CHAPTER XXII.

UNDER THE HAMMER

Some few minutes elapsed before Mr. Gray, descending from the platform, furious at such sudden interruption of his business, was able to gather vaguely from excited persons what had occurred.

The throng were passing around the steps, so that he, in charge of the auction, could not get near.

Of a sudden, an excited man, tall, thin-faced, and wearing a faded blue rain-coat, a type of low-class dealer seen at every auction all over the country, rushed up to him, saying:

“Ain’t it terrible, Mr. Gray?”

“What’s happened?” asked the auctioneer, who was so well-known and popular in that riverside district.

“Why, a poor little chap--a telegraph boy! ’E fell down the steps, and they say ’e’s dead!”

“Fell down? What? Stumbled?”

“They say ’e came ’ere with a wire for somebody named Long, a chap from Birmingham. Somebody saw Mr. Long go into the ’ouse, and, hearing the lad shout the name, sent him inside. He found him, and as he went out to get his bike, which ’e left at the steps, he fell down, and they say he’s dead!”

Mr. Gray stood staggered at the story. And well he might, recollecting his own strange experience, followed by that of Doctor Otway and the death of Farmer the caretaker.

The unconscious lad was quickly carried up the steps into the dining-room by willing hands, and soon a doctor was present.

“He’s still alive,” the medical man declared. “But he’s suffering from some violent shock, I think.”

Meanwhile the police were warned by telephone, and in a car belonging to a West End dealer the poor lad was hurried away to the Richmond Hospital.

Fully half-an-hour elapsed before calm reigned among the crowd of buyers.

The incident was discussed by everyone. Some of those present remembered what had appeared in the papers concerning the long-closed house and the evil upon it, and began to talk of curses and of the bad luck which might follow those who bought any of its contents. They were members of what is known in auction circles as “the knock-out”--a ring of dealers who were there to rope in all they could get at lowest prices, by not bidding against each other, one of the most insidious and dishonest forms of purchasing.

This reached Mr. Gray’s ears, and when order was at length restored, by a telephone message from the hospital, which announced that the lad was simply in an epileptic fit and would recover, he again mounted the rostrum.

“Gentlemen!” he cried, striking the table with his mallet, “the interruption upon our day’s proceedings has been a most unfortunate occurrence--the more unfortunate because a certain ring of ill-disposed people have circulated an utterly fantastic story that upon the contents of these premises there exists an evil influence--a curse it has been called. This is a further illustration of the low depths to which our friends of the ‘knock-out’ will descend. I put it to you, gentlemen, is this not hitting us all, myself included, beneath the belt? I am open, as the majority of you here are, for a fair and honest deal. We are all out to make a margin of profit for ourselves--myself included. The more commission I get, the happier I shall be!”

Whereat a great laugh resounded through the garden, and a man’s voice cried: “Good old Gray! You’re one of us!”

“I am,” declared the auctioneer, laughing, and putting everyone in a good temper. “So don’t let us waste any further time, gentlemen. Let’s get to business.”

The next lot was a Charles the Second day-bed, cane-bottomed with spindle legs, in preservation so perfect that it might have been made but forty years ago. All specimens have the canes damaged or holed, but in this case it was flawless.

“Now, gentlemen! How much for this perfect specimen?--a museum piece. Nobody here has ever set eyes upon any day-bed as fine as this. We’re not dealing with Curtain Road stuff to-day, gentlemen, but museum pieces. What shall I say for this magnificent specimen? Two hundred and fifty guineas?”

A little, grey-faced old man in the front of the crowd nodded in assent. He had not bid before, and the crowd of dealers, looking eagerly at him, saw he was not of them--an amateur, no doubt.

Another voice instantly cried “Two-sixty!”

“Two hundred and sixty guineas I am offered for this lot!” cried Mr. Gray. “Come, gentlemen,” he said in his ordinary voice. “The figure is ridiculous. Please don’t let us stay here all the afternoon. Three hundred pounds is offered. Three hundred! Any advance?”

“Guineas!” said the little old stranger in a high-pitched, squeaky voice, as he glanced round apprehensively to see if anyone was about to outbid him.

“Three fifty pounds!” came good-humoredly from a well-known Kensington firm of antique dealers.

“Three-sixty,” added the diminutive old stranger.

“Seventy,” replied the man from Kensington.

“Four hundred pounds,” said the little old man quite calmly.

“Four-ten,” was bid by the other.

“Fifteen!” exclaimed somebody at the back, whereupon the manager of a well-known firm in Wigmore Street, perhaps one of the greatest dealers in first-class antiques, whispered to a friend:

“Not worth more than that!”

To which his fellow dealer agreed.

“Twenty!” exclaimed the old amateur.

“Four hundred and twenty pounds for this perfect Charles the Second day-bed!” cried the man with the hammer. “Four-twenty-five! Four-twenty-five? Now, Mr. Lewis,” he went on, looking at the Kensington dealer. “Four-twenty-five. A unique piece you must acknowledge!”

The dealer from Kensington nodded.

“Four-twenty-five is offered sir,” exclaimed the auctioneer, fixing his eyes upon the little old man.

But the latter shook his head, and when the hammer fell his shiny face relaxed into a triumphant smile, for he had never had any intention whatever of buying it, and had simply run up the price out of mere devilry.

The auction proceeded, but the old gentleman, who was evidently a person of discretion and knowledge, elbowed his way into the house and went upstairs from room to room, examining the contents of each apartment--which would occupy three days in the selling--with critical eyes.

Presently, in descending, he passed for the second time into the long, old drawing-room where the faint wintry light came through the dingy, old, glass windows.

He was alone. For the moment the crowd were all eagerly excited at the sale below.

Glancing apprehensively around, he suddenly clenched his hands, and, raising his face to the ceiling, began to utter some words in gibberish that was quite unintelligible. “The great mystery,” “the strife of Lucifer,” “the all-powerful King,” “the Evil which is Ruler of the Universe,” “the Death God of the Humans!” and such-like expressions were all that were distinguishable.

In those few minutes his breath came and went in short, hard gasps as he lifted his skinny hands and grasped the air in his excitement and fervor.

In language which was cryptic and unintelligible he seemed to be invoking evil upon the place, though no one was present to see him.

Two women suddenly entered that room in which Mr. Gray had been attacked upon the reopening of the disused house, when suddenly the stranger ceased his imprecations, and, pretending to closely examine one of the pictures, a portrait by Sir Thomas Lawrence, he strolled out and down the wide stairs. On returning to the crowd he found a set of ancient wrought iron fire-dogs being put up, but evinced no interest in them. For a quarter of an hour he idled about the grounds, and then left to stroll back to the station.

As he ambled along, absorbed apparently in his own thoughts, he took no notice of a tall, rather thickly-built man of middle age who had been present at the sale, and who, like himself, was on his way to the station to take the next train back to London. The pair arrived at the station almost at the same moment and passed the ticket collector one behind the other. The elder man entered a first-class carriage, but the other went third, yet on arrival at Waterloo about half-past four, the younger man watched the other’s movements closely, and, when he entered a taxi, the other followed him across Waterloo Bridge in another cab.

It was a case of cat-and-mouse, for the elder man who had made such a close bid for the Carolean day-bed was none other than the promenader at Monte Carlo, in whose movements François Lebeau had been so deeply interested, while the man who had travelled up to London was Albert Ashe, the ex-butler of the Countess of Wyndcliffe!