_ PART I CHAPTER XXII. OVER THE EDGE
Marshalled by Mrs. Briggs, the Priory servants brought them luncheon, laying a table at one side of the great entrance-hall, for all the lower rooms were shuttered and closed.
Violet, with the great dog Cork vigilant and silent beside her, sat before it as one wrapt in reverie. Now and then she roused herself to answer at random some remark from Nick, but for the most part she sat mutely brooding.
The meal was but a dreadful farce to Olga. She was waiting, she was listening, she was watching. It seemed ludicrous to her stretched nerves to be seated there with food before her, when every instant she expected the devastating power that lurked behind the stillness to burst forth and engulf them. It was like sitting at the very mouth of hell, feeling the blistering heat, and yet pretending that they felt it not.
Darker and darker grew the day. They sat in a close, unearthly twilight. Though the huge entrance-door was flung wide, no breath of air reached them, no song of birds or sound of moving leaf. Once Olga turned her eyes to the far glimmer of the east window, but she turned them instantly away again, and looked no more. For it was as though a hand were holding up a dim lantern on the other side to show her the dreadful scene, casting a stain of crimson across the space where once had stood the altar.
Looking back later, she realized that it was only Nick's presence that gave her strength to endure that awful suspense. She had never admired him more than she did then, his shrewdness, his cheeriness, his strength. There was not the faintest suggestion of strain in his attitude. With absolute ease he talked or he was silent. Only in the deepening gloom she caught now and then the quick glitter of his eyes, and knew that like herself he was watching.
Slowly the minutes wore away, the darkness grew darker. From far away there came a low, surging sound. The storm-wind was rising over the sea.
Nick turned his head to listen. "Now for one of our patent storms!" he said. "Brethaven always catches it pretty strong. Remember that night you developed scarlet fever, at Redlands, Olga _mia_, and your devoted servant went down to a certain cottage on the shore to fetch a certain lady to nurse you?"
Olga did remember. It was one of the cherished memories of her childhood. "I told Muriel a secret about you that night, Nick," she said, responding with an effort.
He nodded. "For which act of treachery you possess my undying gratitude. Did you ever hear that story, Miss Campion?"
He offered her his cigarette-case with the words, and she turned her brooding eyes upon him. "Thanks!" she said. "I will have one of my own. Yes, I know that story. Your wife must be a very brave woman."
"She had me to take care of her," pointed out Nick.
Violet laughed with a touch of scorn.
"Oh, quite so," he said. "But I bear a charmed life, you should remember. No one ever drowns in my boat."
She leaned her chin upon her hand, and surveyed him through the weird twilight. "You are a strong man," she said slowly, "and you don't think much of Death."
"Not much," said Nick, striking a match on the heel of his boot.
The flame flared yellow on his face, emphasizing its many lines. His eyelids flickered rapidly, never wholly revealing the eyes behind.
"You wouldn't be afraid to die?" she pursued, still watching him.
His cigarette glowed and he removed the match; but the flame remained, burning with absolute steadiness between his fingers.
"I certainly shan't be afraid when my turn comes," he said, with confidence.
"Tell me," she said suddenly, "your idea of Death!"
His look flashed over her and back to the match he still held. The flame had nearly reached his fingers.
"Death," he said, "is the opening--and the closing--of a Door."
She leaned eagerly forward. "You think that?"
"Just that," said Nick. He smiled and blew out the match, just in time. "But--as you perceive--I am afraid of pain--that is, when I think about it."
She scarcely seemed to hear. "And have you ever seen anyone die?"
"Plenty," said Nick.
"Ah, I forgot! You've killed men, haven't you?" There was suppressed excitement in her voice.
Nick threw up his head and smoked towards the oak-beamed roof. "When I had to," he said, with brevity.
"Ah!" The word leaped from her like a cry of triumph. "Did you ever kill anyone with a knife? What did it feel like?"
"I shan't tell you," said Nick rudely. "It isn't good for anyone to know too much."
An abrupt silence followed his refusal. The surging of the sea had risen to a continuous low roar; and from the garden came the sound of trembling leaves. The storm was at hand.
"Do you think I don't know?" said Violet, and laughed.
Quickly Olga rose, as if her nerves were on edge, and went towards the open door. As she did so, a violet glare lit the hall from end to end, quivered, and was gone. She stopped dead, and in the awful silence that succeeded she heard the wild beat of her heart rising, rising, rising, in a tumult of sudden fear.
Violet remained at the table, staring, as one transfixed. She was gazing at the open door. Nick leaned swiftly forward and took her hand. So much Olga saw in the dimness before the thunder with a fierce crash burst forth overhead.
Ere it died away there came a shriek, wild, horrible, unearthly. It pierced Olga through and through, turning her cold from head to foot. Another shriek followed it, and yet another; and then came a dreadful, sobbing utterance in which words and moans were terribly mingled.
Olga caught at her self-control, as it were, with both hands, and went swiftly back to the table. Violet was on her feet. She had wrenched herself free, and was wildly pointing.
"No! No! No!" she cried. "Take him away!" Mortal terror was in her starting eyes. Suddenly perceiving Olga, she turned and clung to her. "Allegro! You promised! You promised!"
Then it was that Olga realized that someone had entered during that awful peal of thunder, and was even then advancing quietly down the hall. It needed not a second flickering flash to reveal him. Her heart told her who it was.
With Violet pressed close in her arms, she spoke. "Max, stop!"
She never knew whether it was the note of authority or of desperation in her voice that induced him to comply; but he stopped on the instant a full twenty feet from where they stood.
"What's the matter?" he said.
Brief, matter-of-fact, almost contemptuous, came his query. Yet Olga thrilled at the sound of it, feeling strengthened, reassured, strangely unembarrassed.
"It's this horrid storm," she said. "Violet's upset. Ah, here is Mrs. Briggs! Darling, wouldn't you like to go upstairs and lie down again till it's over? Do, dearie! I'll look after Nick and Max."
But Violet's straining arms clung faster. "He'll follow me!" she whispered.
"No, indeed he won't, dear. I won't allow it," said Olga, and she spoke with absolute confidence born of this new, strange feeling of power. "You needn't be afraid of that," she said, with motherly, shielding arms about her. "Won't you go with Mrs. Briggs? I will come up presently. Really there's nothing to be afraid of. The storm won't hurt you."
"And you won't let Max come?" Violet was suffering herself to be led towards the further door. She was shivering violently and moved spasmodically, as though the impulse to escape strongly urged her.
"I promise," Olga said.
She passed under the archway with her, paused there while another furious burst of thunder rolled above them: then gently surrendered her to Mrs. Briggs, and turned back herself into the hall.
She found Max and Nick standing together in the gloom.
"I came up here on the chance," the former was saying, "and got here just in time. Hullo! Is that a wolf?"
It was Cork, who crouched bristling against the table, with bared fangs, watching him. Olga went to him and took him by the collar.
"He's all right," she said. "I think he doesn't like strangers."
She led him also across the hall, took him to the foot of the stairs, and returned.
She felt Max's eyes upon her as she came up. He seemed to be regarding her in a new light.
"Well?" he said. "Why this hysteria? Is it due to the storm or--some other cause?"
She hesitated, finding it somehow difficult to give an answer to his cool questioning.
"I'll tell him, shall I?" said Nick.
She came and slipped her hand into his. "Yes, Nick."
He squeezed her fingers hard. "Our friend Hunt-Goring has been sticking his oar in," he said. "This--hysteria has been caused by him."
"You mean he has told her the whole story?" said Max.
"Yes," said Olga.
He considered the matter for a few seconds in silence. "And how long has this sort of thing been going on?" he asked then.
Again she hesitated.
He looked at her. "It's no good trying to keep anything from me," he observed. "I've seen it coming for a long while."
"Oh, Max!" she burst forth involuntarily. "Then it really is--"
A vivid flash of lightning and instant crashing thunder drowned her words. Instinctively she drew nearer to Nick. On many a previous occasion they had watched a storm together with delight. But to-day her nerves were all a-quiver, and its violence appalled her.
As the noise died away, Max looked about the shadowy place. "Is there any means of lighting this tomb?" he asked.
Apparently there was not. Olga believed there were some electric switches somewhere but she had forgotten where.
Max began to stroll about in search of them.
"Here comes the rain!" said Nick. "It will be lighter directly."
The rain came quite suddenly in an immense volume, that beat with deafening force upon the roof, drowning all but the loudest crashes of thunder. For a few seconds the darkness was like night. Then, swift and awful, there came a flash that was brighter than the noonday sun. It streaked through the stained-glass window, showing the dreadful picture like a vision to those below it, throwing a stream of vivid crimson upon the floor; then glanced away into the dark.
There came a sound like the bursting of shell that shook the very walls to their foundation. And through it and above it, high and horrible as the laughter of storm-fiends there came a woman's laugh....
In that instant Nick's hand suddenly left Olga's. He leaped from her side with the agility of a panther, and hurled himself into the darkness of the archway that led to the inner hall.
Something dreadful was happening there, she knew not what; and her heart stood still in terror while peal after peal of that awful laughter rang through the pealing thunder.
Then came another flash of lighting, keen as the blade of a sword, and she saw. There, outlined against the darkness of the archway, red-robed and terrible, stood Violet. Her right hand was flung up above her head, and in her grasp was a knife that she must have taken from the table. She was laughing still with white teeth gleaming, but in her eyes shone the glare of madness and the red, red lust of blood.
The picture flashed away and the thunder broke forth again, but the fiendish laughter continued for seconds till suddenly it turned to a piercing scream and ceased. Only the echoes of the thunder remained and a dreadful sound of struggling on the further side of the archway, together with a choking sound near at hand as of some animal striving against restraint.
Olga stumbled blindly forward. "Nick! Nick! Where are you? What has happened?" she cried, in an agony.
Instantly his voice came to her. "Here, child! Don't be scared! I'm holding the dog."
She groped her way to him, nearly falling over Cork, who was dragging against his hand.
The great dog turned to her, whining, and, reassured by her presence, ceased to resist.
"That's better," said Nick, with relief. "Can you hold him?"
She slipped her hand inside his collar! "Nick! What has happened?" she whispered, for her voice was gone.
Dimly she discerned figures in the inner hall, but there was no longer any sound of struggling. And then quite suddenly Max came back through the archway.
"Lend me a hand, Ratcliffe!" he said. "I'm bleeding like a pig." _