The Black Box 17
"Smuggled?" said I.
"Right agen," he nodded, with a wink. "Smuggled sure enough it were,
but mebbe none the worse for that."
"Nay, surely, Rat," I murmured; then sat silent for a time, striving to
collect my scattered thoughts, which so far had remained a wild unruly
throng. The moon, which I had last seen shooting down the sky with
Ammon’s head for company, now shone brightly; and what was that which
flashed its light back from the grass? My sword! When I saw that, the
past rushed on me pell-mell. The poisoned arrow! Surely it was time
that death was stealing over me! The throbbing of my head--was that not
part of it?
I gave a shuddering downward glance towards my breast. The murderous
little shaft was hanging from my coat. Ratlaw’s eyes had followed mine
and seen it also.
"Whoy, what be that?" says he, and tried to seize it, but I dashed his
hand away.
"Have a care!" I cried, "’tis poisoned!"
And with that I plucked the arrow out and cast it clear into the bushes
at my back.
"Poisoned!" gasped Dan, and very nearly let me drop.
"Yes," said I, "tipped with deadly poison. Say," I added, "do I look
strange? Is my face black, or green, or blue?"
He laughed and answered:
"Nay, ’tis a lovely red, I vow."
That relieved me greatly; still, being far from satisfied, my hand went
creeping to the spot where, as it seemed, the arrow had struck clean
through to the breastbone, and there, beneath my coat, I felt the Black
Box.
"Heaven be thanked!" said I aloud. "It saved me."
"What saved thee, friend?" asked Katlaw with a puzzled look.
"Nothing," I answered quickly; then added, "or rather, you did, surely."
"Mebbe I did," said he; "you’m right agen, I reckon. Another
minute--and----"
"Yes, yes," I put in eagerly; "pray, tell me all about it"--for indeed
it seemed astonishing that Tubal Ammon had not finished me while yet he
had the power to do so.
"Well, ’twere like this," quoth Katlaw. "As I were a-cooming ’long oop
over from--well, from minding that as needs the minding, I saw what
looked like one great whopping man a-swaying in the moonlight. ’Twere a
terror of a thing, I tell ’ee, and I were just a bit afeard; but on I
coome, and then may I be drownded if that whopping man did not break
clean in two, and one half of it (that’s you) went flop. I heard your
head go crack upon yon stump, then t’other half jumped on you, and I saw
the flashing of a knife. I were close by then--a dozen yards away, not
more--so I whips out my hanger here and cooms on roarin’ like a lion.
Joost in toime and only joost. The knife wor raised to stroike, when,
hearing me, he joomps oop, snarls at me loike any dog, and flies off
cursing. And oh, the face of en! Zur, if ’twere not the Evil One
hisself, who wor it?"
"The Evil One himself," I answered slowly.
"Aye, sure, or you had killed a dozen such as he wi’ that." He pointed
to my sword.
I nodded, then asked:
"How long have I been here?"
"Mebbe the quarter of an hour."
"Ah! so long? And which way ran this villain?"
"Ran? ’Twere no running, zur," replied Dan Ratlaw. "He flew! Yea, as I
live, he sailed above yon bushes like a bat. And may I be clean
drownded, zur," he added in an awful whisper, "if blazing fire did not
drop from en as he flew."
I understood. Ammon had shed gold in flight.
"But which way did he go?" I asked again.
"Straight for The Havering yonder," answered Rat, "and like enough he’ll
be a-perching on the roof of it."
Then, for the second time that night, a clammy sweat broke out upon my
face. Ammon! The Havering! My father!
"Rat," said I, "I must for home at once."
"Whoy, zur, what’s wrong?" he asked.
"Naught, but I must away at once."
"I be afeard thou canst not walk," said he. "Take one more pull at this
fust."
He held the bottle to my lips.
"No, not a drop. Give me a hand up, man, that’s all," said I.
He did it, and, staggering to my feet, I stood there swaying for a
moment, giddy and bewildered. Then, when I had mastered this
unsteadiness, I took Dan’s hand and said: "You’ve saved my life, and I
shall not forget it."
The trusty fellow rubbed a sleeve across his mouth but answered nothing;
then his hand went down into his pocket and came forth glittering with
gold.
"See here," said he, with something of a shame-faced look, "I found this
on the grass beside thee. Doubtless he meant to take it with him,
but----"
"Nay," I put in quickly, "’tis not mine. ’Twas his, and now is yours by
right. Therefore keep it."
"What, his?--the--the devil’s?"
"Yes; and, look you, if you search the way he fled you will, methinks,
find more of it. That was the falling fire you saw. His pockets bulged
with gold."
So saying, I picked my sword up from the ground, and, leaving Ratlaw
gaping with amazement, sped for home.
How I ran I know not, for my head was singing like a sea-shell, and my
thoughts (if thoughts they could be called) were such a seething medley
as it beats me to describe aright. And thus it came about that, scarce
knowing how (as one but half-awake, that is), I reached The Havering
gates. There I stopped a moment; then, passing through, crept like a
thief into the house, and, having gently closed the door behind me,
listened. All was silent, save for the mournful ticking of the great
hall clock, which in such awful stillness broke on me like a
death-knell.
Pressing both hands upon my throbbing head, I tried to think. My father
might perhaps yet be up there wrestling with his trouble. If so, I must
be ready with that great surprise which could not fail to put his care
to flight.
Filled with this hopeful thought, I lit a candle, brought the Black Box
forth, untied the binding cord, and opened it. Then, with a throttled
cry, I staggered back, as though a blow had struck me. The box was
empty! Ferguson had put the papers in his pocket--not in this; and, in
his hurried flight, had left behind what was to me of no more value than
a stone!
I could have cursed, or wept, or both, at such a bitter mockery as that;
but I did neither. For a moment I stood staring blankly at the gaping
box; then, having taken off my shoes, I seized the faithless thing, and,
stealing silently upstairs, knocked at the study door. No answer came.
I tried the latch. The door was locked. Strange! I had never known my
father lock his door by night, though, to be sure, he sometimes did so
in the day-time when he did not wish to be disturbed. I knocked
again--much louder. Still no answer; then, listening, I heard a
stealthy, creeping noise within. I did not wait a moment longer;
hurling myself upon the door, I drove it crashing inwards.
Even as I thus burst in, the figure of a man shot past me, and,
springing through the open casement, disappeared. Running to the window
I looked forth, and saw the black, satanic form of Tubal Ammon fleeing
down the moonlit garden. I watched him till he vanished like an evil
shadow in the darkness of the trees; then, turning slowly, cast a
fearful glance about the room.
At first I could make nothing out, for the candle had burned down into
its socket, and all was dark; but, as I left the window, a straggling
moonbeam, struggling through the chestnut tree (that fatal chestnut
tree!), fell on a silvery patch above a high-backed chair. Slowly, with
feet of lead, I moved towards it for a step or two, then stopped. My
father sat there, with bowed head, as though he slumbered. What!--had he
slept through such a turmoil?
Shaking from head to foot, I went close up and laid a trembling hand
upon his shoulder--spoke to him. He neither stirred nor answered. Nay,
he would speak no more, for when I took him in my arms I found that he
was dead!
*CHAPTER X*
*I Make a Solemn Vow*
It may be that I am of a different make from other men--I know not; but
in that awful moment, when heaven and earth alike were crashing round
me, and my very life itself seemed rent asunder, I neither grieved nor
wept. It was, indeed, as though a band of steel had forged itself about
my heart and turned me into stone.
If it be hard to have no softened feelings at a time like that, then am
I hard as granite; if it be wicked to be filled with vengeful thoughts
in face of death, then am I wicked as the Evil One himself: for as I
stood there with my father’s icy hand in mine (the hand of him who had
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