The Sign of the Stranger Read online

Trust me," was the innkeeper's response, while a momentlater the shabby stranger's form cast a long shadow across the sandedtap-room and vanished.

  "That's a queer customer?" I remarked to Warr when he returned to me,for I had come down to pay him an account. "I don't like the look ofhim somehow."

  "Neither do I," the landlord answered. "At first I took him for aburglar spying around to ascertain who was at home up at the Hall, butI've formed a very different conclusion during the past five minutes.He isn't a burglar, but he's somebody who evidently knows Lady Lolita."

  "Knows her?" I exclaimed, surprised. "What do you mean? What did hetell you in private?"

  "Nothing. He asked me to render him a service by giving a letter insecret to her ladyship, and as recompense gave me this." And openinghis hand, Warr showed me a sovereign. "Something fresh, this!" headded. "A tramp who gives sovereign tips;" and he laughed very heartilyto himself.

  I did not join in his laughter, for on being handed the letter I saw itwas inscribed to her ladyship and marked "Private" in a neat educatedhand, and sealed with black wax with an unfamiliar coat-of-arms bearinga coronet and many quarterings.

  "He told me also to tell her that Richard Keene has returned, and saidthat she would understand. Strange, ain't it?" observed the landlord,with a long pull at his clay.

  "Very. If you wish, I'll undertake the responsibility of giving LadyLolita this letter and delivering the message," I said.

  "No. I'll have to come up to the Hall myself," was the innkeeper'sreply. "The chap actually compelled me to take a solemn oath to deliverit into no other hands but her own!"

  "Then it must contain something of supreme importance, otherwise itmight surely have been sent by post," I remarked suspiciously.

  "Yes, I feel sure it does. Did you notice how the fellow's face changedwhen he saw her drive past? He went as white as a ghost. He's amystery--that he is."

  "He is, without a doubt," I said. His announcement that Richard Keenehad returned seemed to convey some covert threat. I recollected thetone in which he had uttered the name as he had crossed the threshold,and it caused me to ponder deeply--very deeply.

  Little, however, did I dream of the terrible significance of that name;little did I at that moment anticipate the strange events that were tofollow--that remarkable mystery of real life which proved sotantalising, so bewildering and so inscrutable.

  CHAPTER TWO.

  CONCERNS LADY LOLITA.

  I strolled back up the long beech avenue to the Hall, apprehensive andpuzzled. The stranger's manner, his curious expression when he hadspoken of Lolita, and the bold way in which he had sent her theannouncement of the return of Richard Keene were ominous. What, Iwondered, did the letter contain, sealed as it was with the arms of somenoble house?

  I scented mystery in it all; mystery that somehow concerned myself.Why? Well, I will confess to you now--at the very outset. I, althoughbut a paid servant of the Stanchesters, like any of that army of footmenand grooms, loved Lady Lolita in secret, and although no word ofaffection had ever passed between us, I nevertheless felt that herinterests were my own.

  My position was, I admit, a unique one. Lolita and I had been friendsever since our childhood days in India, when her father held the highestofficial position in the East and mine was his confidential assistant,and now, her brother having succeeded, she seemed to regard me as aharmless and necessary director of things in general. Very frequently Iwas invited to luncheon or to dinner, and treated always as one of thefamily, even though I was but a paid dependant. Yes, both the youngEarl and his sister were extremely kind and considerate, and surely Ihad no cause for complaint, either in matter of salary, which was ahandsome one, or in that of social standing.

  So thoroughly had I mastered all the details of the great estate duringthe haughty old Earl's lifetime that I suppose my existence wasnecessary for the well-being of my college friend who had so suddenlyfound himself a millionaire. Indeed, he had admitted to me that he hadnever met several of his estate agents in various parts of the country,therefore I had the absolute control of them and generally superintendedthe revenue and expenditure, an office which entailed considerable work,inasmuch as besides Sibberton, the family possessed Stanchester House,that big white mansion in Park Lane, Stanchester Castle in Warwickshire,Dildawn and its great deer-forest in Argyllshire, Chelmorton Towers inSussex, and the Villa Aurora on the olive-clad hill above San Remo.

  Sibberton Hall was, however, the seat which the young Earl preferred,and where he usually spent the few weeks of summer between the season atCowes and that of the moors. As I came up the straight shady avenue ofancient beeches which met overhead for more than a mile, the magnificentfacade of the splendid old place with its countless windows, its towersand high twisted chimneys stood in the soft crimson haze of thebrilliant afterglow, its delicate traceries and marvellous architecturegiving it almost the appearance of an illustration from some fairy tale.Built in the early days of Elizabeth by the first Earl of Stanchester,her celebrated minister, it was in the form of a quadrangle with wingsabutting from the sides and ending at the extremities in towers, whileits princely proportions were such as to place it among the largest andmost notable family mansions in the country.

  The last rays of sunset flashed upon its many windows as I emerged fromthe avenue, and then passing across the level lawns and ancientbowling-green, I entered the great hall with its wonderful ornamentalfireplace and stands of armour, and proceeded along one corridor afteranother to the cosy room in the west wing which served me as study.

  From the window where I stood for a moment in deep reflection Icommanded a view for several miles across the great level park which wassome ten miles in extent, and where, in the distance, rose another low,old-fashioned Jacobean building with clock-tower, the kennels of theEarl's famous foxhounds. My room was an old-fashioned one, likeeverything else in that fine mansion. Lined from floor to ceiling withbooks and in the centre a big writing-table, it had been given over tome by the old Earl when I had first entered upon my duties ten yearsbefore. The floor was of oak, polished like a mirror, and over thearched chimney was carved in stone the greyhound courant of theStanchesters, with the date 1571.

  I glanced at severed notes that had been dropped into the rack in myabsence, and then casting myself into an easy chair lit a cigarette andcontinued my apprehensive reflections.

  The summer dusk darkened into night, and having a quantity ofcorrespondence to attend to, I went to the room I sometimes occupied,changed, dined alone, and then about nine o'clock returned to my studyto finish my work.

  Not a sound penetrated there. That wing was but little used, for abovewas the long picture-gallery with the dark old family portraits byVandyke, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Kneller, and others, as well as pricelessexamples of Gainsborough, Turner, Hobbema, and the world-famous Madonnaof Raphael. The room had been given to me so that I should not bedisturbed by visitors who, owing to the enormous proportions of theplace, usually wandered about hopelessly lost in their attempt to reachtheir rooms without a servant as guide.

  The name of Keene was puzzling me. Somehow I had a distinct and vividrecollection of having heard it before, but in what connexion I couldnot recollect, although I had been racking my brains ever since I hadleft the village inn. I took down the old address-book used by mypredecessor, but there was no entry there. No, I felt somehow that Ihad heard the name outside my connexion with the family, but where, orin what circumstances, I could not for the life of me remember.

  My hands were clasped behind my head, and with my work cast aside, I wassmoking vigorously, when there came a low tap at the door, and inresponse to my permission to enter, Lady Lolita came forward gaily, asweet almost girlish figure in her cream dinner-gown girdled withturquoise blue, exclaiming--

  "Mr Woodhouse, I do wish you would do me a favour, would you?"

  "Most certainly," I exclaimed, springing quickly to my feet. "What isit?"

  "I want you to copy out
something for me, will you?" And seatingherself at my writing-table, she took up a pen and scribbled some lines.

  Her gown suited her to perfection, the low-cut bodice revealing herwhite throat, around which sparkled a splendid necklet of diamonds thatflashed beneath my lamp with a thousand fires. Upon her white wrist wasa quaint Chinese bracelet cut from a solid piece of bright green stone.

  Her face was perfect in its symmetry, and her finely-chiselled featureswere almost an exact reproduction of those of Lady Mary Sibberton in SirJoshua's picture in the gallery above. The loveliness of the Sibbertonwomen had been proverbial back in the Jacobean and Georgian days, andassuredly Lady Lolita inherited the distinctive beauty of the femalemembers of the family. The delicately-moulded cheeks, the pointed chin,the sweet, well-formed