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  THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS

  BY THE SAME AUTHORS

  THE HAMPSTEAD MYSTERY

  "The care with which the story is written, the complicated plot andthe clash of the different practices of man-hunters lift it out of thecommon run of mystery tales and make it an absorbing book."

  _Philadelphia Press._

  NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD

  THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS

  BY WATSON & REES AUTHORS OF "THE HAMPSTEAD MYSTERY," ETC.

  NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD TORONTO: S.B. GUNDY MCMXVIII

  COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY JOHN LANE COMPANY

  Press of J. J. Little & Ives Company New York, U.S.A.

  THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS

  CHAPTER I

  THE storm had descended swiftly, sweeping in suddenly from the sea,driving across the downs to the hills at high speed, blotting out thefaint rays of a crescent moon and hiding the country-side beneatha pall of blackness, which was forked at intervals by flashes oflightning.

  The darkness was so impenetrable, and the fury of the storm so fierce,that Harry Marsland pulled his hat well over his eyes and bent over hishorse's neck to shield his face from the driving rain, trusting to theanimal's sagacity and sure-footedness to take him safely down the cliffroad in the darkness, where a slip might plunge them into the breakerswhich he could hear roaring at the foot of the cliffs.

  Hardly had Marsland done so when his horse swerved violently rightacross the road--fortunately to the side opposite the edge of thecliffs--slipped and almost fell, but recovered itself and then stoodstill, snorting and trembling with fear.

  He patted and spoke to the horse, wondering what had frightened it.He had seen or heard nothing, but the darkness of the night and theroar of the gale would have prevented him, even if his face had notbeen almost buried in his horse's neck. However, the rain, beating withsharp persistence on his face and through his clothes, reminded himthat he was some miles from shelter on a lonely country road, with onlya vague idea of his whereabouts. So, with a few more soothing words, heurged his horse onward again. The animal responded willingly enough,but as soon as it moved Marsland discovered to his dismay that it waslame in the off hind leg. The rider was quick to realize that it musthave sprained itself in swerving.

  He slipped out of his saddle and endeavoured to feel the extent of thehorse's injury, but the animal had not entirely recovered from itsfright, and snorted as his master touched it. Marsland desisted, andgently pulled at the bridle.

  The horse struggled onwards a few paces, but it was badly lamed, andcould not be ridden. It thrust a timid muzzle against its master'sbreast, as though seeking refuge from its fears and the fury of thestorm. Marsland patted its head caressingly, and, facing the unpleasantfact that he was on an unknown lonely road with a lame horse in theworst storm he had ever seen, drew the bridle over his arm and startedto walk forward.

  He found it difficult to make progress in the teeth of the gale, buthe realized that it would be useless to retrace his steps with the windat his back, for only the bleak bare downs he had ridden over thatafternoon lay behind, and the only house he had seen was a shepherd'scottage on the hill-side where he had stopped to inquire his way beforethe storm came on. There was nothing to be done but face the gale andgo forward, following the cliff road which skirted the downs, or toseek shelter for himself and his horse at the way-side house until thefury of the storm had abated. Prudence and consideration for his horsedictated the latter course, but in the blackness of the night--whichhung before him like a cloud--he was unable to discern a twinkle oflight denoting human habitation.

  The storm seemed to gather fresh force, rushing in from the sea withsuch fury that Marsland was compelled to stand still and seek shelterbeside his horse. As he stood thus, waiting for it to abate, a vividflash of lightning ran across the western sky, revealing lividly thestorm clouds flying through the heavens, the mountainous yellow-crestedsea, and the desolate, rain-beaten downs; but it revealed, also, afarm-house standing in the valley below, a little way back from theroad which wound down towards it from where Marsland stood.

  The lightning died away, the scene it had illumined disappeared, anda clap of thunder followed. Marsland heaved a sigh of relief. Hejudged that the house was less than a half a mile down the hill, alarge, gaunt, three-storied stone building, with steeply sloping roof,standing back from the road, with a barn beside it. Doubtless it wasthe home of a sheep-farmer of the downs, who would at any rate affordshelter to himself and his horse till the violence of the storm hadpassed.

  The horse responded to an encouraging appeal as though it fullyunderstood, and Marsland doggedly resumed his battle with the storm.The road slanted away slightly from the cliff when horse and rider hadcovered another hundred yards, and wound through a long cutting onthe hill which afforded some protection from the gale, enabling themto make quicker progress. But still Marsland could not see a yard infront of him. Even if his eyes had become accustomed to the darkness,the heavy rain, beating almost horizontally on his face, would haveprevented him seeing anything.

  He had matches in his pocket, but it was useless to attempt to strikethem in such a wind, and he reproached himself for having come awaywithout his electric torch. Slowly and cautiously he made his way downthe road, feeling his footsteps as he went, the tired horse followingobediently. The cutting seemed a long one, but at length a sudden blastof wind, roaring in from the sea, told him that he had emerged into theopen again. He counted off another hundred paces, then paused anxiously.

  "The house ought to be somewhere on the left down there," he muttered,staring blindly into the dark.

  He wondered in an irritated fashion why there were no lights showingfrom the farm-house, which he felt must be very close to where hestood. But he recollected that farmers kept early hours, and herealized that the occupants of the house might well be excused forgoing to bed on such a night even earlier than usual.

  As though in answer to an unspoken wish, a flash of lightning playedover the sky. It was faint and fitful, but it was sufficient to revealthe farm standing a little way ahead, about a hundred yards back fromthe road. He saw clearly the hedge which divided its meadows from theroad, and noted that a gate leading into a wagon drive on the side ofthe meadow nearest him had been flung open by the force of the gale,and was swinging loosely on its hinges.

  "They'll thank me for closing that gate if they've got any stock in themeadows," said Marsland.

  The swinging white gate was faintly visible in the darkness whenMarsland came close to it, and he turned into the open drive. Henoticed as he walked along that the gale was not so severely feltinside as out on the road, and he came to the conclusion that the farmwas in a more sheltered part of the downs--was probably shielded fromthe wind by the hill through which the cutting ran.

  He reflected that it was a good idea to build in a sheltered spotwhen farming on low downs facing the English Channel. He was glad tobe able to walk upright, with the wind behind him and the rain on hisback instead of beating on his face. For one thing, he found he wasable to make some use of his eyes in spite of the darkness, and soonhe discerned the house looming bleakly ahead of him, with the barnalongside.

  As Marsland passed the barn, his horse surprised him by whinnyingsharply and plucking the loose bridle from his arm. He felt for hismatchbox and hastily struck a match. The wind extinguished it, but notbefore its brief splutter of light showed him the horse disappearingthrough an open doorway.

  He follow
ed it and struck another match. It flared up steadily undercover, and he saw that he was in a small storehouse attached to thebarn. Gardening tools were neatly piled in one corner, and in anotherwere a stack of potatoes and some bags of grain. His horse was pluckingravenously at one of the bags. By the light of another match Marslandespied an old lantern hanging on a nail above the tools. He took itfrom the nail, and found that it contained a short end of candle--asight which filled him with pleasure.

  He found a tin dish on top of the cornstack, opened one of the bags,poured a measure of oats into it, and set it before his horse. Theanimal eagerly thrust his nose into the dish and commenced to eat.Marsland patted its wet flank, and then examined the injured leg by thelight of the lantern. His examination failed to reveal any specificinjury beyond a slight swelling, though the horse winced restively ashe touched it.

  Marsland left the horse munching contentedly at its food, shut the doorof the storehouse to prevent the animal wandering away, and set out forthe house. The light of the lantern showed him a path branching off thedrive. He followed it till the outline of the house loomed before himout of the darkness.

  The path led across the front of the house, but Marsland looked in vainfor a ray of light in the upper stories which would indicate that oneof the inmates was awake. He walked on till the path turned abruptlyinto a large porch, and he knew he had reached the front door. Insteadof knocking, he walked past the porch in order to see if there was anylight visible on the far side of the house. It was with pleasure thathe observed a light glimmering through the second window on the groundfloor. Judging by the position of the window, it belonged to the roomimmediately behind the front room on the right side of the house.

  Marsland returned to the porch and vigorously plied the knocker on thedoor, so that the sound should be heard above the storm. He listenedanxiously for approaching footsteps of heavily-shod feet, but the firstsound he heard was that of the bolt being drawn back.

  "Where have you been?" exclaimed a feminine voice. "I have beenwondering what could have happened to you."

  The girl who had opened the door to him had a candle in her hand. Asshe spoke, she shielded the light with her other hand and lifted it tohis face. She uttered a startled exclamation.

  "I beg your pardon," said Marsland, in an ingratiating tone. "I havelost my way and my horse has gone lame. I have taken the liberty ofputting him in the outbuildings before coming to ask you for shelterfrom the storm."

  "To ask me?" she repeated. "Oh, of course. Please come in."

  Marsland closed the door and followed her into the dark and silenthall. She led the way into the room where he had seen the light, placedthe candle on the table, and retreated to a chair which was in theshadow. It occurred to him that she was anxious to study him withoutbeing exposed to his scrutiny. But he had noticed that she was wearinga hat and a dark cloak. These things suggested to him that she hadbeen on the point of going out when the storm came on. The mistakenway in which she had greeted him on opening the door seemed to showthat she had been waiting for some one who was to have accompanied her.Apparently she was alone in the house when he had knocked.

  "I am sorry to have intruded on you in this unceremonious way," hesaid, reviving his apology with the object of enabling her to dismissany fears at her own unprotected state. "I am completely lost, andwhen I saw this house I thought the best thing I could do was to seekshelter."

  "You are not intruding upon me," she said coldly. "The house is notmine--I do not live here. I saw the storm coming on, and, like you, Ithought it was a good idea to seek shelter."

  It was apparent to him that her greeting had been intended for some onewho had accompanied her to the house and had gone to one of the farmbuildings for some purpose. He noted that her manner of speaking wasthat of a well-bred young lady rather than of a farmer's daughter.

  The room in which they were sitting was evidently used as a parlour,and was sombrely furnished in an old-fashioned way. There was ahorsehair suite, and in the middle of the room a large round table.Glancing about him into the dark corners of the room which the feeblelight of the candle barely reached, Marsland noticed in one of them alarge lamp standing on a small table.

  "That will give us a better light," he said; "providing, of course, ithas some oil in it."

  He lifted the lamp to the centre table, and found it was nearly fullof oil. He lit it, and it sent out a strong light, which was, however,confined to a radius of a few feet by a heavy lampshade. He glancedat the girl. She had extinguished her candle, and her face remainedobstinately in shadow.

  He sat down on one of the horsehair chairs; but his companion remainedstanding a little distance away. They waited in silence thus for someminutes. Marsland tried to think of something to say, but there was apensive aloofness about the girl's attitude which deterred him fromattempting to open a conversation with a conventional remark about theviolence of the storm. He listened for a knock at the front door whichwould tell him that her companion had returned, but to his surprise theminutes passed without any sign. He thought of asking her to sit down,but he reflected that such an invitation might savour of impertinence.He could dimly see the outline of her profile, and judged her to beyoung and pretty. Once he thought she glanced in his direction, butwhen he looked towards her she had her face still turned towards thedoor. Finally he made another effort to break down the barrier ofsilence between them.

  "I suppose we must wait here until the storm has cleared away," hebegan. "It is a coincidence that both of us should have sought shelterin this empty house in the storm--I assume the house is empty forthe time being or we would have heard from the inmates. My name isMarsland. I have been staying at Staveley, and I lost my way when outriding this afternoon--the downs seem endless. Perhaps you belong tothe neighbourhood and know them thoroughly."

  But instead of replying she made a swift step towards the door.

  "Listen!" she cried. "What was that?"

  He stood up also, and listened intently, but the only sounds that methis ears were the beating of the rain against the windows and the windwhistling mournfully round the old house.

  "I hear nothing----" he commenced.

  But she interrupted him imperatively.

  "Hush!" she cried. "Listen!" Her face was still turned away from him,but she held out a hand in his direction as though to enjoin silence.

  They stood in silence, both listening intently. Somewhere a boardcreaked, and Marsland could hear the wind blowing, but that was all.

  "I do not think it was anything," he said reassuringly. "These oldhouses have a way of creaking and groaning in a gale. You have becomenervous through sitting here by yourself."

  "Perhaps that is so," she assented in a friendlier tone than she hadhitherto used. "But I thought--in fact, I felt--that somebody wasmoving about stealthily overhead."

  "It was the wind sighing about the house," he said, sitting down again.

  As he spoke, there was a loud crash in a room above--a noise as thoughchina or glass had been broken. Marsland sprang to his feet.

  "There _is_ somebody in the house," he exclaimed.

  "Who can it be?" she whispered.

  "Probably some one who has more right here than we have," said Marslandsoothingly. "He'll come downstairs and then we'll have to explain ourpresence here."

  "The man who lives here is away," she replied, in a hushed tone ofterror. "He lives here alone. If there is anybody in the house, it issome one who has no right here."

  "If you are sure of that," said Marsland slowly, "I will go andsee what has happened in the room above. The wind may have knockedsomething over. Will you stay here until I return?"

  "No, no!" she cried, "I am too frightened now. I will go with you!"

  He felt her hand on his sleeve as she spoke.

  "In that case we may as well take this lamp," he said. "It will givemore light than this." He put down his lantern and picked up the lampfrom the table. "Come along, and see what havoc the wind has beenplaying with the f
urniture upstairs."

  He led the way out of the room, carefully carrying the lamp, and thegirl followed. They turned up the hall to the staircase. As the lightof the lamp fell on the staircase they saw a piece of paper lying onone of the lower stairs. Marsland picked it up and was so mystified atwhat he saw on it that he placed the lamp on a stair above in order tostudy it more closely.

  "What can this extraordinary thing mean?" he said to his companion.He put his left hand in the top pocket of his waistcoat, and thenexclaimed: "I have lost my glasses; I cannot make this out withoutthem."

  She came close to him and looked at the paper.

  The sheet was yellow with age, and one side of it was covered withfigures and writing. There was a row of letters at the top of thesheet, followed by a circle of numerals, with more numerals in thecentre of the circle. Underneath the circle appeared several verses ofScripture written in a small, cramped, but regular handwriting. The inkwhich had been used in constructing the cryptogram was faded brown withage, but the figures and the writing were clear and legible, and thewhole thing bore evidence of patient and careful construction.

  "This is very strange," she said, in a frightened whisper.

  Marsland thought she was referring to the diagrams on the paper.

  "It is a mysterious sort of document, whoever owns it," he said. "Ithink I'll put it on the table in there and we will study it again whenwe come down after exploring the other parts of the house."

  He picked up the lamp and went back to the room they had left. Hedeposited the sheet of paper on the table and placed the candlestick onit to keep it from being blown away by the wind.

  "Now for the ghosts upstairs," he said cheerfully, as he returned.

  He noted with a smile that his companion made a point of keeping behindhim in all his movements. When they had climbed the first flight ofstairs, they stood for a moment or two on the landing, listening, butcould hear no sound.

  "Let us try this room first," said Marsland, pointing to a dooropposite the landing.

  The door was closed but not shut, for it yielded to his touch andswung open, revealing a large bedroom with an old-fashioned fourposterin the corner furthest from the door. Marsland glanced round theroom curiously. It was the typical "best bedroom" of an old Englishfarm-house, built more than a hundred years before the presentgeneration came to life, with their modern ideas of fresh air and lightand sanitation. The ceiling was so low that Marshland almost touched itwith his head as he walked, and the small narrow-paned windows, closelyshuttered from without, looked as though they had been hermeticallysealed for centuries.

  The room contained furniture as ancient as its surroundings: quaintold chests of drawers, bureaux, clothes-presses, and some oldstraight-backed oaken chairs. On the walls were a few musty oldbooks on shelves, a stuffed pointer in a glass case, a cabinet ofstuffed birds, some dingy hunting prints. The combination of lowceiling, sealed windows, and stuffed animals created such a vault-likeatmosphere that Marsland marvelled at the hardy constitution ofthat dead and gone race of English yeomen who had suffered nightlyinternment in such chambers and yet survived to a ripe old age. Hiseyes wandered to the fourposter, and he smiled as he noticed that theheavy curtains were drawn close, as though the last sleeper in thechamber had dreaded and guarded against the possibility of some strayshaft of fresh air eluding the precautions of the builder and findingits way into the room.

  "Nothing here," he said, as he glanced round the floor of the room forbroken pieces of glass or china ornaments that might have been knockedover by the wind or by a cat. "Let us try the room opposite."

  She was the first to reach the door of the opposite room to which theyturned. It occurred to Marsland that her fears were wearing off. As hereached the threshold, he lifted up the lamp above his head so that itslight should fall within.

  The room was a bedroom also, deep and narrow as though it had beensqueezed into the house as an afterthought with a small, deep-setwindow high up in the wall opposite the door. The room was furnished inthe old-fashioned style of the room opposite, though more sparsely. ButMarsland and the girl were astonished to see a man sitting motionlessin a large arm-chair at the far end of the room. His head had fallenforward on his breast as though in slumber, concealing the lower partof his face.

  "By heavens, this is extraordinary," said Marsland, in a low hoarsevoice. With a trembling hand he placed the lamp on the large tablewhich occupied the centre of the room and stood looking at the man.

  The girl crept close to Marsland and clutched his arm.

  "It is Frank Lumsden," she whispered quickly. "Do you think there isanything wrong with him? Why doesn't he speak to us?"

  "Because he is dead," he answered swiftly.

  "Dead!" she exclaimed, in an hysterical tone. "What makes you think so?He may be only in a fit. Oh, what shall we do?"

  Marsland pushed her aside and with a firm step walked to the chair onwhich the motionless figure sat. He touched with his fingers the lefthand which rested on the arm of the chair, and turned quickly.

  "He is quite dead," he said slowly. "He is beyond all help in thisworld."

  "Dead?" she repeated, retreating to the far end of the table andclasping her trembling hands together. "What a dreadful lonely death."

  He was deep in thought and did not respond to her words.

  "As we have discovered the body we must inform the police," he said atlength.

  "I did not know he was ill," she said, in a soft whisper. "He must havedied suddenly."

  Marsland turned on her a searching questioning look. Her sympathyhad conquered her vague fears of the presence of death, and shehesitatingly approached the body. Something on the table near the lampattracted her attention. It was an open pocket-book and beside it weresome papers which had evidently been removed from it.

  "What does this mean?" she cried. "Some one has been here."

  "It is extraordinary," said Marsland.

  He stood between her and the arm-chair so as to hide the dead body fromher. She stepped aside as if to seek in the appearance of the dead manan explanation of the rifled pocket-book.

  "Don't!" he said quickly, as he grasped her by the arm. "Do not touchit."

  His desire to save her from a shock awoke her feminine intuition.

  "You mean he has been murdered?" she whispered, in a voice of dismay.