In the strange, unfamiliar darkness, Walter stood for a moment until his eyes should become accustomed to the objects all about him. One by one they began to loom out of the blackness. He could make out chairs and tables, the outline of a square hall, and the front door at the end of it. He set his teeth together, now filled with a stern resolution to succeed or lose his life in the attempt. He was not ignorant of the class of man he had to deal with. He knew that Silva would not hesitate to shoot him down like a dog if his presence were detected. But, surely, between the three of them, they would be able to manage? It only needed to find Silva’s room, to go in there and overpower him. Once he was helpless, to get up to the roof room and rescue Vera was the work of a moment.
With these sanguine thoughts uppermost in his mind, Walter cautiously made his way in the direction of the front door. It was not difficult to draw the bolts or take down the chain. But the trouble lay in the fact that the door was also locked, and the key had vanished. Therefore, any idea of admitting his companions that way had to be definitely abandoned.
Still, there were the windows, and French windows at that. But even this scheme was frustrated by the knowledge, gained a moment later, that all the living rooms on the ground floor were locked and the keys taken away. It was a disconcerting moment, and Walter hardly knew how to proceed. There was no help for it but to return by the way he had come and tell the others of his discovery. As to Lord Ravenspur, he was far too big a man to squeeze through the larder window, so that the perilous task would devolve entirely upon Walter and Venables.
As Walter stood there he became conscious of the fact that a feeble ray of light was penetrating down the well of the stairs. Acting on the impulse of the moment he crept up a few of the thickly carpeted stairs until he was in a position to command the landing. The light penetrated from one of the rooms, the door of which was slightly open, so that Walter was fain to look in. It was only a night-light, after all, standing on a small table in the middle of the room. Even from that distance Walter could see that a letter lay by the side of the light, or, rather, a sheet of paper with a message upon it. Powerful curiosity drew him on, and he snatched up the sheet of paper. There were only two or three lines, but Walter recognised, with a thrill, that they were in Vera’s handwriting. He had no time to read, before a sudden rush of cold air from somewhere extinguished the feeble light. Worse than this, the current slammed the door to with a bang that shook the whole house. It was so utterly unexpected, and the darkness was so intense, that Walter could only stand there utterly lost as to his surroundings.
XXXIV
A Strange Homecoming
Vera opened her eyes at length. Gradually the things that had happened came back to her. She recognised the futility of resistance. All she could do was to wait and hope for the best. But despite the startling rapidity with which events had moved, she was not in the least frightened. Her prevailing feeling was one of indignation that any man should have dared to treat her in this way. Withal, there was a certain vein of curiosity that Vera did not care to suppress. The cab was still moving briskly, and Vera judged by the trees on each side of the road that they were already out in the country. The man sat opposite her, grim and silent. He made no inquiry as to how Vera was getting on. He suggested no apology for his violence.
The feeling of languor and the suggestion of headache passed away, leaving Vera strong and vigorous again. It was impossible to sit there without speaking.
“Do you quite understand what you are doing?” she said to the man opposite. “Do you realise that you are guilty of a criminal offence? You could be prosecuted for this.”
“I will not contradict you,” Silva said politely. “Believe me, I deeply regret the necessity for taking this step. Yet it was impossible to satisfy our requirements in any other way.”
“Oh, you are not alone, then?” Vera asked. “Would it be inquiring too much if I asked who else is in this business?”
Silva smiled under cover of the darkness. A man of courage himself, he admired that quality in others. So the child that he had known, and been so passionately attached to, eighteen years ago had grown up to be a worthy representative of her race? Vera would have been astonished at that moment if she could have seen into the back of Silva’s brain. She did not realise for a moment that here was a man who would have gone through fire and water for her, and yet, at the same time, he was prepared to wreak his insane vengeance upon those whom she loved and admired more than anybody in the world. If Vera’s happiness had depended upon it, Silva would not have spared Ravenspur, even had Vera gone on her knees and asked for it. Yet he would have given his life if it could have done any good to this proud descendant of the house of Descarti.
“Surely you can guess who is with me in this business?” he said. “Did I not bring you a letter from your mother?”
Vera started. She had forgotten her mother for the moment, and this question of Silva’s had opened up a new
