Devil's Tor (40 page)

Peter was dissatisfied with the unnatural rigidity of her poise. He feared that she might all at once be feeling faint.

"Are you quite well, Ingrid?

"Yes."

But his small, distant voice travelled into her consciousness, and she reawoke to her environment. And meanwhile Saltfleet, from something possessive in her escort's tone, and the personal anxiety expressed by the question itself, as also from their being here together at all, fancied that the two must be engaged. He was but slightly interested, yet misdoubted if her choice were a happy one. For this young man, perhaps, was neither a fool nor a weakling, though he was obviously rather pulled down by an indoor existence; but he should be more conceited than was good for the health of his soul, while it must be a bad sign for any girl associated with him that he could fall so readily into surliness. He presumed that he was on this visit unwillingly. In that case, a stronger character would have declined it altogether. But
she,
Saltfleet guessed, would not easily be gainsaid by man or woman, her mind being once resolved.

"How, then, are we to leave it?" he asked her.

Peter too, regarded her inquiringly; but when she failed immediately to reply, got up, and said himself, with an affected yawn:

"We must be off. Cutting out the fantastic of the discussion, Mr. Saltfleet, its net result, I conclude, is that each side sticks to its own, and that all parties are to be content."

"If Miss Fleming, for her mother, is content, I think I may say the same for my friend."

"Well, Ingrid? ..."

The girl's pale features moved in hesitation.

"Before we decide, couldn't Mr. Arsinal be fetched?

"What exactly is in your head, Miss Fleming?"

"There is an extraordinary chance that we have none of us considered. We can put it to the test without him, but afterwards the question of ownership would be much more difficult, supposing it is as I think. … Your stone has been broken, Mr. Saltfleet. The one we hold is, too. What if they
belonged
!"

A silence followed, during which Ingrid rose, and then Saltfleet. He stood erect in reflection, passing a hand over his chin.

"You mean, of course, that we can fit the fractures, to ascertain. Yet I would still like to have your chain of reasoning. The one stone—the one in my pocket, I am sure—has come out of Tibet; where do you suggest yours—the other—has come from?"

"Ours came out of Tibet. Since Hugh Drapier showed it to my mother with his own hands, it has not been outside our house... But he visited the prehistoric tomb on Devil's Tor yesterday morning, and... it is very remarkable—and scarcely believable—but there, and then, I think, he must have found the stone now in your pocket."

"He discovered nothing to you of such a find?

"No; but I was sure, from his manner, that some adventure had met him down there, in those depths."

Now also she understood how it had come about that the flint which she herself had taken from his box had never been missed. He had picked the second up in the darkness of the underground chamber, and, when he had got home, the first being gone from its place, he had believed that this was it—that the stone he had picked up had unawares to himself been in his pocket and dropped out. … She could not doubt it. …

"Would Drapier know he had both?" asked Saltfleet.

"No, he didn't know it. The Tibetan one was mislaid, by a miraculous chance, and he must have mistaken the other for it."

"I hope you may be right. It will mean much to Arsinal."

"So when could we test it?"

"It is getting late, and I am so very positive that they do belong, we can well wait till tomorrow."

"Then I'll send Arsinal a wire?"

"Just now, when I dropped your stone, it was because I heard the same waters again. That is my proof—convincing to me. … The telegraph office is closed by now. We can test it by ourselves to-morrow, but I think he should come soon."

"It's the queerest business! I can only say, Miss Fleming, that Arsinal has long since inferred the existence of such a second half to his stone; that he wants it very badly, and is at this moment engaged in the most elaborate preparations for its world-wide search. Imagine if your news will seem of importance to him! ... Yet now tell me. Assuming your suggestion to be accurate—you have mentioned a difficulty of ownership. …"

"Yes. The one, we know, is his; but to the other, you yourself will admit he can have no sort of claim, except moral. But I, too, may have a moral claim to it. The one that was found in the tomb—if it was... that tomb, and the whole of Devil's Tor, are more to me than to anybody. Then Mr. Arsinal must show me that his claim is the stronger and more righteous. Let him do that, and I promise he shall have it."

"I only beg of you not to be uncharitable, for here is a man who has given all his years, energy and fortune to the recovery from the void of antiquity of these complemental halves. After immense labour he has located and gained the first. Now the second may marvellously have turned up. The whole research is based on a mystical enthusiasm, of which I have no right to speak further."

Peter caught Ingrid's arm.

"We must go. Your mother shouldn't be left."

"The discussion bores you, Mr. Copping?" suggested Saltfleet, smiling.

"I came here to accompany Miss Fleming, and at the request of Mrs. Fleming."

Ingrid, however, addressed herself to Saltfleet as though the interruption had not occurred.

"You may, if you wish, give Mr. Arsinal this provisional assurance. The stone we have is his, and he must of course take it. The other, that you have just shown us, was on Hugh Drapier's person at his death, and so belongs neither to you nor to Mr. Arsinal, but to the estate; of which my mother is the executrix. If we can't come to any agreement, we must exchange them, and then each side will have its own property. But I'll ask my mother—and she will listen to me—I'll ask her to hold everything over till Mr. Arsinal can get down to discuss it in person. And if he can establish his claim, he shall then have both. But the claim must be occult. The mere fact that he has spent a number of years in trying to trace these counterparts, would not in itself be enough. If that were all, my right would be stronger than his."

"What would you wish to do with such a stone, for instance?"

"It is not a question of any activity of my will; and you could not understand. … These awful events have been filling all the week. Now poor Hugh is crushed, almost as if a hand had launched that rock against him. I have been concerned, I feel I am to be still more concerned. And if the stone in your pocket has truly been recovered from the recesses of the Tor, it is a part of everything."

"You would say that nothing has been accidental?"

"No; it is like something taking shape."

"To what end. Miss Fleming?"

"I cannot guess."

"But Arsinal, perhaps, will give a guess. I won't say, a true guess, for that would be a miracle indeed; but there is a very ancient prophecy in his possession, which, without too great a distortion, might be made to point towards these initiatory happenings. … Though here, certainly, I should feel disposed to part company with him at last."

"You see how necessary it is that he should come. And he
will
come. I know that—and yet there must be new surprises too. We are very little more than looking on... even poor Hugh."

"Then why have I been fetched down to join the spectators?"

"I feel it is not long to remain a mere spectacle. I am taking a most serious view of it all, Mr. Saltfleet. Surely to-day's work supports me!
You
—you are a man, you are a human being. You may be a stranger here, but as an individual living in the world like the rest of us, you may be to be made use of, I imagine!"

"I don't joke, but if a drama is unfolding, what part have you conceived for me?"

But Peter, flicking the ash off his cigarette, spoke before she could.

"May I suggest that we get back to earth?" And his brows lifted. "This kind of talk may do very well among ourselves, Ingrid, but after all (pardon me, sir!) we are in conference with an unknown quantity in a strange inn. For Dunn, for example, I have the utmost respect of a sort, yet the bare possibility of his getting wind of the seeming insanity of his betters starts, I must admit, a certain dismay in my mind."

"I assure you that I shall hold my tongue rigidly about everything," returned Saltfleet drily. "The more so, as I believe I permitted myself a somewhat censurable action up yonder." He gestured with his hand towards the window.

"I think so."

"You disapprove, Mr. Copping?"

"Why, yes, I do."

"In similar circumstances, you would have the moral strength to abstain from laying a finger on what you should conceive to be your own property?"

"It now proves not to be yours! In any case, I have long since made up my mind that I haven't time to dodge the law; so I always go strictly by it, merely not to be bothered."

"Am I dodging the law?"

"It has that colour. Having confiscated evidence, you will be compelled, won't you? to pick and choose from facts for your story at the inquest. I don't know what that is but dodging."

"Are you by chance insinuating that the inquest may resolve itself into other than a purely formal inquiry?"

"I simply say that the coroner should be in possession of
all
the circumstances; and you are suppressing one of them."

Saltfleet, moving his shoulder disdainfully, turned from him. Not, apparently, to intervene, but because her mind had been elsewhere and had now reached a thought to be expressed, Ingrid said to Peter, touching his sleeve:

"If Mr. Arsinal comes to-morrow, perhaps you will lend your studio?"

"Why?"

"I wish it to be among ourselves, and would rather not come here again."

"Your mother is not to participate?"

"I want to talk to Mr. Arsinal alone. I want you—and Mr. Saltfleet, if he wishes—to come; but not to interfere."

"You can have the studio."

"Then you will wire in the morning, and let us know what time he is to be expected?" She addressed Saltfleet.

"Very well."

"My mother is the principal in law, but she will hand over the right to deal with this matter to me."

"We shall prefer it, Miss Fleming. … While you, Mr. Copping, I trust, will maintain a more or less benevolent neutrality?"

"Oh, I am outside it all! I merely provide a room with four chairs."

Saltfleet laughed. He turned for the last time to Ingrid.

"And you would rather he were fetched before the testing of these two stones, to see if they belong?"

"I am sure that they are counterparts."

No more was said.

Saltfleet bowed the two out, feeling nothing but exasperation for this young Copping, but for the other—the tall and gracious girl, whose ever-growing personality was so unsuccessfully obscured for his last glimpse of her by the shapeless, glistening waterproof, that could not prevent her appearing in it like the feminine aristocrat that she was—for her, something much more nearly akin to reverence than to the mere homage of sex. Indeed, he had encountered no woman of her type before. … For it could not be common admiration with him. Her beauty was not what he was remembering. He had no exultation of vanity, and was not ransacking his mind for memories of her particular glances and speeches, that might be twisted to his favour. And still it was always in his mind that her womanhood
had
played a part in the deep impression made upon him. …

But after dinner, while he sat smoking in the same room, now in profoundest dusk, pursuing his examination of Drapier's flint, he looked up sharply, to fancy that the tall-backed oak chair with arms, set against the wall opposite, was being occupied by the seated form of a gigantic woman.

Her shape was defined by a sort of phosphorescence, issuing indifferently from her garments and unclothed flesh; but the face was shadowed, so as to be scarcely distinguishable from the darkness of the room. She seemed curiously attired in antique draperies. He recognised her at once for a ghost. And in her immobility was suggested to him an inexpressible menace, her bare arms resting in strength like those of an image on the wooden arms of the chair, while she stared at him from the invisibility of her face and eyes.

She vanished.

Saltfleet felt a peculiar sense of anger for his subjection to such a phenomenon. Lighting one of the candles in the room, he poured himself out some whisky. Then, having swallowed it in a few quick gulps, as one impatient to be off, he immediately afterwards quitted the apartment, to go to bed, notwithstanding the unusually early hour for him.

Saltfleet descended to the coffee-room for breakfast next morning, to be confronted by the surprising vision of the very man he was to wire, who must have travelled down from Oxford by the night train, reaching Belhill on the first connection from Plymouth. Arsinal looked thoroughly pale and fagged, having shadowy patches of exhaustion under his eyes; but otherwise seemed to have found time to shave and tub, and was sitting alone in the room in dark indoor clothes, pensively reading the
Western Morning News
by the window. He sighted Saltfleet quickly, and got up with his habitual unpretending dignity.

They met.

"I wished not to hurry your movements, so refrained from sending my name up," explained Arsinal. "In fact, but for a strange chance in a thousand, I would not be here at all. I was pressed to dine last evening by one of the professors I know very well, who desired me to meet his wife, and though I had work enough to do, I could see no way out, so went. After dinner they put on the wireless for half an hour, and among the news items broadcast happened to be this sensational death of Drapier's on a Dartmoor tor. Accordingly, as soon as I could decently get away, I motored to Swindon, and there caught the night express going west. … I thought I should be on the spot, in case of any hitch. At the station below they directed me to this hotel as the leading establishment, so I tried for you here at a venture. Now tell me, Saltfleet—did you get to meet Drapier before his tragical death?"