CHAPTER IX

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*The Shadow of Death*

"Coome, now, zur, another soop o' this and you'm a man agen."

The words fell on my muffled ears as though the voice were calling from a distance; then the murmur of the sea broke in upon me like a sullen roar, as, with a wild, bewildering rush I rose to life again.

And thus I found that I was sitting up (or lolling like a sack of flour were better words for it), with a knee and arm behind me, while my head, which ached abominably, lay back upon a shoulder. So much I made out in that first dim gleam of consciousness, but for the rest of it I was still half-dazed and could not think.

"Another drop--joost one, zur," urged the voice again.

Something (a leathern bottle, as I found out afterwards) was pressed against my lips. I drew upon it with a will, then nearly choked. Hot, burning stuff it was, that sent the blood a-dancing through my veins like wildfire.

"Brandy!" I gasped, as soon as breath would let me.

"Aye, aye, you'm right, zur. Brandy it be--best French, too."

The cloud of black bewilderment was passing--the voice was now familiar. Glancing up I met the keen grey eyes of Daniel Ratlaw (or Rat as he was called), the greatest thorn in Dassell's side, because he was the king of cargo runners.

"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 Ratlaw 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 Ratlaw. "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!

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