CHAPTER XIX.

GOOD-BYE

“Murder!”

The cry came from some part of the wood which surrounded the house and grounds on all sides but one. It was impossible to recognise the voice, but it was not Olwen’s.

Bayre shouted in answer, and then he heard the cry again; and plunging in among the bushes which grew thick under the trees of the plantation, he presently heard it for the third time, uttered more faintly than before, and then he came suddenly upon a scene of weird horror.

In a little clearing, not many feet from a small round pond which was swollen by the recent wet weather, two men were struggling in a hand-to-hand tussle, in which one of them was obviously getting the best of it. This one was Pierre Vazon, who, hatless, with a scar across his face and blood in his matted hair, was kneeling on the body of his master and twisting the neck-cloth of the latter more and more tightly round his throat. Bayre uttered a cry of horror: his uncle lay gasping on the ground, his face livid, his eye-balls starting, trying in vain to utter more than a stifled cry.

He was indeed very nearly at the last gasp, and the blood was coming from his nostrils as he made a feeble attempt to clutch the arms of his assailant and to free himself from the fatal pressure under which he felt his very life ebbing away.

One moment was enough for Bayre to take in every detail of the scene, and to understand that the rascally blackmailer, now that his master had defied him, intended to murder him, since his own career of successful dishonesty had come to an end.

The appearance of Mr Bayre’s nephew, however, put an instant change upon the face of affairs.

“Rascal!” cried the young man, as he leapt down the slope, at the foot of which the outrage had taken place.

And seizing the peasant by the neck of his blouse, he applied to him the very same tactics that Pierre had applied to his master; and twisting a strong hand so tightly in the clothes about his neck that the peasant cried for mercy in his turn, he dragged him off the body of the prostrate old man, and edging him nearer and nearer to the black and slimy water of the little pond, at last, with a sudden deft movement, flung him with a splash into it.

It was not deep enough to drown the rogue, who, however, continued to utter yelping cries as he floundered out of the mud; but Bayre had no more attention to spare for him: his uncle, whom he at first believed to be dying, claimed all his care.

But, by an astonishing circumstance, the very approach of his preserver seemed to fill him with more terror than had the attack of his murderous servant. Old Mr Bayre, still panting and gasping for breath, turned his bloodshot eyes upon his nephew, and at the sight of him, by a supreme effort, turned over, and scrambling up upon his hands and knees, dragged himself away on all fours into the shelter of the trees and bushes, as if an encounter with his nephew were more to be feared than that through which he had just passed.

Bayre, astonished as he was, rather admired the old man’s consistency and pluck. Frankly disliking his nephew, persistently showing his dislike in avoidance when he could, in tone and manner when he could not, he was game to the last, and ran away from the young man’s help as he had previously done from his visits.

The flesh, however, was weaker than the spirit, and by the time he had crawled as far as the door of the mansion, leaving a trail of blood on the stones of the courtyard from a wound in his neck, the old man sank down exhausted, unable to pull the iron bell-handle, or even to knock for admittance.

Luckily he had been seen from the house, and Marie Vazon opened the door and let him in. The girl’s face was white with alarm; and young Bayre, who had followed his unfortunate uncle at a little distance, ready with assistance in case he should have to give in, felt no fear that she would be as brutal as her father.

However, he did not feel sufficient confidence in her to leave the feeble old man entirely to her care. After waiting for a short space, to give these two time to leave the hall, he rang the bell, and was glad to find his summons answered by one of the other servants, an older woman of the same unpolished class, who opened the door only a little way and peeped at him with a face full of alarm.

“You had better let me in,” he said with authority. “You know who I am--Mr Bayre’s nephew. I have just been witness to an assault made upon him by Pierre Vazon, who would have killed him but for my interference.”

Whether the woman would have dared to let him in, torn as she evidently was between fear of offending her master and terror of the Vazons, Bayre did not know. But at that moment Olwen, who evidently knew something of the business already, came running into the hall, and held the door wide for him to enter.

“Thank heaven you were still here!” she whispered hoarsely. “You’ve saved his life, and he knows it.”

The servant had disappeared, leaving the two young people alone.

“How is he? Shall I go across for a doctor?” asked Bayre.

She shook her head.

“He won’t allow it. I’ve just asked him. He’s very weak, but he’s so determined, so obstinate, that I think his spirit will pull him through. Wait here. He shall see you before you go.”

But Bayre had already made up his mind that he would not leave the house until he had seen the second member of the Vazon family turned out of it; as he well knew that, though Marie might not be as brutal as her father, she could only remain as a traitor in the camp, and her presence, as a connection of a would-be murderer, could not be tolerated there any longer.

“I don’t mean to go,” said he, “until I have seen Vazon’s daughter as well as himself not only out of the house but off the island. You might tell the young woman so, and perhaps she will take herself off at once and save trouble.”

It is more than probable that Marie Vazon, who had already heard from her master something of what had happened, was listening outside the door as the young man spoke. However that may be, when Olwen left the room with the intention of giving her notice to go, Marie was nowhere to be seen. Olwen found her uncle lying on the sofa in the ground-floor room he usually occupied in the day time, the room where he had had the memorable interview with his nephew and Monsieur Blaise.

A small log fire was burning on the hearth, and the heavy window curtains were drawn so as to exclude almost all light. The old man lay on a dark-coloured sofa with his back to those few rays of light which could make their way in under the circumstances. He was quite alone.

“How do you feel now?” she asked gently.

“Better. Quite well,” snapped the old man, shortly. “I only wanted a mouthful of my old brandy to put me right.”

And he pointed to a decanter and tiny glass on a table near him.

“Who got it out for you?” asked she.

“That girl Marie,” answered the old man.

And although she could not see his face clearly, Olwen could tell by his voice that he for one would show no reluctance at parting with her.

“Your nephew wants to see her and her father off the island before he goes away,” said Olwen, watching for the effect of her words.

It was electric. The old man struggled up to his elbow and stared at her.

“Ah, you have let him in then? I’m to get rid of one greedy rascal only to let in another?”

“Not greedy,” said she, gently. “You can’t fairly accuse him of that.”

“Greedy and inquisitive,” repeated the old man, obstinately. “What right has he to come here? He’s not my heir; he’ll never get a penny from me. And he may save himself the trouble of his visits for all he’ll ever get out of Creux.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Olwen, with a little demure archness in her tone.

The old man stared at her indignantly.

“What fools girls are!” said he, scornfully. “Don’t you see that he only comes after you because he thinks you’ll have some of my money?”

“Oh, no, he doesn’t. He knows, as I know, what a strong dislike you have taken to him, and we don’t either of us expect anything from you. That doesn’t prevent our wishing to do our duty, and it didn’t prevent him from saving your life. Remember that.”

But the pig-headed old man only growled out,--

“He knew if Vazon had strangled me this afternoon he would have got nothing. And he hoped, by saving my life, to induce me to alter my will.”

The idea that young Bayre should have been influenced by any such sordid motives as he rushed forward to his uncle’s assistance was so absurd that the girl burst out laughing.

“I think you’re a little prejudiced,” she said. “But I won’t tease you about it now. I’ll go and tell him that you’re more afraid of him than the Vazons, and that you don’t wish him to stay in the house.”

Perhaps reason began to get the better of the old man’s prejudice, or perhaps the very real peril he had escaped suddenly came back to his mind and made him timorous. He put out a trembling hand and detained her to say,--

“Well, well, let him stay if he likes. Let’s play one rogue off against the other!”

With which grateful remark he let her go.

She and Bayre laughed softly together over the scene, which she described to him, and then she brought in her own little silver kettle and stand, with which she was in the habit of making tea for herself and her guardian in the afternoon; and the two young people amused themselves very well in making the spirit-lamp boil the water, and in very discreet conversation over their tea afterwards.

She kept well on her guard, and was decidedly prim. But he could not help knowing, though no allusion was made to the precious bundle of MS. which he was carrying about with him or to the secret tie by which this bound them together, that Olwen was even brighter than usual, and that the happiness which sparkled in her eyes might be ascribed to the pleasure she felt in his visit.

There were so many anxious questions disturbing their minds that they both seemed to take a perverse satisfaction in avoiding them all; so they discussed neither the Vazons and their probable conduct nor the mystery of the woman whom they believed to be shut up in the _château_; nor the strange prejudice with which old Mr Bayre regarded his nephew.

It was not until Olwen rose to carry a cup of tea to her guardian that she suddenly turned at the door and said, in a low voice,--

“What do you think these Vazons will do? I’m afraid of them.”

“I’ll give information to the police when I get back to Guernsey,” said he, in the same tone, “and in the meantime we’d better keep careful watch. I should like to know what has become of the girl.”

The result of their fears and of their consultation was that Bayre decided to remain awake and to keep watch in order to circumvent any attempt which might be made upon old Mr Bayre that night.

At his nephew’s suggestion, Olwen had proposed that the police of Guernsey should be communicated with that very day. But old Mr Bayre flatly forbade this, and the prohibition seemed so strange, considering that the attack upon him had been a murderous one, that it was no wonder the suspicions of the two young people concerning old Mr Bayre himself began to grow strong again.

Why, unless he feared the result of an investigation into his house and his affairs, should the old man object to such an obvious measure for his own protection?

He gave as a reason for his objection that he was loth to treat old servants with harshness, and he added that he was sure Vazon had no intention of killing him, although he admitted that they had had a quarrel.

But this reason appeared very like a lame excuse, since old Mr Bayre was by no means now, whatever he might have been once, the benevolent old philanthropist, brimming over with loving-kindness towards his fellow-creatures, which such leniency would have seemed to imply that he was.

The wind began to rise soon after dark, and Bayre felt the weird influence of the great shut-up house when he was left to himself in the night silence, in the bare _salon_ with its polished floor and its white walls.

Old Mr Bayre had managed, after rejecting the proffered help of his nephew, to get upstairs to his bedroom with the help of the stronger of the two servants; he was nervous, Olwen said, and peered and listened as he went slowly upwards.

He too seemed to have suspicions of the baffled blackmailers, so Olwen thought.

Now that he was left alone, young Bayre found his thoughts revert again to the mystery about the mansion; he began to listen for footsteps along the corridors above, to wonder whether this night-watch would bring him any nearer the clue to the secret.

Creeping softly about the room, he soon fancied that he could hear another step as stealthy as his own in one of the adjoining apartments, and after some time he was almost sure that he could make out the sound of whispering voices.

Opening the door at the end of the room very carefully, he became aware that the whispering came from a room beyond that, and that the voices were those of two persons.

Traversing this second apartment in the same stealthy manner as he had done the first, and slipping off his boots so that he might make the less noise, Bayre reached the door at the end, and was then aware, by the wind which blew through the keyhole and round the crack of the door, that there was either a door or a window open in the room beyond--the room whence the voices came.

By this time he could make out that the voice which spoke from the inner side of the open door or window was that of Marie Vazon, and he judged that she was conversing with someone outside the house, who, he had little doubt, was her father.

From certain further sounds Bayre guessed that the precious pair were engaged in robbing the house, and that Marie, from the inside, was handing such articles of portable property as she fancied to her father, who stood without.

And as the apparent loneliness of the house made them bolder, both father and daughter allowed their voices to grow a little louder, so that in the end Bayre was able to make out what they said.

“I couldn’t get into the old man’s bedroom, for it was locked all day,” she said, “nor into the museum rooms, for they were locked too. But I’ve got some money and some good things, besides what I’ve given you, and I’ve found a little iron box that probably contains something of value. Here.”

When she got as far as that, Bayre judged that it was time to interfere. Opening the door quickly, he sprang upon the girl, who was standing without a light by the open window, mounted on a chair.

“What have you got there, you thieves?” cried he, seizing her arm as he spoke and trying to drag it down.

But she was too quick for him. He heard the iron box fall with a dull sound, as of something heavy, to the ground outside, before he succeeded in dragging her down from her perch. “Let me go!” cried she. “Let me go, monsieur, and I’ll tell you a secret--your uncle’s secret.”

“Tell nothing, tell nothing!” warned the old peasant’s voice from outside. “A secret is worth a good price, _ma fille_. Keep it close.”

And the girl, looking up with a shudder at the determined face of the young man who still held her by the arm, closed her lips firmly, and crossed her arms, and defied him.