The Fortune-Telling House

Ellesmere Guardian, Volume LVI, Issue 39, 17 May 1935, Page 7

The Fortune-Telling House

By AIDEN de BRUNE . (Copyright)

CHAPTER XV. "Hey, Nyall! Miss Baters!" There was no response. Craning his neck back, Sam tried to search the shadows into which the spiritualist had slowly backed a few minutes before. He called again, but no answer was returned, nor could he see the faintest shadow of her in the gloom of the room. And while he struggled to again get in touch with the strange woman, a deep, sweet lethargy stole on him. He nestled down amid the miscellaneous rags that constituted his bed, gradually drifting into the land of sleep. Sam didn't quite know- what he wanted to say to the woman, but, back of his mind was the comfortable thought that it could wait. It wasn't of any importance. His brain seemed to be a welter of ideas that did not, in any part, approximate reason. There was so much to think of —those new parts about Silas Martinger and Solomon Birder. What exactly had Nyall said about the two men? Oh, yes! They had been connected in business. The Jay Bird had married Silas —no, that wasn't right! Sarah Baters had married' Silas. Then, what relation to Sarah Baters was Nyall? Nyall! Oh, she was Sarah Baters. Then how did it come, if Nyall was a spiritualist, that Sarah Baters was a cook ?, His Wandering thoughts came up against a blank wall, and stuck there. Nyall! He could dose his eyes and picture her big, round, red, comfort-able-looking face. That was queer stuff she had given him to drinksweet and rather pungent, though rather pleasant. Then she had gone to a comer —no, she had gone to the corner to get the stuff! Wonder what it was? Yes, she had gone to the corner— and faded away into the shadows. He giggled. Spiritualists and spirits always did that sort, of thing. Rather fun to see Sarah, with her short, stout figure clad in the voluminous black robes she wore, fading into nothingness! Well, why not, if it amused her. He wanted to fade-—no, he wanted to sleep—sleep Sam thought that he had travelled many million miles through space before consciousness brought him back to the attic room in Darringtoa House. There wasn',t much light ip the place, and although he craned his head in every direction, he could not see Nyall. His mouth tasted hard and bitter, and he wanted a drink. But he didn't want to get up and find one. All he wanted was to lie there—it was really very comfortable in that attic. Lie and dream until someone came to him and— "Nyall," he called softly, and waited. No one came to him. He called again, and only the echoes of his voice awoke the vibration's that lurked amid the dusty rafters of the roof overhead. A sudden anger that he should be ill and left alone came over him, and he sat up quickly. So far as sight could penetrate the half-shadows in the attic, he was alone. He glanced at his wrist-watch. The hands stood at half-past eight. But, if that was the right time there should be no light in the attic, for at that period there was no early moon. . , He felt decidedly ill-used that he should have to wait on himself. He struggled to his feet—and immediately collapsed again on his mat. There he sat and gravely considered the situation. He was certain that at the moment he could not stand. A few moments' serious reflection, and he commenced to crawl on hands and knees to the corner from where Nyall had brought the water. Surely he would find water there and, at the moment, he longed for a long, satisfying drink of water more than for anything else. If his throat had not been so parched and sticky he would have cheered when he found a half-bucket of water in the corner. He tasted it, tilting the bucket against his mouth. The water was warm, yet it satisfied. For minutes Sam sat beside the bucket, drinking intermittently, ana pouring more of the liquid down his vest-front than into his mouth, for buckets are awkward drinking vessels. His thirst at length satisfied, he essayed to gain his feet. Combing up, holding to the angle of the wall, he at length succeeded in standing on his feet; then propped his back against the wall and surveyed the length and breadth of the attic. There was nothing of consequence in that wide, long, low space. Only the bundle of clothing spread in the middle of the floor and on which he had lain for many hours past. The sight of the mat brought with it an intense, overwhelming desire to again

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sleep, and he staggered from the corner, to throw himself on the hard bed and fall into a deep, intense Bleep.

The attic was entirely dark when Sam again awoke. He brought his wrist up against his face, but could see neither hands nor figures on the watch-face. Somewhere about midnight, he guessed, and didn't worry, for he felt restful and happy. Once he called the woman, - softly, but she did not answer. Well, why worry? Perhaps she was hunting for the Jay Bird's treasure. Good luck to her if she found it—but she couldn't blame him if the treasure she found proved worthless to her. He had warned her —and that was all he could do.

The Jay Bird's treasure! What | constituted the Jay Bird's treasure? Sam was forced to confess that confidence in his knowledge had evaporated. He was certain there was a treasure; but he had not the foggiest iidea what constituted the treasure. All he knew was that the Jay Bird had cut a tunnel from under the foundations of the house to the well in the garden court. What had he searched for? The two passages, one at right angles to the other, showed that the well had been the objective of the work. But what had the well to do with the search for treasure ? The well was sealed by the group of statuary—and beside that garden ornament the Jay Bird had met his death! Then what had he been doing there? Why, if the well was his objective, hadn't he continued with his tunnelling work? The whole affair didn't make sense. Sam swore softly to himself. Oh, well, he wasn't going to bother about that now. His head ached infernally, and he wanted to sleep. He turned on his side and closed his eyes. Had a minute, an hour, or a day; passed since he closed his eyes in the pitch dark attic ? Now there was a faint light in the room—a thin beam of pure white, soft light, pendant from the roof and ending in a little circular pool of glowing beams on the dusty floor-boards. Sam lay and watched the light. It moved slowly, very slowly—moving to the wall on one side of the room. Suddenly a voice called, through the half-light: "Sam! Sam! I want you!" He waited, listening. He knew the voice, he had heard it before, and in his heart it awoke echoes of memory. Leslie was calling him! He sat up quickly, and answered: "Leslie! Where are you?" Again the voice spoke, calling out of the shadows: "Sam! Sam! Come to me!" "Where, Leslie? Where?" He struggled to his feet, to find the dizziness had left him, that strength was again flowing through his muscles. "Come!" repeated the little, clear voice, and the word appeared to echo through vast distances. "Leslie!" called Sam again, and this time there was no answer. Standing above the nap on which he had lain for so many hours, Sam stared about the attic. Again his eyes came to the little pool of light on the floor. The moonbeams had met some obstruction and were now elongated, assuming the form of a short, fat finger—and that finger pointed to one side of the room. Whimsically, and unable to decide for himself, Sam went in the, direction of the pointing finger. He came to the wall. It was a boarded wall and his fingers strayed idly over its surface. His-, fingers caught on some protuberance. He dragged on it, and through the gloom came the sound of a small click. He pressed forward, hands outstretched, and while his right hand met woodwork, his left hand passed into space. Instinct, not sight, told him that he had found the entrance to the attics. Moving cautiously, shuffling his feet on the boards, for he had no light, he felt for ladder or stair. There were boards under his feet, and he judged he was in a passageway. Swaying from side to side, with hands outstretched; he could just touch a wall on either side. He moved forward more confidently, sliding one foot cautiously before the other. Then his foot slid out of space. Dropping on his hands and knees, Sam left forward. He found he was at the head of a ladder. The ladder was fixed and the rungs almost like steps; he would have called it a stairway, but for the steepness of the treads. Turning round, he climbed down it backwards. Again on level floor, he started to turn, but found himself in a narrow, box-like space. Whichever way he turned, he was confronted by a wall.

The space was so narrow that three men standing close would have overcrowded it. Desperately he thrust. at each side of the box-like space in which he stood, but the walls resisted his strength. Almost he thought he would have to re-ascend the Jadder, the commonsense insisted that the panel and ladder would not be there unless there was some means of exit at the ladder's foot. More carefully than before he tested the walls of his prison. One of them shook sligli tly . under his hands. He passed his hands over the wall-space. Close to the ground, and where a slightly raised foot would have caught it, was a projection. Thrusting this down, a door swung open, outwards. As the door opened it seemed to obscure some faint light beyond. Stepping forward, Sam found himself in a small chamber. He caught at the door and shut it. Now, before him, he found another partlyopen door, and beyond this was a bed-chamber. His first instinctive glance when he entered the room was at the window. These windows were not boarded, as had been every other window Sam had seen in the house. Through the partly-opened window glowed faint moonlight, illuminating eerily an ornately furnished bedroom. The newspaper-man stared in astonishment. He had not known there were rooms in Darrington House containing furniture, and, as this one showed plainly, recently occupied by a lady. On the old-fashioned dress-ing-table, amid a litter of intimate toilet articles, stood two half-burned candles. On the bed lay a disorder of clothing. From this room opened only one door, beside the secret panel in the closet. Sam went to it and opened it. He found himself in a corridor, xpresumably on the upper storey of the house—and this corridor was fully carpeted and furnished! Then he heard voices, faintly coming from far along the corridor. He could . distinguish the high, light voices of women, imposed on the harder, deeper men's voices. Sam stared about him bewilderedly, and, on the opposite side of the corridor, noticed a door partly open. He went to it, and peered into a room. This room, also, - was fully furnished and showed signs of recent occupation. Sam turned abruptly, in the direction in which he believed the main stairway lay, and, as he progressed over the heavily-carpeted floor the voices became louder. Walking slow- ! ly, and staring about him at the fresh evidences of an occupied house on every side, he came suddenly out of the corridor on to the square that surrounded the head of the stairs. He paused an instant, and a .door almost facing him opened. A young lady came out of a room and turned to shut the door. Sam stared at her amazedly. In many respects she was attired as Leslie had been tha^ afternoon, but her dress was mor^ r-nate; some instinct told him that the difference was not that of period, but of merely day and evening wear. As the girl turned from the door Sam made a step forward, to speak to her and explain his presence in the house. But, staring at him as if he were not present, the girl

moved with small mincing steps to the stairs and descended them. Annoyed at what he took to be a deliberate cut, Sam followed the girl down the stairs. Half-way down he paused and stared at the.scene in the hall, half-frightened, half-bewil-dered. The great hall was full''of people, dressed in costumes that reminded him of a fancy dress ball at Sydney's Town Hall; yet there was a certain sameness about the dresses that showed that they were all within one period. Most of the men were in uniform and in nearly every case fully armed. For the moment the thought flashed into Sam's mind that someone i was trying to play a huge practical joke on him; then he shrugged and set the idea aside. Even if any of the people in the vicinity had such thought, they had not the means to carry it out. No, this was no sham or pretence; some instinct told him that in some strange manner he had pierced the veil of time and now stood amid a bygone generation. The big hall doors were wide open, and through them, from where he stood on the stairs, Sam looked out on well-kept gardens and a noble carriage drive leading through a j plantation of trees to the main road. On the well-kept lawns gaily dressed women moved, accompanied by attentive cavaliers. Slowly he walked down the stairs until he stood in the hall. Men and women moved, laughed and talked about him, yet not by word or sign gave knowledge of his presence. A strange, almost inhuman fact suddenly impigned on Sam's consciousness. He could see the women and men surrounding him talking and laughing, but he could not hear a word. All about him was a deep silence that gave to him the feeling of looking on from an immense distance. He saw a powdered, liveried footman approach a couple standing beside him. The lady spoke, cvi- j dently conveying some order, and I the man bowed and replied. Some i sense of thought transference conveyed to Sam's brain the order given ]