“Not so fast,” a voice hissed in his ear; “I haven’t come all this way for the benefit of your society to lose you like this. You needn’t worry about the door, because you can’t escape in that way.”
In a sudden frenzy of rage and anger and fear, Ravenspur stretched out his arm and encountered that of the mysterious stranger, whose dramatic entrance had so startled him. But, strong man as he was, and in the pink of good condition, Ravenspur could make nothing of his assailant. The man appeared to be not more than half his size, but his arms and body were tough and elastic as the finest whipcord. Gradually Ravenspur was borne backward. He dropped on his knees with a grip about his throat that caused him to gasp for breath, and brought a million stars dancing before his eyes. He wanted help more earnestly than he had ever required it in his life before, but his pride was stubborn still, and he tried to choke down the cry which rose to his lips. He must fight for himself to the end.
“So that is to be the end of it?” Vera asked. “It breaks my heart to speak like this, but after what Lord Ravenspur has said, there must be an end to the matter.”
“But, my dearest girl, the thing is absurd,” Walter cried. “What have we done that we should be treated in this way? Surely our position is clear enough. We are to be parted for the sake of some ridiculous whim which is not even capable of an explanation. I am not going to leave matters here. I decline to obey until I know the reason why. At any rate, nothing can prevent our loving each other. And, as far as I am concerned, I am quite prepared to keep the matter secret between us. But I intend to have the matter out with my uncle before I sleep tonight. I am not a boy to be treated in this sentimental fashion. So long as I know that your feelings remain unchanged—”
“What is that?” Vera cried. “Didn’t you hear anything—a kind of horrible muffled scream? There it is again.”
The sound came again and again, ringing through the silent house, horrible and insistent in its note of tragedy. Vera turned a pale, scared face to her companion.
“Where is it?” she gasped. “Where does it come from?”
“The studio,” Walter exclaimed. “It is my uncle’s voice. Something terrible has happened to him.”
Without another word Walter dashed from the room, and flew along the corridor leading to the studio. Just for a moment there was a strained, tense silence; then, as the door of the studio was reached, a strange, muffled scream burst out again. With his hand on the lock Walter shook the door, which refused to give way to him. He called aloud on Ravenspur, but no reply came. He shook the door in a fit of angry exasperation, and once more from inside the room came that queer, choking noise, followed by a low chuckle. It was maddening, exasperating to a degree, to stand so close to the threshold of tragedy and yet to be so far away.
There was only one thing for it, and that was to break down the door. Flinging himself full against the woodwork, Walter literally forced his way in. Then he stood just for a moment looking into the gloom and darkness, trying to see where the figure of the unhappy man lay.
VII
The Yellow Handbill
The suggestion of tragedy brooding in the darkness held Lance back just for the moment. He was almost afraid to proceed lest he should find something even worse than he had expected. Then his hand fumbled along the wall with the switches, and the great room burst into a glow of light again.
The place was absolutely empty, save for the figure of Lord Ravenspur huddled up upon the Persian rug. He was absolutely still and silent. As far as Lance could see he had ceased to breathe.
Naturally enough the young man looked about him for a sign of the miscreant, but the studio contained no trace of his presence. The thing was puzzling to the last degree. There was no exit from the room beyond the door which Walter had broken down, and nobody could possibly have passed him that way. Besides, the switches were just inside the door, and the light had been turned on almost immediately. At any rate, there was nobody there now except the victim of the attack himself, and Walter feared that he was already past any explanation of the strange affair.
That would have to keep for the present. Walter bent over and raised Lord Ravenspur’s head and shoulders. He was still alive, for his eyes were wide open, though no words came from his lips. At the same time he seemed to be struggling for speech which would not come. Then he raised a shaking arm and contrived to pull Walter’s head down close to his lips. The words came at length in a faint whisper, a whisper so low, that Walter had the greatest difficulty in following it.
“Don’t let anybody know. It is absolutely necessary that no one should know,” Lord Ravenspur faltered. “If there is any alarm, I pray you go and allay it at once. Say that I had fallen asleep and was suffering from nightmare. Say I had a horrible dream. Say anything, so long as you respect my secret. Now go.”
There was nothing to do but to obey this mysterious request. At the end of the corridor Vera was waiting with an anxious face. It was no nice thing to prevaricate, it would have to be done. Walter spoke as lightly as possible.
“There is no occasion for alarm,” he said. “Lord Ravenspur says that he fell asleep and had a horrible nightmare. At any rate, he seems to be all right now. You had better go to
