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Counterfeit

COIN

Another instalment

of our fascinating serial of
romance and adventure.

THE STORY SO FAR:

RICHARD EXON, an Englishman, and his friend,

JOHN HERRICK, are in Austria on a secret mission which

concerns the Castle of Brief. They are also anxious to
expose the villainous

COUNT FERDINAND, who by a trick has wrested the title

from his twin brother, the father of

LADY CAROLINE VIRGIL, whom he and his son,

PERCY VIRGIL, are planning to rob of a great inheritance.
She is rescued from the Castle, where her life is in danger,
and taken to Raven, by Exon, who discloses the plans of the Count
and his real relationship to her.

Accompanied by a police sergeant, Percy arrives at Raven,
and demands an explanation for Exon and Herrick's movements,
and accuses them of kidnapping his cousin.

They then inform the police of Percy's part in a conspiracy
against Lady Caroline, and he departs in terror.

A council is held and Exon and Herrick with the Lady Caro-
line decide to spend forty-eight hours in the Tower of the Castle.
They force their way into the Tower and a search, conducted by
Exon, discloses a doorway which they think leads to the Tower's

secret. NOW READ ON.

NOW the block of

stone before us ap-
peared to be unat-
tached. It was very
slightly smaller than
the gap through
which it appeared,
and it seemed to be
resting on some-
thing which was not
part of the stair. It
fitted its recess as
closely as does a brick loose in a
wall; it was by no means loose; but
the moment I touched it—I cannot
say that it moved, but I knew that

it was not fixed.

This very peculiar condition
astonished us all, for the block
must have measured at least nine
inches by five, and though, for all
we knew, it was only three inches
deep, the weight of a stone of that
size should have held it fast.

"Go on," said Herrick. "Pull it. If
a genie appears, so much the better.
I've quite a lot of orders to give."

I laid hold of the dog and pulled.
At once the block slid forward,
after the way of a drawer that you
pull from a chest. And, as you may
pull a drawer clear, so I drew the
block out of its housing, over the
tread of the step which lay, like an
apron to take it, in front of the gap.

The block was immensely heavy,
for it must have been twelve inches
deep, and, when I had drawn it clear,
it was all I could do to lift it out of
the way and on to the tread above.

To do this, I had to stand up and
lift it between my legs; but the others
stayed where they were.

As I laid it down:

"Do you see it, too?" said Herrick.
"I—I don't understand," breathed
Caroline. "I mean, how can that be
there?"

"What is it?" said I, and stepped
back to go down on my knees.

"It's time we went home," said
Herrick. "That's what it is. When
I run into black magic, that's where
I get off."

Never had idle words so specious
a warranty.

The block which I had withdrawn
had left behind it no room.

Though I make a fool of myself,
at least I will make this clear.

When you pull a drawer from a
chest and lay it aside, you leave in
the chest a space which is very
slightly larger than the drawer
which you have removed. But,
though I had drawn out the block,
there was no such space left. In fact,
the gap was now framing another
block of stone which resembled
exactly the one I had taken away,
except that it had no handle by
which it could be withdrawn. And

none Help

when presently I touched it, the
same indefinable tremor told me it
was not fixed.

"Can you beat it?" said Herrick
shortly.

"On the face of it, no," said I.
"But there must be some simple
reason for such a thing. I mean,
these doings are ancient: there's no
machinery here."

"There can't be a reason," said
Herrick, "unless you're a conjurer.
If you pick a brick out of a wall,
you've a right to expect a recess.
Well, there's the brick you picked
out; but where's the recess?"

"There was a recess," said my
lady. "There must have been. But
now it's been filled."

"THAT'S right,"

said I. "That's right. And I'll tell
you another thing. It's got to be
emptied again before we can put
that block back."

"Do you mean to suggest," said
Herrick, "that a slab of stone of that
size, fixed or unfixed, can shift to
and fro on its own?"

"I have it," said Brenda's voice.
"The thing is a counterpoise. My
uncle has one at his farm. It is very
old, but its movement is silent and
sure as the flight of an owl."

There was an electric silence.
Then—

"By heaven, the girl's right!" said
Herrick. "And there's the conjuring
trick. Beneath these steps there's a
balance; and when you drew out
that block you lightened one of its
scaleswith two results. One was
that the scale you had lightened
rose in the air, and thus revealed to
our eyes the second weight on that
scale. That is it, there—in the gap."
He got to his feet. "And the other

BY Dornford Yates

result was this—that the opposite
scale sank down—thus revealing
somewhere or other the doorway
we're trying to find."

That this interpretation was good
there could be no doubt, and we all
began to go down the winding stair,
surveying the walls as we went for
some gap In the masonry. We were
too much excited, I fear, to use our
wits. Had we done so, we should
have perceived that there was but
one direction in which the balance
could hang, and that this would
bring the scale which we wished to

as we emerged

from the staircase into the small,
square hall, we saw directly before
us the interspace which we sought.

I have said that the hall was pan-
elled. On the wall which faced us
one of the panels had sunk—not
very much, but five inches—exactly
the height of the block which I had
pulled out of the stair. The gap
thus shown was breast high and fif-
teen inches in width. Beyond was an
open space, and when I put in my
hand I could feel a faint current of
air.

The panel hung on a chain, which
was, of course, attached to the bal-
ance above. And so long as it hung
on that chain the panel could go no
farther, because the counterweight
had no room to rise. So I took the
weight of the panel while Herrick
undid the chain.

(Here let me say that those that
installed the contrivance so long be-

fore had left undone no conveni-
ence, however nice, however hard to
devise. But for their provision the
panel's weight being gone, the
counterweight mast have sunk and
the chain have run up out of reach.
But this was provided against, for
the chain ran up through a hole
which served as a guide, which was
half an inch too small for the last

of the links.)

Then I let the panel sink slowly
into some slot in the stone.

At last it came to rest, some six
inches still protruding and making

none Help

locate very
nearly above the
doorway by
which we had
entered the
tower. How-

ever, as luck
would have it,
we now had no
need of wits, but

only of eyes; and

The door swung back and we
stood on the threshold and peered

into the room.

a sill to the doorway which we had
discovered at last.

This gave to a winding stair, pre-
cisely resembling that upon which
we had passed so many wearisome
hours. In a word, with the hall for
landing, the stair of the tower went
on down, curling slowly right-
handed into the bowels of the earth.

For the others I cannot answer,
but until we were about to go down
I had never considered to what "the
doorway" might lead, but now that
we were about to discover the truth
I remembered the late Count's
words, and, with those for straw,
began to make fabulous bricks.

"It may be that you can use it . ."
I will not set down the pictures my
fancy drew. Enough that they were
all false. But I have this consola-
tion—that not one man in a million
would have predicted the scene which
presently met our eyes.

Herrick declined to go down, but
stayed in the hall with Brenda,
"unless and until," said he, "my lady
decides that she wants me on in this
act." So I accompanied Caroline,

torch in hand.

For thirty-six steps we went down.
And then we came to a chamber that
had an unusually solid door with a
small grating. The door swung back
easily.

On the threshold we stopped, and
peered into the room.

The chamber was small—some fif-
teen feet by eight, and some nine
feet high. Its walls and floor and
celling were all of stone, and though
there was no window, the air was
by no means foul. (This, I after-
wards found, was due to two vents—
one low down in a wall, and the other
high up at the opposite end of the
room; but though I sought for their
mouths I was never able to find

them, because they were too well

hid.) Towards one end of the cell

was a great oak stall, plainly very
ancient and finely carved, and
against one wall was a coffer, also
of oak. There was no other furni-

ture.

In the stall was seated a man—or
what was left of one. His pose was
natural. His head was up and was
leaning against the back of the stall,
his arms lay along its arms, and his
trunk and his feet were well and
truly planted on oak and stone. His
clothes were those of the fifteenth
century. His tunic was of diapered
velvet which the passage of many
years had brought to shreds and
tatters, if not to dust, but a jewelled
belt was still girdling the crumbling
loins and a chain was sunk in the
ruin about the neck. Hose still hung
upon the legs, which were skin and
bone, and a patch, that had been a

cap, was still crowning the thick

fair hair. This was inviolate. The
face and hands were withered, but
otherwise well preserved, and might
have been those of a man incredibly
old, but a few hours dead. The eyes,
which were wide, had a curious,
sightless look, and might have be-
longed to a man who was living, but
blind; and the whole was in no way
offensive, because, I suppose, there
was no sign of corruption, but only
of age. Indeed, had the hair been
white, the figure would have been
full of dignity; but the color of the
hair was fatal, suggesting an old
man's efforts to seem to be young—
one of Time's shabbier jests, for the
man had not seen old age.

ON the coffer

were lying three things. One was a
skin of parchment—or part of a
skin. Upon this had been written
Latin, still to be read. By its side
lay the translation, clearly inscribed
upon vellum and made at some later
date. And between the two lay a
massive signet-ring.

As might have been expected, the
documents told us the truth.

"Here sits Elbert, Duke of Austria
and Carinthia, King of Hungary,
slain by his host and liegeman,
Rudolf of Brief, because he came
upon him defiling his wife.

"With the fear of death upon her,
Helen of Brief declared the follow-
ing facts:

"That the King and she were
secretly married, before he wedded
the Queen and before she deceitfully
wedded Rudolf of Brief. In proof
whereof she offered her marriage
lines signed by the Cardinal Gaddi,
lately dead of the plague, whom God

reward.

"That the first and third of her
children, whom Rudolf believed to
be his, were both the sons of the
King.

"Rudolf made haste to apprise the
Queen of the truth.

"For the sake of that injured lady,
he undertook, on conditions, to hold
his peace. Between them it was
agreed.

"That he should hold to his wit-
ness the corpse of the King, himself,
providing another to take its place
and be interred and entombed as
though it were that of the King.

"That since Otto, whom he thought
his firstborn, was now IN TRUTH
Duke of Austria and Carinthia,
King of Hungary, he and his heirs
should FOR EVER hold the right
to call upon the heirs of her body
in any stress, whose help they shall
have WITHOUT FAIL by showing
the King's great ring.

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"THAT her heirs

shall be so instructed in perpetuity.

"By Rudolf's order, Gollanx,
a chemist of Innsbruck, preserved
the corpse of the King. This he did
according to a certain prescription
which he had of a learned Venetian
whose son he had saved. His rai-
ment also he dipped against the
corruption of Time.

"Dated the ninth day of March in
the year of Our Lord one thousand
four hundred and thirty-nine (the
King being dead on the seventh, hav-
ing lain in state till now and to be
replaced this night) and written
down word for word as my lord
Rudolf hath commanded by his un-
worthy servant and clerk.

"GABRIEL OF LITTAI.

"Whom I slue whiles his ink was
wett for he hath a long tongue and
I have need of a boddy as he hath

sayed.

"RUDOLF OF BRIEF."

The original postscript was labori-
ously written in German and poorly
spelt. The translation was done in
German from first to last, and to
this had been added two lists—one
of the Lords of Brief and one of the
several heads of the other House.

Caroline was trembling.

"Oh, Richard, d'you know what

this means?"

"It means you're a queen," said I.
"But, then, I knew that before."

"No, no." She dabbed at the
parchment. "That last name there.
Not my grandfather's—the other.
Harriet Vincentia Saying, Duchess
of Whelp. She's still alive, and
she's bigger than any queen. She's
always known as "Old Harry." Her
mother was English, as mine was,
and if she'll take up my cause—"

"She must," said I. "It's a case
of deep calling to deep."

"She's a law to herself," said Caro-
line thoughtfully. "But if she does
—well, next time you come to Brief
you won't have to force any bars."

"That's right," said I, feebly
enough. With a sudden movement,
I set a torch in her hand. "And
now I'll go for a pen. You must
write your name here at once. Shall
Herrick come down?"

"If you please."

I left her there and mounted the
unworn stair.

The thing was absurd and child-
ish, but now that I saw what was
coming, my heart sank down. The
"rough stuff" was over, and so—my
service was done. From now on,
steps would be taken by a lady of
high degree. Pressure would be put
on the impostor; ways and means
would be used which were out of
my ken. And when the game had
been won, I should be invited to
Brief, where a servant would hold
the door wide and another would

take my hat. I should be ushered—
I—that had broken into the place,
to set a queen on her throne. And
then I should be presented to Her
Grace the Duchess of Whelp, and
the Countess of Brief would tell her
how good I had been. I that had
held a king's daughter against my
hammering heart—

I suppose that my face was be-
traying my state of mind, for, as I
stepped into the hall, I saw Herrick
throw up his head and clap his
hands to his eyes.

"Oh, I can't bear it," he groaned.
"Don't say that after all this—"

"On the contrary," said I, "we're
practically home. I'm going to get
pen and ink—for you to take

down."

Leaving him staring, I entered the
room on my left, passed to a table

and dipped a pen in some ink. Then
I came back and gave it to Herrick
and watched him begin to descend.

Brenda, of course, was wide-eyed;
but it was not for me to tell her
what we had found.

"It's her ladyship's secret," I said;
"but at least I may tell you this—
that, thanks to what we've discov-
ered, she's going to come by her
rights."

"It is very ancient?" said Brenda.
"It's nearly five hundred years
old."

Brenda drew in her breath.

"And has been handed down all
that time from father to son?"

"Certainly," said I. "And each of
them signed his name. The signa-
tures are down there. I think there
are thirty-two."

(Here I should say that, in fact,
there were thirty-three, the first
twenty-five of which are those of
the "lords" of Brief. The twenty-
sixth was that of the first of the
"counts.")

"Few houses," said Brenda, "could
show such a title as that."

"Very few," said I, sitting down.
"Is your family ancient, too?"

"I REALLY don't

know," said I. "I believe we go back
some way, but I've nothing to show."

"The Revokes have held Raven for
more than a hundred years."

"But I have no home," said I.
"In fact, I'm nothing at all. It's
true that I have some money—much
more than I need. But that is all.
I haven't even got an address."

Brenda frowned.

"You have always Raven," she
said. "And when my lady is up, I
think you will be welcome at Brief
for as long as you live."

I smiled, and we spoke no more,
but waited together in silence till
Herrick came back—alone.

"Caroline wants you again," was
as much as he said.

In some surprise, I took the torch
from him and again descended the

stair.

As I entered the little chamber:
"Look!" said Caroline, pointing. "Is
that all right?"

I stooped to regard the vellum.

She had written a line beneath
her grandfather's name.

Caroline Virgil, Countess of Brief,
only child of the foregoing's first-

born son.

"Yes," said I "There's no mistake
about that."

She gave me the pen, and picked
up the great gold ring. Then she

turned to look again at the body,
sunk in its stall.

"Seeing's believing," she said.
"But no chemist could do to-day
what Gollanx has done."

That, of course, was most true.
By every right, the body should
have been dust. Instead, it had the
air of a wax-work. And that, I
suppose, was why it was in no way
offensive, but only remarkable.

After a long look:

"We'd better be going," she said,
and turned to the stair.

I began to follow her up, throwing
a beam beyond her, to light her
steps, but after a little she stopped
to ask for a torch. I gave her one
of my two, and by its light she
examined the arms on the ring.
Then with a sudden movement she
put this into my hand.

"Put it on my finger," she said.
"You have the right."

I SLID my torch

into a pocket and took her left hand
in mine. Then I slid the ring on to
her beautiful second finger, for which
it was far too big. For a moment
we regarded it together. Then:

"I'm out of my depth," I said.
"There's a king down there—that
I've been using as if he were a giant
at a fair; and here I am standing
up to a girl who's really a queen."

"I'm Caroline Virgil to you—and
shall be, as long as you live."

"I know I said that," said I. "But
now this has happened to—to put
me where I belong."

"Where do you belong, Richard?"
"To the crowd," said I, "that
watches the great go by."

"Where my father stood. Where,
but for you, I should be standing
this very day."

"What of that?" said I. "You
don't belong to the crowd, and
neither did he."

Her left hand tightened on mine.
"I'm afraid," she said gravely,
"that he, like me, must have had a
very low taste. You see, we both—
took to you. And, unless I'm much
mistaken, from what I've heard of
'Old Harry,' she'll do the same." A
smile swept into her face. "Don't
look so surprised, my dear. I mean
what I say. And I'll tell you another
thing. As I've said, if she likes, 'Old
Harry' can pull this off; but if I had
to choose between your assistance
and hers, I'd choose you every time,
and let her go hang."

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MY heart burned

at her words—which I could not
allow.

"But that—that's fantastic, Caro-
line."

"It isn't, really," she said. "And
in any event it's true. You see—
no, you wouldn't see—so that's no
good. Let me put it like this. Till
you came I had no one to lean on.
Then you came out of the blue and
took the whole of my weight. Well,
that has demoralised me; and now I
know that I must have someone to
lean on—that I cannot go back and
stand by myself again. Now, so long
as you are willing, you are the per-
son on whom I wish to lean; but you
seem to have an idea that that
would not be correct, because the
blood in my veins is rather better
than yours. Well, I'm not going to
argue the point, but tell me this.
Was your father a stable boy?"

"Oh, no," said I. "He—"

"Well, that man's was," said Caro-
line, and pointed over my shoulder
down the stair. "If you don't be-
lieve me I'll show it you in the books.
Perhaps that'll make you feel bet-
ter. Or must I do something to lower
myself in your eyes?" I cried out
at that. "Very well. Who am I
to you?"

"Caroline Virgil," said I.
"No more?"

"No more—and no less."

"And are you content that I
should lean upon you?"

Unwilling to trust my voice, I bent
my head and put her hand to my
lips.

I looked up to find her smiling.
"The man of action," she said.

And then she was two steps above
me, climbing the stair.

There was now no cause for haste,
for leave before midnight we dared
not, in case Brief was not asleep;
and that was the hour at which
Winter was to be the mouth of the
drive. (He, of course, knew no more
than that we were within the tower
and that all was well, for I had twice
sent him that signal a short half-
hour before dawn. This from the
leads of the tower, which were easily
reached.) Indeed, we were faced
with the prospect of being confined
for three hours with nothing to do;
for, though we were all worn out,
excitement and impatience between
them would not allow us to rest.
But first, of course, we had to cover
our tracks.

Here let me say that I make no
excuse for the outlook which I have
this moment set down. It was ours
at that time; and lt must be said
that I prayed it would remain so.

Now that we knew the secret, it
took us a very short while to return
to their ancient order the elements
we had displaced; but dust that the
years have laid cannot be repro-
duced in ten minutes of time, and
half an hour went by before I was
satisfied with the look of the thirty-
sixth step, within whose stone the
key to the chamber lay. Whilst I
was attending to this, with Brenda
to give me light, my lady and Her-
rick together composed a full note
of what we had found in the cham-
ber and what the statement set
forth. They were at work in the

bedroom; that is to say, the upper-
most room of the tower. We had
used that room, and no other, be-
cause that alone was above the rest
of the house, so that there we could
move and converse, yet could be
heard by no one who was not within
the tower. To reach this room we
had to pass by the great door which
gave to the second floor of the

castle itself. For us this spot was
always the danger-point, and while
we had laid down a carpet to swallow
the sound of our footfalls as we
went by, we always put out our
torches before we approached the
landing which served the door. It

follows that, whenever we passed, we
did so in darkness and silence, feel-
ing our way.

I had finished my work on the
step and, with Brenda behind me,

was going upstairs to the bedroom
quietly enough. We had passed by
the door and I was about, being by,

to relight my torch, when a sound

there was no mistaking rapped out

of the dark. It was the clack of
a latch.

The two of us stood still as
death.

AGAIN the iron

was raised—by somebody standing
on the other side of the door—and
pressure was put on the oak, which
could not open because we had made
it fast. Then, whoever was there
gave in, and the latch fell back into
place.

We had been so much occupied,
and had become so familiar with our
peculiar estate that the fears which
at first had plagued us had lost
their sting, and we had come to
ignore, if not to forget, that some-
one of Brief might purpose to enter
the tower. This sudden catastrophe,
therefore, hit me between the eyes,
and I make no shame to confess that,
to use the words of the Psalmist,
my heart in the midst of my body
was even like melting wax. Then I
had myself in hand, and was up the
stairs in a flash to give the alarm.

Caroline paled and Herrick stifled

an oath.

"If we can, we must bolt," said
I. "By way of the courtyard, of
course, and so to the belvedere."

"Is that step all right?" said Her-
rick.

"Thank Heaven, yes," said I. "I
was on my way up."

As luck would have it, our stuff
was ready to hand, and before two
minutes had passed we had packed
it anyhow and were ready to leave.
We had intended, of course, to re-
store to the rooms we had used the
order we had found when we came
but this was not now worth doing
and so we let them be.

As the four of us stole past the
door, the latch was raised and let
fall, and the oak was urged, as
though someone refused to allow
that the bolts had been shot. But
we heard no conversation, which
gave us hope that no hue and cry

had been raised.

As fast as I dared, I led the way
down the stair.

As I gained the hall, I heard a
key being tried in the door at the
foot of the stair.

It was, of course, tried to no pur-
pose. The door was heavily barred.
But it meant that both exits were
held, and that we were caught in the
tower as rats in a trap.

I OFTEN think
that we fully deserved our plight,
for, once we possessed the secret we
set out to find, we should not have
lost a moment in leaving the tower.
To cover our tracks was essential
but that we could have done in a
quarter of an hour. Then, again,
we needed the darkness, but dusk
would have served our turn. And
that we had. We preferred to ignore
a grave peril because for forty-three
hours it had never lifted its head
losing sight of the staring fact that
if it should lift its head we were
bound to be caught.

Be these things as they may, when
I heard that key move in the lock I
was ready to do myself violence for
throwing away the chance of escape
we had had; for, had we behaved
not with prudence, but common
sense, we should at that time have
been nearing the mouth of the drive.

After a moment's hesitation, I led
the way through the hall and into
the room beyond. Then I shut the
door behind Herrick, lighted a torch
and threw the beam on the floor.

I touched Caroline's arm.

"First, tell me this," I said. "Is
the roof any good?"

"I've no idea," she said, and pushed
back her sable hair. "There might
be a way—I don't know."

I shook my head.

To seek such a path by night would
have been a desperate venture for
Herrick and me; the presence of our
companions ruled such an enterprise

out.

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"THEN I can

think of nothing," said I,

"except to draw them away
from the upper door. If we can only
do that, we may still get clear. Out
of the upper door, where we heard
them first—across the landing you
spoke of into your suite—down your
staircase-turret—out of the castle
and up to the belvedere. Winter will
still be there, if we can be quick, to
lead us over the ridge and down to
the Rolls."

"A feint?" said Herrick, frowning.
"That's my idea," said I. "A
demonstration down here—at the
lower door. I admit it's a very
thin chance, but what else can we
do?"

"What sort of demonstration?" said
Caroline.

I looked at Herrick.

"D'you think you could do it?" I
said. "Disguise your voice and—and
parley with them in German? I
mean—"

Herrick's face was a study.

"I see," he said slowly. " 'Parley.'
And how, when the parley's over, do
I get out? Up a hundred steps and
then through a house I don't know.
Or don't I get out?"

"I shall come back," I said, "as
soon as they're safe in the suite."
With my words we heard somebody
pound on the lower door.

"Who is within?" they demanded
"Open at once."

Herrick looked at Caroline.

"Is that his lordship?" he said.
"I'd like to—er, parley with him."
My lady smiled.

"That was Bertram," she said.
"The steward. I'm afraid he may
get rather fussed."

"A little bit pompous?" said Her-
rick.

"A shade, perhaps. But a most
respectable man."

"Leave him to me," said Herrick,
and settled his coat. "And when
I take up the running, stand by
to move. If you get clear—"

"I'll give you a flash," said I, "from
the bend of the stair."

Herrick nodded and took out a
cigarette.

By this time those in the court-
yard were fairly assaulting the oak,
and since, when the latch was
drawn, the door could be moved to
and fro for an eighth of a inch, a
not inconsiderable uproar invaded

the room.

"Put out that light," said Her-

rick.

As I did his bidding, he stepped
to the door of the chamber and
flung it back with a crash.

The uproar beyond stopped dead.

Then—

"Who the devil is there?" roared
the steward. "Open at once."

A thick voice replied in German.
"What does this mean—disturbing
respectable people at this time of
night?"

Then a wave of scandalised con-
sequence burst on the lower door.
The oak was pounded and shaken,
and choking cries of protest stood
out of a motley clamor of orders

and threats.

I touched Caroline's arm and made
for the stair.

As we went up—

"Understand this, Bertie," said
Herrick drunkenly, "if you don't
take your verminous carcase away,
I'll come out and punch your nose
for you." He hiccuped again. "Just
because you're too drunk to stand
up, that gives you no right to come

here—"

A composite yell of indignation
drowned what was left of the slander
and drowned it well. The demon-
stration was developing. Bertram
and his supporters were certainly
"getting fussed."

Two steps at a time, I leapt up

that sullen stair.

Now few could have done as well as
Herrick was doing below, but I was
by no means sure that the outcry
which he was raising within the
courtyard could be heard by one
who was standing by the side of
the upper door—that is to say, on
the second floor of the house; and
even if lt was heard, it might not
persuade such a sentry to leave his
post. On the other hand, it seemed
likely that the other was yet too
young for orders to have been issued
or any precautions taken against the
trespassers' flight; and since any
moment now precautions would be
taken—for Bertram, thirsty for ven-
geance, was certain to think of pre-
venting his detractor's escape—I de-
cided to waste no time boggling, but
draw the bolts.

As the girls stumbled on my heels,
I opened the upper door.

BEYOND this,

curtains were hanging, heavy
and thick. I cautiously lifted
one, to see the broadest land-
ing I ever knew. In its midst was
an oval well, some forty feet wide,
with a bronze balustrade about it
and the heads of twin flights of stairs
upon either side. (To give some
idea of their size each step was but
two inches high and some twelve
feet long.) The landing itself was
dim, but a brilliance rose out of the
well and the sumptuous flights of
stairs ran down into light. So far
as I could see, there was nobody
hereabouts, but the sound of voices
and movements came from a lower
floor.

Caroline, peering beside me,
caught my wrist.

"Quick," she breathed, and urged
me across the carpet, past the
luminous pool of the well, to a door
which was close to the head of the
farther stair.

An instant later, the three of us
entered her suite.

"Too easy," I said, with an eye on
the way we had come. "And if I'm
not back in three minutes, please
give me your word you'll go on. I
cannot tell what may happen. If
there's a hitch, it may be better
for us to leave by the lower door.
But we couldn't do that unless we
were sure you'd escaped."

Caroline shook her head.

"If you don't come, I shall use my
judgment," she said

I shrugged my shoulders and went.
There was no time to argue. Any
moment someone might visit the
upper door.

I have so far said nothing of what
we were most afraid of that sum-
mer night—the entrance of Percy
Virgil upon the scene. Not only was
the fellow efficient—he would have
secured both doors before he did
anything else—but he had good
cause to remember both Herrick and
me; and though we made good our
escape, if he set eyes upon us the
police would be at Raven very nearly
as soon as the Rolls. But now I
disclose this dread, for as I whipped
over the landing, I heard his sinister

voice.

I think he was giving some order.
Be that as it may, his unmistak-
able accents rang out of the well.

In a flash I was past the curtains
and back in the tower and was
cursing its stairway anew, because
to go down it too fast was to break
your neck.

As I came within earshot—

"Only let me get out," belched Her-
rick, fumbling the bolts of his door.
"I'll teach you to talk to your bet-
ters."

And there I flashed my torch—and
saw him leap for the stair.

I turned and climbed before him
for all I was worth.

Eighty-eight merciless steps,
wedge-shaped, steep and naked, curl-
ing between walls that were hostile
and, when you sought for a hand-
hold, bruised your nails. After a
little, you seemed to make no pro-
gress, to be no more than the piti-
ful, captive squirrel climbing his
endless wheel. Up, up, up. For less
than a minute, I know; but such
is the power of apprehension, it
seemed an age.

I was six steps short of the land-
ing which gave to the upper door,
when Percy spoke again—to bring
my heart into my mouth.

"Oh, and bring my pistol, curse
you. It's next to the torch."

The man was beyond the cur-
tains masking the upper door.

Herrick and I stopped dead.

An instant later the curtains were

dashed apart and a transient glim-
mer of light revealed our enemy.

Then—

"Who said it was shut?" he
screeched. "It's open wide. By
Heaven, they've done it on you, you
poisonous fools. Where's Elgar? Get
hold of Elgar and tell him to watch
the drive."

With that, he thrust into the

tower.

He could, of course, see nothing,
but his foot at once encountered the
heavy length of carpet which we
had laid on the steps.

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Continued from Page 47

HELLO! What's

this?" he muttered.

I heard him pass onto the carpet,
but what further movement he made
I could not tell, for the pile was tre-
mendously thick and deadened all
sound.

With Herrick one step below me,
I crouched there, straining my ears.
We were just clear of the carpet,
standing upon the stone.

Then Virgil spoke again—and
made me jump like a foal.

"Heavens above!" he yelled. "Why
don't they bring that torch?"

The man was three steps above me
—and coming down.

I dared not try to hit him—I
could not see; but, quick as a flash,
I seized the end of the carpet and
jerked it downstairs towards me with
all my might.

His feet whipped from beneath
him, with a foul but forgivable oath
Percy Virgil fell violently onto his
back. As he did so, still holding

the carpet, I flung myself upon him,
enveloping him in its toils. Moved
by some brilliant instinct, Herrick
fought his way past us, and, seizing
the head of the carpet, flung this
over and down.

Now, since the carpet was im-
mensely heavy and thick and more
than twice the width of the winding
stair, it follows that Percy Virgil
was very deeply involved. To this
I can swear, for when the top half
of the carpet fell down upon me, I
felt as though I were buried beneath
some invincible bulk. I was, of
course, clear in an instant, by wrig-
gling back, but Percy could not
emerge, though my weight was gone.
His bellows for assistance were
stifled, his convulsions, because they
were frantic, did little, if any, good.
Moreover, I could not go by without
treading upon the welter—if not,

indeed, upon him, and, since I am
no featherweight, I fancy this made

matters worse.

Remembering his orders to Elgar,
I hurled myself up to the doorway
and on to the landing beyond.

"Well done," breathed Herrick
'Which way?"

The mighty landing was empty,
but, as we bolted across, a man came
full tilt up the staircase, the head
of which was six feet from Caroline's
door.

So dim was the light and he was
making such haste that though we
must almost have met, I think he
would have let us go by, but I dared
not take the risk and hit him, very
reluctantly, full on the jaw.

As he crumpled and fell down-
stairs, Caroline's door was opened,
and Herrick and I passed in.

Thirty seconds later, the four of
us left the castle by way of the stair-
case-turret by which, two nights be-
fore, we had hoped to come in. The
drive was clear. If Elgar had had
his orders, he had not yet had time
to carry them out. We darted across
the gravel, slipped down the steps to
the garden and hastened, Caroline
leading, to where the walk began

that led to the belvedere.

Twenty minutes later, Winter, still
breathing goodwill, was leading us
down to where he had berthed the

car.

If our narrow escape had shocked
us, the drive to Raven ministered to
our minds. Woods and meadows
were fragrant, the winds were still,
and the Rolls seemed to skim the
country through which we passed.
After our two days' confinement, the
rush of the soft night air was grate-
ful beyond belief, and I could have
wished the journey as long again.

Supper for three had been laid in
our sitting-room, and a note ad-
dressed to Herrick was lying beside

his plate.

As he read it, his face grew grave.
"Sir,—I am told that you are re-
turning to Raven to-night. A man,
of the name of Max Bracher, was
found by Salzburg yesterday after-
noon. He corresponds to your de-
scription of the man of that Chris-
tian name Your identification of
him is desired, and I beg you will
visit Salzburg without delay. When
found, he had been dead for some
hours, shot through the back.

"Your obedient servant,

"SERGEANT OF POLICE."
I confess that from this time on a
medieval vigilance ruled whatsoever
we did. If we entered the Raven
meadows, we took good care not to
stroll too close to the woods. If we
used the car, we were careful to
waste no time on the neighboring
roads. If we sat out in the evening,
Winter patrolled our vicinity, torch
in hand; and at night, against all
custom, the doors of the house were
barred.

Herrick visited Salzburg against
his will, and viewed the corpse of
the man we had known as Max.
No evidence had been discovered—
against Virgil or anyone else. Even
the bullet was useless, for it had
spread irreparably. The same day,
Thursday, Caroline, resting at Ra-
ven, laid her plans. I sat by her
side in the meadows, and listened—
and watched the woods.

The Duchess of Whelp was at
Tracery, thirty-five miles from Inns-
bruck and ninety from where we
lay. Tales out of number were told
of the state she had kept, of the
things she had said and done, of the
efforts which had been made to ob-
tain an invitation to enter her
house. If the half were true, it is
clear that for years before the war
the Chateau of Tracery sheltered
a second Court. And now, though
she shut herself up, her writ still
ran, and though the "fountain of
honor" no longer played, its peace-
ful pool was reflecting, as never be-
fore, the vivid presence now nearly
eighty years old.

"I SHALL go

there to-morrow," said my lady.
"And you, if you please, will drive us
—there and back. At least, we'll be
breaking a record. No one's gone
uninvited to Tracery for certainly
fifty years."

"With all my heart," said I. "But
won't you take Winter, too? I
mean, it'll look more important than
if you just roll up with me at the

wheel."

Caroline seemed to reflect.
At length—

"Perhaps you're right," she mur-
mured, pulling the grass. "I wish
I knew what to expect. I know that
she visited Brief very shortly before
I was born, and my grandfather
knew her well: but my—my uncle
has never seen her since mother was
killed."

I sat up at that.

"Are you sure that he saw her
before?"

Caroline started, and a hand went
up to her head.

"Good Heavens," she breathed.

"Exactly," said I. "I'll lay he's
never set eyes on the Duchess of
Whelp. Your father saw her—and
knew her; but the younger son—the
'bad hat'—was not at Brief when
she came. He can't deny her visit,
because he knows it took place. It
was a great occasion. Brief was
delighted to honor so rare a guest.
And so your uncle is bound to pre-
tend he was there. But he wasn't
because he isn't the man he pre-
tends to be, and all he knows of her
visit is what he's picked up from

the staff."

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"THAT'S right,"
said Caroline slowly, still pulling the
grass. "What a fool you must think
me for not having seen it myself."
"How can you?" I cried. "I've
known the truth for a year, and you
for less than a week."
"I suppose that's why I'm so
stupid. You can't wipe out all at
once an impression of twenty years.
And that's what we're up against.
He's Count of Brief by prescription.
To pull him down is like trying to
close some road that everyone's used
for ages and knows for a thorough-
fare."
"Perhaps. But at least you're
offering them a very much prettier
way."
Caroline Virgil flung out a joyous
laugh.
"Oh, Richard, a compliment! I
must be good for you. You couldn't
have said that last week."
"I know," I said, very conscious
that I was red in the face. "I—I
see the things, but I haven't got
Herrick's tongue."
"What things do you see?"
"Your—your points," I stammered.
"Your beauty. Your eyes and your
mouth and your hands, and the way
you move. They—they cry out for
recognition, but I haven't got any
words. Only please don't think I
don't see them—and all the rest.
Perhaps if they weren't so rare I'd
be able to—to pay them tribute, but
when I see—perfection, it leaves me
dumb."
With her eyes on the shimmering
foliage, my lady touched my arm.
"Stay dumb, for me," she said
gently. "It suits you well and I—
couldn't ask any more."
I wiped the sweat from my face.
"You always say the right thing."
"Do I?" said Caroline, frowning.
"I'm not so sure."
But when I asked what she meant,
she would not tell me, but bade me
talk of Oxford and Harrow and then
of the smiling manor which, till I
was eight years old, had been my
home.
At eleven next day I stood with
my hat in my hands at the foot
of Tracery's steps. Caroline stood
at their head, some ten feet up. We
were waiting for the door to be
opened in some suspense. A liveried
keeper had stopped us while we
were yet in the drive and had been
hardly persuaded to let us proceed.
At last the door opened and a
man all in black, with knee-
breeches, inclined his head.
His manner was ceremonious and
very polite, but left in my mind no
doubt that he did not mean to ad-
mit "The Lady Caroline Virgil" or
anyone else.
When he had finished speaking, I
saw my lady nod. Then she held
out the little packet she had in her
Continued from Page 48
hand. A salver appeared from no-
where.
I do not know what she said, as
she laid the packet down, but after
a little I saw the man bow and turn,
and Caroline cross the threshold into
the hall.
At least, she was in; but, as the
door was shut and I turned to the
car, I confess I felt far from sure
that she was to be received. And
if she was not, what then? The
packet contained no less than the
king's great ring, with which she was
hoping to gain the access she so
much desired. If the Duchess of
Whelp was scrupulous, well and
good; but if she was not, Caroline
would be dismissed—and the ring
was gone. And "Old Harry" might
well be hostile to a girl who made
bold to remind her that the bear-
ings which Tracery flaunted were
rightly hers.
I SAT down on
a step of the Rolls and lighted a
cigarette, while Winter stood like
a statue beside his charge, deter-
mined, I think, to show that he could
maintain the pace which the major-
domo had set.
The house was imposing, but grim,
and plainly had not been cared for
for several years. Massively built
of stone, wind and weather could do
it but little harm, but rust was cor-
rupting the bars to the lower win-
dows and the stain of roof-water
showed where the gutters were
choked. The entrance-drive was un-
kempt, and grass was here and
there sprouting between the sets of
the apron which served the steps.
The park which was very hand-
some was not kept up: posts and
rails were rotting, and trees which
the wind had felled lay still as they
had fallen, the clods which their
roots had hoisted stuck all with
weeds.
These things I found peculiar, for
rumor had it the Duchess of Whelp
was rich. But I think the truth was
this—that when she had closed her
Court, she had determined to let its
residence go. What was the setting
to her, when the jewel was gone?
Nearly an hour had gone by, when
the door was opened again and the
major-domo appeared and began to
descend the stairs. Expecting some
message, I rose and went to meet
him, and then I saw that he was
an Englishman.
As I approached, he stood still.
"Sir," he said, with a bow, "Her
Grace desires to see you. If you
please, I will show you the way to
her private rooms."
His announcement took me aback,
as well it might: but, though the
summons shook me, my heart leaped
up, for it meant that "Old Harry's"
interest had been aroused. And that
was everything.
To my surprise, three footmen
stood at the door, but the echoing
hall within was that of a house
whose owner has gone abroad. Fur-
niture and pictures were shrouded
and carpets rolled, but the marble
floor was spotless and there was no
sign of dust.
WE passed up
a glorious staircase, the car-
pet of which was gone, by
draped or hooded statues and sheeted
tapestry, to enter a sunlit gallery
down which three four-in-hands
could have passed abreast. Its
range of open windows commanded
the wasting park, and, when it was
in commission, it must have en-
riched the eye. I never saw pro-
portions more lovely in all my life
and, if you except kings' houses,
there can be existing few chambers
so pleasant and yet so royal. At
the gallery's farther end a woman-
servant was standing beside a door.
To her I was delivered, and at once
she ushered me into a drawing-
room. This was small and stiff, but,
though it showed no sign of having
been lately used, its furniture was
not shrouded and a carpet covered
the floor.
The woman, who looked very sour,
addressed me in German and indi-
cated a chair, and, when I had taken
my seat, she passed to another door.
As she opened this, I saw that it
gave to a passage some six feet
long. She closed the door behind
her as though, I thought, she was
happy to shut me out, and I can
only suppose that I looked as much
out of my depths as indeed I felt.
Within thirty seconds, however, the
door was opened again, and she
beckoned to me to approach. As I
did so, I saw that a second door
was now open at the farther end of
the passage I had observed. Through
this the woman pointed, and stood
back against the wall, for me to go
by. I passed her and entered the
room, and the door behind me was
shut.
I stood in a spacious bedroom
splendidly furnished in the Italian
style. Gold leaf and velvet and
beautifully painted wood; lantern
and plaque and mirror silver, dusky
crimson and mellowed green made
up a stately harmony of lovely
things. In their midst, command-
ing them all from its dais, a great
state bedstead stood with its head
to the wall. And sitting up in the
bed was Her Grace the Duchess of
Whelp.
The room was full of light, and I
saw her well. A highly elaborate
coiffure attired her head and a richly
embroidered vesture swathed her
from throat to wrist, but once I had
seen her face I had no eyes for any-
thing else in that room. That this
was painted was nothing; motley
could not diminish the light of her
countenance. Her cheeks were
raddled, her lashes were stiff and
laden, her lips were a scarlet blotch;
but the visage thus overlaid was
above these things. It was hand-
some as an eagle is handsome—with
a cold majesty of feature, heedless
of the sense of minority which it im-
posed.
Her nose was aquiline and its bridge
was high; her chin was jutting; her
mouth was firm to a fault; her eyes,
which were grey, were piercing and
very clear; and the whole of her face
was very finely shaped and might
have been that of a woman of fifty
years. Looking upon it, I knew that
I was in the presence of something
extremely rare—a ruling personality
that had no need to order because it
controlled.
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I BOWED—

somewhat awkwardly, dimly aware
of Caroline sitting beside the bed
and smiling at me to tell me that
all was well.

Old Harry inclined her head.

"How d'you do, Mr. Exon? Come
here, if you please."

I stepped to her side, and she put
out a hand which was blazing with
three magnificent rings.

I took the fingers in mine and put
them up to my lips.

"That's right," says she. "I may
be of mongrel stock, but—"

"I think you are above lineage,
madam."

"Nowadays, yes," said Old Harry,
folding her arms. "But it gave me
a flying start. And now let's talk
about you. I'm told you're a man of
action, and so it seems. But you're
not very quick off the mark." She
tapped the papers that lay on her
delicate quilt.

"This Gering business. Why did
you wait so long?"

"For two reasons, madam," said I.
"First, for several months I was not
myself. I found life hard to handle
and had no brains to spare for any-
thing else. And then I shrank from
interference with a state of affairs
which had been established so long."

"And then you saw Percy Virgil?'
"Yes," said I. "He's—he's not a
nice-looking man."

"He'd look very well from a gal-
lows," observed the Duchess of
Whelp. She turned to Caroline.
"What made you allow Mr. Exon to
carry you off?"

"That," said Caroline, "is what I
keep asking him."

"Sex," said Old Harry firmly. "You
liked subjecting yourself to the
strength of the male. It's been done
before. The Sabines kicked and
screamed for the look of the thing;
as a matter of hard fact, they
were tickled to death." She turned
upon me. "And what do you mean,
Richard Exon, by hiding this lady
at Raven for over a week?"

Her attack was so sudden that I
was taken aback.

"Madam," I said, "it seemed the
best thing to do."

"Did it, indeed?" said Old Harry.
"Well, Heaven preserve us all from
your benevolence. The Lady Caroline
Virgil, for whom the cities of Europe
are being surreptitiously scoured,
sharing two young men's lodgings ten
miles from her father's house! And

who's this Herrick person? I knew
a Naseby once—"

"He's one of the best," said I. "And
he pulls far more than his weight. As
a matter of fact, he's the present
Lord Naseby's heir."

"His mother," said Caroline gently,
"was my mother's greatest friend."

"You're not staying with his
mother!" snapped Old Harry. "By
consenting to do as you did you were
playing straight into the hands of
father and son. Supposing you'd
been discovered. Brief would have
seen his chance and have flattened
you out. He'd have trumpeted the
scandal, played the outraged father,
and ordered his erring daughter out
of his sight. 'Never darken my doors
again.' And you would have had to
go; your cousin would have seen to
that. Father fooled, police fooled,
Austria fooled—because you desired
a week-end with a couple of men.
And, ring or no ring, I couldn't have
helped you at all. I used to be able
to drop a soul-shaking hint, but I've
never mastered the art of raising
the dead."

"THERE was a little

silence, only disturbed by the sleeve-
less fret of a bee on the window-
pane.

At length—

"You must blame me, madam," I
said. "That Caroline should stay
at Raven was my idea."

"Are you proud of it, Richard

Exon?"

"No, I'm not," said I. "I'm greatly

ashamed."

"Good!" said Old Harry. "In future
stick to your last. Take action—that's
your forte. But never reflect. From
what I hear, you have instinct—a
precious faculty. Well, be content
with that—and drown your ideas at
birth. And now take a seat." She
touched a chair by her side. As I
did her bidding she turned to Caro-
line. "What were you going to tell
me about your mother's jewels?"

Caroline recited the facts.

When she had done, Old Harry
wrinkled her brows.

"I'm not surprised that your cousin
found you de trop. That he's
drawn and sold the gems, there can

be no doubt. And that by forgery.
Now, the English are a tolerant lot.
They'll overlook treason and fight for
a murderer's life, while a healthy
theft in England is nearly always
worth while. But they've always

loathed forgery—probably because
they feel that it isn't playing the
game. Witness your poor father.
Now Cousin Percy has committed
that 'loathsome' crime. But yours is
the only voice that can send him
down. Without you, he can't be ar-
rested, much less arraigned. With
you, he is—doomed. And so you
had to go. The sheep must be stolen
to cover the theft of the lamb. I
think it likely that you would have
gone anyway; but if he was to have

the jewels, he obviously had to get
them before he put you out. I'm
afraid he's an egoist. And you had
him at your mercy, Mr. Exon. In
the dark—on a steep, stone stair. I
hope you won't have cause for regret
that you let him live."

I swallowed before replying.

"Madam," I said, "we English are

a tolerant lot."

"I know, I know. A very charm-
ing defect. But prevention is better
than cure. That's Percy's motto,
you know. Never mind. You were
awkwardly placed. And now do I
know everything? Or have you
omitted some detail which you think

of no account?"

Together Caroline and I went
faithfully over the ground, while the
Duchess interposed questions and
comments, frequently acid, on what
we had to relate. Finally, she
glanced at a clock.

"Lunch," she said, "will be served
in a quarter of an hour. For you two:
in the Medici room. After that, you
may sit on the terrace until I send.
I must think this matter over. I
don't want to let you down, but I
can't make bricks without straw."

With that, the door was opened and
the woman-servant appeared. This,
as though by magic; but she must,
of course, have been summoned, and
I think that a bell-push was lying
beneath the quilt.

To be Continued

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