CHAPTER V.

LUCIUS AT FAULT.

At nine o’clock Lucius stood before the tall iron gate waiting for admittance to Mr. Sivewright’s dwelling. In spite of his weariness, he had slept but little in the interval. The fever of his brain was not to be beguiled into slumber. He could only go over the same ground again and again, trying to convince himself that the mystery of that secret entrance to Cedar House was a very simple matter and would be made clear after a little trouble.

He scrutinised Mrs. Wincher keenly, as she unlocked the gate and conducted him across the forecourt; but nothing in the aspect of Mr. Wincher’s good lady indicated agitation or emotion of any kind whatsoever. If this woman were involved in some nightly act of wrong-doing against her master, she was evidently hardened in iniquity. Her face, not altogether free from the traces of a blacklead brush, with which she may perchance have brushed aside an importunate fly, was placidity itself.

‘You’re more than usual early this morning, Dr. Davory,’ she said with her friendly air; ‘you did ought to give yourself a little more rest.’

‘I couldn’t rest this morning, Mrs. Wincher,’ answered Lucius thoughtfully; ‘I was too anxious.’

‘Not about the old gentleman, I hope?’

‘Well, partly on his account, and partly upon other grounds. I have an idea that this house is not quite so safe as it might be.’

‘Lord bless you, sir, not safe, when I bolts every blessed door, and puts up every blessed bar, just as if it was chock full of state prisoners! And what is there for any one to steal except the bricklebrack, and nobody in these parts would know the vally o’ that. I’m sure I’ve lived among it five-and-twenty year myself, and can’t see no use in it, nor no beauty in it neither. Depend upon it, nobody would ever come arter bricklebrack.’

‘I don’t know, Mrs. Wincher,’ answered Lucius; ‘people will come after anything, as long as it’s worth money.’

‘Let ’em come, then,’ exclaimed the matron contemptuously; ‘I give ’em leave to get into this house after dark if they can.’

‘How if some one were to be obliging, though, and let them in?’

‘Who is there to do that, unless it was me or my good gentleman,’ cried Mrs. Wincher, blushing indignantly through the blacklead, ‘and I suppose you’re not going to suspect us, Dr. Davory, after five-and-twenty years’ faithful service? Let any one in, indeed, to make away with the bricklebrack! Why, my good gentleman would fret hisself to fiddle-strings if he was to crack a tea-cup.’

Indignation lent shrillness to the voice of Mrs. Wincher, and this conversation, which took place in the hall, made itself audible in the parlour. The door was opened quickly, and Lucille appeared on the threshold, very pale, and with that troubled look in her face which Lucius had seen at parting with her the night before.

‘What is the matter?’ she asked anxiously, ‘what are you talking so loud about, Wincher?’ She took Lucius’s offered hand absently, hardly looking at him, and evidently disturbed by some apprehension of evil.

‘Nothink pertiklar, Miss Lucille,’ replied Mrs. Wincher, tossing her head; ‘only I’m not a stone, and when people throws out their insinuventions at me I feels it. As if me or my good gentleman was capable of making away with the bricklebrack.’

‘What do you mean, Wincher?’

‘Ask him,’ said Mrs. Wincher, pointing to Lucius; ‘I suppose he knows what he means hisself, but I’m sure I don’t;’ with which remark the matron withdrew to the back premises to resume her blacklead brush.

‘What have you been saying to offend Mrs. Wincher, Lucius?’ asked Lucille.

‘Not much, dearest, but if you’ll listen to me for a few minutes I’ll endeavour to explain.’

He followed her into the parlour and shut the door.

‘Why, Lucille,’ he said, drawing her towards the window, and looking at the pale thoughtful face, ‘how ill you look!’

‘I am anxious about my grandfather,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Never mind my looks, Lucius; only contrive to cure him, and I daresay I shall soon be quite well again.’

‘But you have no right to be anxious, Lucille,’ he answered; ‘can you not trust me? Do you not believe that I shall do all that care and skill can do, and that, if at any moment I see reason to doubt my own power to deal with this case, I shall call in some famous doctor to aid me?’

‘I believe you will do all that is wise and right; but still I cannot help feeling anxious. Do not take any notice of me. I pray Heaven that all may come right in time.’

She said this with a weary air, as if almost worn out with care. It seemed cruel to trouble her at such a time, and yet Lucius could not refrain from some endeavour to solve the mystery of that scene last night.

‘Lucille,’ he began seriously, ‘you must promise not to be angry with me, nor to be alarmed by anything I may say.’

‘I can’t promise that,’ she said, with a shade of impatience; not quite the old sweetness that had charmed and won him; ‘you are full of strange fancies and terrors. What was that you were saying to Mrs. Wincher just now?’

‘I was only hinting at a suspicion that has become almost a certainty. There is something wrong going on in this house, Lucille.’

She started, and the pale face grew a shade paler.

‘What do you mean? What can be wrong?’

‘There is foul play of some kind, a design against the property contained in this house. No doubt the report of its value has spread by this time; the house is known to be almost unoccupied. What more likely than that some one should attempt to plunder your grandfather’s possessions? What more easy, above all, if any one inside the house turned traitor and opened the door, in the dead of the night, to the intruder?’

‘Lucius!’

The name broke from her lips almost in a scream, and it seemed as if Lucille would have dropped to the ground but for her lover’s supporting arm.

‘Lucille, is it worthy of you to be so terrorstricken? If there is danger to be met, can we not meet it together? Only trust me, darling, and all your fears will vanish. Believe me, I am strong enough to face any peril, if I have but your confidence. Accident has put me in possession of a secret connected with this house. Heaven knows what might have happened but for that providential discovery. But knowledge is power, and once aware of the danger, I shall find out how to cope with it.’

‘A discovery!’ she repeated with the same terrorstricken look. ‘What discovery?’

‘First, that the people you trust, these Winchers, whose fidelity has stood the test of five-and-twenty-years’ service, are improving their first opportunity to cheat. They are taking advantage of your grandfather’s helplessness. A man was admitted into this house secretly at one o’clock this morning.’

‘What folly!’ cried Lucille with a faint laugh. ‘What could have put such a delusion into your head? A man admitted to this house at one o’clock this morning! Even if such a thing could have happened, which of course is impossible, who could have informed you of the fact?’

‘My own eyes, which saw him clamber from the barges to the garden-wall, saw the gleam of a candle as a door was opened to admit him, saw a light burning in one of the upper windows—evidently a signal.’

‘_You_ saw?’ cried Lucille with widely-opened eyes. ‘How could you see? What could have taken you to the back of this house in the middle of the night?’

‘Accident,’ answered Lucius, ‘or say rather Providence. I was out of spirits when I left you last night—your own manner, so unlike its usual kindness, disturbed me, and I had other agitating thoughts. I walked a long way down the Shadrack-road, and then returned by a back way, which brought me to the spelter-wharf opposite the garden. There the light in the upper story attracted my attention. I had heard from you that those upper rooms were never occupied. I waited, watched, and saw what I have just described.’

‘I would sooner believe it a delusion of your senses than the Winchers could be capable of treachery,’ said Lucille.

‘Do not talk any more about my senses deceiving me,’ replied Lucius decisively. ‘You told me I was the fool of my own senses when I saw some one open the door of one of the upper rooms, and then hurriedly shut it. Now I am certain that I was not deceived—there was some one hidden in that room. Remember, Lucille, I say again there is no cause for fear. But there is foul play of some kind, and it is our business to fathom it. We are not children, to leave ourselves at the mercy of any scoundrel who chooses to plunder or assail us. I shall bring a policeman to watch in this house to-night, and set another to watch the outside.’

The slender figure which his arm had until now sustained slipped suddenly from his hold, and Lucille sank unconscious to the ground.