America. Perhaps he had killed him – who could tell?
As these bitter thoughts regarding the man whom I had looked upon as a friend flitted through my brain, I saw to my amazement, standing boldly before me, the woman Petre with two men, one a dark-bearded, beetle-browed, middle-aged man of Hindu type – a half-caste probably – while the other was the young man who had admitted me.
The Hindu bent until his scraggy whiskers almost touched my cheek, looking straight into my eyes with keen, intent gaze, but without speaking.
I saw that the young man had carried a small deal box about eighteen inches square, which he had placed upon the round mahogany table in the centre of the room.
This table the woman pushed towards my chair until I was seated before it. But she hardly gave me a glance.
I tried to speak, to inquire the reason of such strange proceedings, but it seemed that the drug which had been given me in that wine had produced entire muscular paralysis. I could not move, neither could I speak. My brain was on fire and swimming, yet I remained perfectly conscious, horrified to find myself so utterly and entirely helpless.
The sallow-faced man, in whose black eyes was an evil, murderous look, and upon whose thin lips there played a slight, but triumphant smile, took both my arms and laid them straight upon the table.
I tried with all my power to move them, but to no purpose. As he placed them, so they remained.
Then, for the first time, the woman spoke, and addressing me, said in a hard, harsh tone:
"You are Digby's enemy, and mine, Mr. Royle. Therefore you will now see the manner in which we treat those who endeavour to thwart our ends. You have been brave, but your valour has not availed you much. The secret of Digby Kemsley is still a secret – and will ever be a secret," she added in a slow, meaning voice.
And as she uttered those words the half-bred Indian took my head in his hands and forced my body forward until my head rested upon the table between my outstretched arms.
Again I tried to raise myself, and to utter protest, but only a low gurgling escaped my parched lips. My jaws were set and I could not move them.
Ah! the situation was the strangest in which I have ever found myself in all my life.
Suddenly, while my head lay upon the polished table I saw the Hindu put a short double-reed pipe to his mouth, and next instant the room was filled with weird, shrill music, while at the same moment he unfastened the side of the little box and let down the hinged flap.
Again the native music sounded more shrill than before, while the woman and the young man-servant had retreated backward towards the door, their eyes fixed upon the mysterious box upon the table.
I, too, had my eyes upon the box.
Suddenly I caught sight of something within, and next second held my breath, realising the horrible torture that was intended.
I lay there helpless, powerless to draw back and save myself.
Again the sounds of the pipe rose and then died away slowly in a long drawn-out wail.
My eyes were fixed upon that innocent-looking little box in horror and fascination.
Ah! Something moved again within.
I saw it – saw it quite plainly.
I tried to cry out – to protest, to shout for help. But in vain.
Surely this woman's vengeance was indeed a fiendish and relentless one.
My face was not more than a foot away from the mysterious box, and when I fully realised, in my terror, what was intended, I think my brain must have given way.
I became insane!
CHAPTER XIX.
THE SEAL OF SILENCE
Yes, there was no doubt about it. Terror and horror had driven me mad.
And surely the deadly peril in which I found myself was in itself sufficient to cause the cheek of the bravest man to pale, for from that box there slowly issued forth a large, hideous cobra, which, coiling with sinuous slowness in front of my face held its hooded head erect, ready to strike.
While the Hindu played that weird music on the pipes its head with the two beady eyes and flickering tongue, moved slowly to and fro. It was watching me and ready to deal its fatal blow.
The woman saw the perspiration standing upon my white brow, and burst out laughing, still standing at a safe distance near the door.
"Ah! Mr. Royle, you won't have much further opportunity of investigation," she exclaimed. "You have become far too inquisitive, and you constitute a danger – hence this action. I'm very sorry, but it must be so," declared the brutal, inhuman woman.
She was watching, gloating over her triumph; waiting, indeed, for my death.
Surely I was not their first victim! All had been carried out in a method which showed that the paralysing drug and the deadly reptile had been used before by this strange trio.
The music, now being played incessantly, apparently prevented the snake from darting at me, as it was, no doubt, under the hypnotic influence of its master. But I knew that the moment the music ceased it would be my last.
With frantic efforts I struggled to withdraw my head and hands from the reptile's reach, but every muscle seemed powerless. I could not budge an inch.
Again I tried to speak, to shout for help, but no word could I articulate. I was dead in all save consciousness.
"Oh, yes," laughed Mrs. Petre hoarsely; "we're just playing you a little music – to send you to sleep – to put the seal of silence upon you, Mr. Royle. And I hope you'll sleep very well to-night – very well – as no doubt you will!" and she gave vent to a loud peal of harsh laughter.
Then, for a moment she hesitated, until suddenly she cried to the Hindu:
"Enough!"
The music ceased instantly, and the snake, whose hooded head had been swaying to and fro slowly, suddenly shot up erect.
The spell of the music was broken, and I knew my doom was sealed.
Those small, brilliant eyes were fastened upon mine, staring straight at me, the head moving very slowly, while those three brutes actually watched my agony of terror, and exchanged smiles as they waited for the reptile to strike its fatal blow.
In an instant its fangs would, I knew, be in my face, and into my blood would be injected that deadly venom which must inevitably prove fatal.
Yes, I had been entrapped, and they held the honours in the game. After my death Phrida would be denounced, accused, and convicted as an assassin. Because, perhaps, I might be a witness in her favour, or even assist her to escape arrest, this woman had taken the drastic step of closing my lips for ever.
But was it with Digby's knowledge? Had he ever been her accomplice in similar deeds to this?
Suddenly I recollected with a start what Edwards had told me – that the real Sir Digby Kemsley, an invalid, had died of snake-bite in mysterious circumstances, in Peru; and that his friend, a somewhat shady Englishman named Cane, had been suspected of placing the reptile near him, owing to the shouts of terror of the doomed man being overheard by a Peruvian man-servant.
Was it possible that the man whom I had known as Digby was actually Cane?
The method of the snake was the same as that practised at Huacho!
These, and other thoughts, flashed across my brain in an instant, for I knew that the agony of a fearful death would be quickly upon me.
I tried to utter a curse upon those three brutes who stood looking on without raising a hand to save me, but still I could not speak.
Suddenly, something black shot across my startled eyes. The reptile had darted.
The horror of that moment held me transfixed.
I felt a sharp sting upon my left cheek, and next instant, petrified by a terror indescribable, I lost consciousness.
What happened afterwards I have no idea. I can only surmise.
How long I remained senseless I cannot tell. All I am aware of is that when I returned to a knowledge of things about me I had a feeling that my limbs were benumbed and cramped. Against my head was a cold, slimy wall, and my body was lying in water.
For a time, dazed as I was, I could not distinguish my position. My thoughts were all confused; all seemed pitch darkness, and the silence was complete save for the slow trickling of water somewhere near my head.
I must have lain there a full hour, slowly gathering my senses. The back of my head was very sore, for it seemed as though I had received a heavy blow, while my elbows and knees seemed cut and bruised.
In the close darkness I tried to discover where I was, but my brain was swimming with an excruciating pain in the top of my skull.
Slowly, very slowly, recollections of the past came back to me – remembrance of that terrible, final half-hour.
Yes, Joy! I was still alive; the loathsome reptile's fang had not produced death. It may have bitten some object and evacuated its venom just prior to biting me. That was the theory which occurred to me, and I believe it to be the correct one.
I could raise my hand, too. I was no longer paralysed. I could speak. I shouted, but my voice seemed deadened and stifled.
On feeling my head I found that I had a long scalp-wound, upon which the blood was congealed. My clothes were rent, and as I groped about I quickly found that my prison was a circular wall of stone, wet and slimy, about four feet across, and that I was half reclining in water with soft, yielding mud beneath me, while the air seemed close and foul.
The roof above me seemed high, for my voice appeared to ascend very far. I looked above me and high up, so high that I could only just distinguish it was a tiny ray of light – the light of day.
With frantic fingers I felt those circular walls, thick with the encrustations and slime of ages. Then all of a sudden the truth flashed upon me. My enemies, believing me dead, had thrown me down a well!
I shouted and shouted, yelled again and again. But my voice only echoed high up, and no one came to my assistance.
My legs, immersed as they were in icy-cold water, were cramped and benumbed, so that I had no feeling in them, while my hands were wet and cold, and my head hot as fire.
As far as I could judge in the darkness, the well must have been fully eighty feet or so deep, and after I had been flung headlong down it the wooden trap-door had been re-closed. It was through the chink between the two flaps that I could see the blessed light of day.
I shouted again, yelling with all my might: "Help! Help!" in the hope that somebody in the vicinity might hear me and investigate.
I was struggling in order to shift into a more comfortable position, and in doing so my feet sank deeper into the mud at the bottom of the well – the accumulation of many years, no doubt.
Two perils faced me – starvation, or the rising of the water: for if it should rain above, the water percolating through the earth would cause it to rise in the well and overwhelm me. By the dampness of the wall I could feel that it was not long since the water was much higher than my head, as I now stood upright.
Would assistance come?
My heart sank within me when I thought of the possibility that I had been precipitated into the well in the garden of Melbourne House, in which case I could certainly not hope for succour.
Again I put out my hands, frantically groping about me, when something I touched in the darkness caused me to withdraw my hand with a start.
Cautiously I felt again. My eager fingers touched it, for it seemed to be floating on the surface of the water. It was cold, round, and long – the body of a snake!
I drew my hand away. Its contact thrilled me.
The cobra had been killed and flung in after me! In that case the precious trio had, without a doubt, fled.
Realisation of the utter hopelessness of the situation sent a cold shudder through me. I had miraculously escaped death by the snake's fangs, and was I now to die of starvation deep in that narrow well?
Again and again I shouted with all my might, straining my eyes to that narrow chink which showed so far above. Would assistance never come? I felt faint and hungry, while my wounds gave me considerable pain, and my head throbbed so that I felt it would burst at any moment.
I found a large stone in the mud, and with it struck hard against the wall. But the sound was not such as might attract the attention of anybody who happened to be near the vicinity of the well. Therefore I shouted and shouted again until my voice grew hoarse, and I was compelled to desist on account of my exhaustion.
For fully another half-hour I was compelled to remain in impatience and anxiety in order to recover my voice and strength for, weak as I was, the exertion had almost proved too much for me. So I stood there with my back to the slimy wall, water reaching beyond my knees, waiting and hoping against hope.
At last I shouted again, as loudly as before, but, alas! only the weird echo came back to me in the silence of that deeply-sunk shaft. I felt stifled, but, fortunately for me, the air was not foul.
Yes, my assassins had hidden me, together with the repulsive instrument of their crime, in that disused well, confident that no one would descend to investigate and discover my remains. How many persons, I wonder, are yearly thrown down wells where the water is known to be impure, or where the existence of the well itself is a secret to all but the assassin?
I saw it all now. My taxi-man must have been paid and dismissed by that thin-faced young man, yet how cleverly the woman had evaded my question, and how glib her explanation of her servant going into the town in a taxi.
When she had risen from her chair and left me, it was, no doubt, to swiftly arrange how my death should be encompassed.
Surely that isolated, ivy-covered house was a house of grim shadows – nay, a house of death – for I certainly was not the first person who had been foully done to death within its walls.
As I waited, trying to possess myself with patience, and hoping against hope that I might still be rescued from my living tomb, the little streak of light grew brighter high above, as though the wintry sun was shining.
I strained my ears to catch any sound beyond the slow trickling of the water from the spring, but, alas! could distinguish nothing.
Suddenly, however, I heard a dull report above, followed quickly by a second, and then another in the distance, and another. At first I listened much puzzled; but next moment I realised the truth.
There was a shooting-party in the vicinity!