Chapter 12

When young Mr Barclay left the dining-room on the night he disappeared, he went up to his own room, miserable at his position with his father, and taking to himself the blame for the unhappiness that he had brought upon the girl who loved him with all her sweet true heart. "But it's fate--it's fate," he said, as he went up to his room; and then, unable to settle himself there, he lit a cigar, came down, and went out just as he was dressed in his evening clothes, only that he had put on a light overcoat, and began to walk up and down in front of our house and watch the windows opposite, to try and catch a glimpse of Miss Adela.

Ten o'clock, eleven, struck, but she did not show herself at the window; and feeling quite sick at heart, he was thinking of going in again, when he suddenly heard a faint cough, about twenty yards away; and turning sharply, he saw the lady he was looking for crossing the road, having evidently just come back from some visit.

"Adela--at last," he whispered as he caught her hand.

"Mr Drinkwater!" she cried in a startled way. "How you frightened me!"

"Love makes men fools," said Mr Barclay, as he slipped into her home ere she could close the door. "Now take me in and introduce me to your sisters."

"Adela, is that you? Here, for goodness' sake. Why don't you answer?"

"Is she there?"

The first was a rough man's voice, the next that of a woman, and as they were heard in the passage, another voice cried hoarsely: "It's of no use: the game's up."

"Hist! Hide! Behind that curtain! Anywhere!" panted Adela, starting up in alarm. "Too late!"

Barclay had sprung to his feet, and stood staring in amazement, and perfectly heedless of the girl's appeal to him to hide, as two rough bricklayer-like men came in, followed by a woman.

"Will you let me pass?" cried Mr Barclay.--"Miss Mimpriss, I beg your pardon for this intrusion. Forgive me, and good-night."

One man gave the other a quick look, and as Mr Barclay tried to pass, they closed with him, and, in spite of his struggles, bore him back from the door. The next moment, though, he recovered his lost ground, and would have shaken himself free, but the sour-looking woman who had entered with the two men watched her opportunity, got behind, flung her arms about the young man's neck, and he was dragged heavily to the floor, where, as he lay half stunned, he saw Adela gazing at him with her brows knit, and then, without a word of protest, she hurried from the room.

Mr Barclay heaved himself up, and tried to rise; but one of his adversaries sat upon his chest while the other bound him hand and foot, an attempt at shouting for help being met by a pocket-handkerchief thrust into his mouth.

A minute later, as Mr Barclay lay staring wildly, the rough woman, whom he recalled now as one of the servants, and who had hurried from the room, returned, helping Adela to support a pallid-looking man, whose hands, face, and rough working clothes were daubed with clayey soil.

"Confound you! why didn't you bring down the brandy?" he said harshly.--"Gently, girls, gently. That's better. I'm half crushed.-- Who's that?"

"Visitor," said one of Mr Barclay's captors sourly. "What's to be done?"

Mr Barclay looked wildly from one to the other, asking himself whether all this was some dream. Who were these men? Where the elderly Misses Mimpriss? And what was the meaning of Adela Mimpriss being on such terms with the injured man, who looked as if he had been working in some mine?

Their eyes met once, but she turned hers away directly, and held a glass of brandy to the injured man's lips.

"That's better," he said. "I can talk now. I thought I was going to be smothered once.--Well, lads, the game's up."

"Why?" said one of the others sharply.

"Because it is. You won't catch me there again if I know it; and here's private inquiry at work from over the way."

"Hold your tongue!" said the first man of the party. "There; he can't help himself now. You watch him, Bell; and if he moves, give warning."

The rough woman seated herself beside Mr Barclay and watched him fiercely. The two men crossed over to their companion; while Adela, still looking cold and angry, with brow wrinkled up, drew back to stand against the table and listen.

The men spoke in a low tone; but Mr Barclay caught a word now and then, from which he gathered that, while the man who had in some way been hurt was for giving up, the other two angrily declared that a short time would finish it now, and that they would go on with it at all hazards.

"And what will you do with him?" said the injured man grimly.

Mr Barclay could not help looking sharply at Adela, who just then met his eye, but it was with a look more of curiosity than anything else; and as she realised that he was gazing at her reproachfully, she turned away and watched the three men.

"Very well," said the one who was hurt, "I wash my hands of what may follow."

"All right."

Mr Barclay turned cold as he wondered what was to happen next. He saw plainly enough now that the house had been let to a gang of men engaged upon some nefarious practice, but what it was he could not guess. Coining seemed to be the most likely thing; but from what he had heard and read, these men did not look like coiners.

Then a curious feeling of rage filled him, and the blood rushed to his brain as he lay reproaching himself for his folly. He had been attracted by this woman, who was evidently thoroughly in league with the man who spoke to her in a way which sent a jealous shudder through him, while the sisters of whom he had once or twice caught a glimpse, seemed to be absent, unless--The thought which occurred to him seemed to be so wild that he drove it away, and lay waiting for what was to come next.

"Be off, girls!" said the first man suddenly; and without a word, the two women present left the room, Adela not so much as casting a glance in the direction of the prisoner.

The three men whispered together for a few moments, and then Mr Barclay made an effort to get up, but it was useless, for the first two seized him between them, all bound as he was, and dragged him out of the room, along the passage, and down the stone steps to the basement, where they thrust him into the wine-cellar, and half-dragged him across there into the inner cellar, the houses on that side being exactly the same in construction as ours.

"Fetch a light," said one of them; and this was done, when the speaker bent down and dragged the handkerchief from the prisoner's mouth.

"You scoundrel!" cried Mr Barclay.

"Keep a civil tongue in your head, my fine fellow," he said.

"You shall suffer for this," retorted Mr Barclay.

"P'r'aps so. But now, listen. If you like to shout, you can do so, only I tell you the truth: no one can hear you when you're shut in here; and if you do keep on making a noise, one of us may be tempted to come and silence you."

"What do you want?--Money?"

"You to hold your tongue and be quiet. You behave yourself, and no harm shall come to you; but I warn you that if you attempt any games, look out, for you've desperate men to deal with. Now, then, will you take it coolly?"

"Tell me first what this means," said Mr Barclay.

"I shall tell you nothing. I only say this--will you take it coolly, and do what we want?"

"I can't help myself," says Mr Barclay.

"That's spoken like a sensible lad," says the second man.--"Now, look here: you've got to stop for some days, perhaps, and you shall have enough to eat, and blankets to keep you warm."

"But stop here--in this empty cellar?"

"That's it, till we let you go. If you behave yourself, you shan't be hurt. If you don't behave yourself, you may get an ugly crack on the head to silence you. Now, then, will you be quiet?"

"I tell you again, that I cannot help myself."

"Shall I undo his hands?" said one to the other.

"Yes; you can loosen them."

This was done, and directly after Mr Barclay sat thinking in the darkness, alone with as unpleasant thoughts as a man could have for company.

STORY TWO, CHAPTER TEN.

A PECULIAR POSITION.

The prisoner had been sitting upon the sawdust about an hour, when the door opened again, and the two men entered, one bearing a bundle of blankets and a couple of pillows, the other a tray with a large cup of hot coffee and a plate of bread and butter.

"There, you see we shan't starve you," said the first man; "and you can make yourself a bed with these when you've done."

"Will you leave me a light?"

"No," says the man with a laugh. "Wild sort of lads like you are not fit to trust with lights. Good-night."

The door of the inner cellar was closed and bolted, for it was not like ours, a simple arch; and then the outer cellar door was shut as well; and Mr Barclay sat for hours reproaching himself for his infatuation, before, wearied out, he lay down and fell asleep. How the time had gone, he could not tell, but he woke up suddenly, to find that there was a light in the cellar, and the two men were looking down at him.

"That's right--wake up," says the principal speaker, "and put on those."

"But," began Mr Barclay, as the man pointed to some rough clothes.

"Put on those togs, confound you!" cried the fellow fiercely, "or--"

He tapped the butt of a pistol; and there was that in the man's manner which showed that he was ready to use it.

There was nothing for it but to obey; and in a few minutes the prisoner stood up unbound and in regular workman's dress.

"That's right," said his jailer. "Now, come along; and I warn you once for all, that if you break faith and attempt to call out, you die, as sure as your name's Barclay Drinkwater!"

Mr Barclay felt as if he was stunned; and, half-led, half pushed, he was taken into what had once been the pantry, but was now a curious-looking place, with a bricked round well in the middle, while on one side was fixed a large pair of blacksmith's forge bellows, connected with a zinc pipe which went right down into the well.

"What does all this mean?" he said. "What are you going to do?"

"Wait, and you'll see," was all the reply he could get; and he stared round in amazement at the heaps of new clay that had been dug out, the piles of old bricks which had evidently been obtained by pulling down partition walls somewhere in the house, the lower part of which seemed, as it were, being transformed by workmen. Lastly, there were oil-lamps and a pile of cement, the material for which was obtained from a barrel marked "Flour."

The man called Ned was better, and joined them there, the three being evidently prepared for work, in which Mr Barclay soon found that he was to participate, and at this point he made a stand.

"Look here," he said; "I demand an explanation. What does all this mean?"

"Are you ready for work?" cried the leader of the little gang, seizing him by the collar menacingly.

"You people have obtained possession of this house under false pretences, and you have made the place an utter wreck. I insist on knowing what it means."

"You do--do you?" said the man, thrusting him back, and holding him with his shoulders against a pile of bricks. "Then, once for all, I tell you this: you've got to work here along with us in silence, and hard too, or else be shut up in that cellar in darkness, and half-starved till we set you free."

"The police shall--"

"Oh yes--all right. Tell the police. How are you going to do it?"

"Easily enough. I'll call for help, and--"

"Do," said the man, taking a small revolver from his breast. "Now, look here, Mr Drinkwater; men like us don't enter upon such an enterprise as this without being prepared for consequences. They would be very serious for us if they were found out. Nobody saw you come in where you were not asked, and when you came to insult my friend's wife."

"Wife?" exclaimed Mr Barclay, for the word almost took his breath away.

"Yes, sir, wife; and it might happen that the gallant husband had an accident with you. We can dig holes, you see. Perhaps we might put somebody in one and cover him up.--Now, you understand. Behave yourself and you shall come to no harm; but play any tricks, and--Look here, my lads; show our new labourer what you have in your pockets."

"Not now," they said, tapping their breasts. "He's going to work."

Mr Barclay, as he used to say afterwards, felt as if he was in a dream, and without another word went down the ladder into the well, which was about ten feet deep, and found himself facing the opening of a regular egg-shaped drain, carefully bricked round, and seemingly securely though roughly made.

"Way to Tom Tiddler's ground," said the man who had followed him. "Now, then, take that light and this spade. I'll follow with a basket; and you've got to clear out the bricks and earth that broke loose yesterday."

Mr Barclay looked in at the drain-like passage, which was just high enough for a man to crawl along easily, and saw that at one side a zinc pipe was carried, being evidently formed in lengths of about four feet, joined one to the other, but for what purpose, in his confused state, he could not make out.

What followed seemed like a part of a dream, in which, after crawling a long way, at first downwards, and then, with the passage sloping upwards, he found his farther progress stopped by a quantity of loose stones and crumbled down earth, upon which, by the direction of the man who followed close behind, he set down a strong-smelling oil lamp, filled the basket pushed to him, and realised for the first time in his life what must be the life of a miner toiling in the bowels of the earth.

At first it was intensely hot, and the lamp burned dimly; but soon after he could hear a low hissing noise, and a pleasant cool stream of air began to fill the place; the heat grew less, the light burned more brightly, and he understood what was the meaning of the bellows and the long zinc tube.

For a full hour he laboured on, wondering at times, but for the most part feeling completely stunned by the novelty of his position. He filled baskets with the clay and bricks, and by degrees cleared away the heap before him, after which he had to give place to the man who had been injured, but who now crept by both the occupants of the passage, a feat only to be accomplished after they had both lain down upon their faces.

Then the prisoner's task was changed to that of passing bricks and pails of cement, sometimes being forced to hold the light while the man deftly fitted in bricks, and made up what had been a fall, and beyond which the passage seemed to continue ten or a dozen feet.

At intervals the gang broke off work to crawl backwards out of the passage to partake of meals which were spread for them in the library. These meals were good, and washed down with plenty of spirits and water, the two servant-like women and the so-called Adela waiting on the party, everything being a matter of wonder to the prisoner, who stared wildly at the well-dressed, lady-like, girlish creature who busied herself in supplying the wants of the gang of four bricklayer-like men.

At the first meal, Mr Barclay refused food. He said that he could not eat; but he drank heartily from the glass placed at his side-water which seemed to him to be flavoured with peculiar coarse brandy. But he was troubled with a devouring thirst, consequent upon his exertions, and that of which he had partaken seemed to increase the peculiar dreamy nature of the scene. Whether it was laudanum or some other drug, we could none of us ever say for certain; but Mr Barclay was convinced that, nearly all the time, he was kept under the influence of some narcotic, and that, in a confused dreamy way, he toiled on in that narrow culvert.

He could keep no account of time, for he never once saw the light of day, and though there were intervals for food and rest, they seemed to be at various times; and from the rarity with which he heard the faint rattle of some passing vehicle, he often thought that the greater part of the work must be done by night.

At first he felt a keen sense of trouble connected with what he looked upon as his disgrace and the way he had lowered himself; but at last he worked on like some machine, obedient as a slave, but hour by hour growing more stupefied, even to the extent of stopping short at times and kneeling before his half-filled basket motionless, till a rude thrust or a blow from a brickbat pitched at him roused him to continue his task.

The drug worked well for his taskmasters, and the making of the mine progressed rapidly, for every one connected therewith seemed in a state of feverish anxiety now to get it done.

And so day succeeded day, and night gave place to night. The two servant-like women went busily on with their work, and fetched provisions for the household consumption, no tradespeople save milkman and baker being allowed to call, and they remarked that they never once found the area gate unlocked. And while these two women, prim and self-contained, went on with the cooking and housework and kept the doorstep clean, the so-called Miss Adela Mimpriss went on with the woolwork flowers at the dining-room window, where she could get most light, and the world outside had no suspicion of anything being wrong in the staid, old-fashioned house opposite Sir John Drinkwater's. Even the neighbours on either side heard no sound.

"What does it all mean?" Mr Barclay used to ask himself, and at other times, "When shall I wake?" for he often persuaded himself that this was the troubled dream of a bad attack of fever, from which he would awaken some day quite in his right mind. Meanwhile, growing every hour more machine-like, he worked on and on always as if in a dream.

STORY TWO, CHAPTER ELEVEN.

CONCLUSION.

I stood watching Sir John, who seemed nearly mad with grief and rage, and a dozen times over my lips opened to speak, but without a sound being heard. At last he looked up at me and saw what I wanted to do, but which respect kept back.

"Well," he said, "what do you propose doing?"

I remained silent for a moment, and then, feeling that even if he was offended, I was doing right, I said to him what was in my heart.

"Sir John, I never married, and I never had a son. It's all a mystery to me."

"Man, you are saved from a curse!" he cried fiercely.

"No, dear master, no," I said, as I laid my hand upon his arm. "You don't believe that. I only wanted to say that if I had had a boy--a fine, handsome, brave lad like Mr Barclay--"

"Fine!--brave!" he says contemptuously.

"Who had never done a thing wrong, or been disobedient in any way till he fell into temptation that was too strong for him--"

"Bah! I could have forgiven that. But for him to have turned thief!"

I was silent, for his words seemed to take away my breath.

"Man, man!" he cried, "how could you be such an idiot as to write that document and leave it where it could be found?"

"I did it for the best, sir," I said humbly.

"Best? The worst," he cried. "No, no; I cannot forgive. Disgrace or no disgrace, I must have in the police."

"No, no, no!" I cried piteously. "He is your own son, Sir John, your own son; and it is that wretched woman who has driven him mad."

"Mad? Burdon, mad? No; it is something worse."

"But it is not too late," I said humbly.

"Yes, too late--too late! I disown him. He is no longer son of mine."

"And you sit there in that dining-room every night, Sir John," I said, "with all us servants gathered round, and read that half a chapter and then say, `As we forgive them that trespass against us.' Sir John-- master--he is your own son, and I love him as if he was my own."

There wasn't a sound in that place for a minute, and then he drew his breath in a catching way that startled me, for it was as if he was going to have a fit. But his face was very calm and stern now, as he says to me gently:

"You are right, old friend;"--and my heart gave quite a bound--"old friend."

"Let's go to him and save him, master, from his sin."

"Two weak old men, Burdon, and him strong, desperate, and taken by surprise. My good fellow, what would follow then?"

"I don't know, Sir John. I can only see one thing, and that is, that we should have done our duty by the lad. Let's leave the rest to Him."

He drew a long deep breath.

"Yes," he says. "Come along."

We went back in the darkness to the cellar door and listened; but all seemed very still, and I turned the key in the patent Bramah lock without a sound. We went in, and stood there on the sawdust, with that hot smell of burnt oil seeming to get stronger, and there was a faint light in the inner cellar now, and a curious rustling, panting sound. We crept forward, one on each side of the opening; and as we looked in, my hand went down on one of the sherry bottles in the bin by my arm, and it made a faint click, which sounded quite loud.

I forgot all about Sir John; I didn't even know that he was there, as I stared in from the darkness at the scene before me. They--I say they, for the whispering had taught me that there was more than one--had got the stone up while we had been away. It had been pushed aside on to the sawdust, and a soft yellow light shone up now out of the hole, showing me my young master, looking so strange and staring-eyed and ghastly, that I could hardly believe it was he. But it was, sure enough, though dressed in rough workman's clothes, and stained and daubed with clay.

It wasn't that, though, which took my attention, but his face; and as I looked, I thought of what had been said a little while ago in my place, and I felt it was true, and that he was mad. He had just crept up out of the hole, when he uttered a low groan and sank down on his knees, and then fell sidewise across the hole in the floor. He was not there many moments before there was a low angry whispering; he seemed to be heaved up, and, a big workman-looking fellow came struggling up till he sat on the sawdust with his legs in the hole, and spoke down to some one.

"It's all right," he said. "The chests are here; but the fool has fainted away. Quick the lamp, and then the tools."

He bent down and took a smoky oil lamp that was handed to him, and I drew a deep breath, for the sound of his voice had seemed familiar; but the light which shone on his face made me sure in spite of his rough clothes and the beard he had grown. It was Edward Gunning, our old servant, who was discharged for being too fond of drink, turned bricklayer once again.

As he took the lamp, he got up, held it above his head, looked round, and then, with a grin of satisfaction at the sight of the chests, stepped softly toward the opening into the outer cellar, where Sir John and I were watching.

It didn't take many moments, and I hardly know now how it happened, but I just saw young Mr Barclay lying helpless on the sawdust, another head appearing at the hole, and then, with the light full upon it, Edward Gunning's face being thrust out of the opening into the cellar where we were, and his eyes gleaming curiously before they seemed to shut with a snap. For, all at once--perhaps it was me being a butler and so used to wine--my hand closed upon the neck of one of those bottles, which rose up sudden-like above my head, and came down with a crash upon that of this wretched man.

There was a crash; the splash of wine; the splintering of glass; the smell of sherry--fine old sherry, yellow seal--and I stood for a moment with the bottle neck and some sawdust in my hand, startled by the yell the man gave, by the heavy fall, and the sudden darkness which had come upon us.

Then--I suppose it was all like a flash--I had rushed to the inner cellar and was dragging the slab over the hole, listening the while to a hollow rustling noise which ended as I got the slab across and sat on it to keep it down.

"Where are you, Burdon?" says Sir John.

"Here, sir!--Quick! A light!"