Le Queux William
The Sign of the Stranger
Chapter One
The Advent of the Stranger
The shabby stranger seated himself familiarly in a nook beside the wide-open chimney of the tap-room, and stretched out his long thin legs with a sigh.
I want something to eat; a bit of cold meat, or bread and cheese anything you have handy and a glass of beer. Im very tired.
The village publican, scanning the strangers features keenly, moved slowly to execute the command and lingered over the cutting of the meat. The other seemed to read the signs like a flash, for he roughly drew out a handful of money, saying in his bluff outspoken way
Be quick, mister! Heres money to pay for it. The meal was very nimbly and swiftly placed before him; and then the landlord, with a glance back at me seated in his own little den beyond, turned off the suspicion with a remark about the warmth of the weather.
Yes, it is a bit hot, said the stranger, a tall, thin, weary-looking man of about forty, from whose frayed clothes and peaked hat I put down to be a seafarer. Phew! Ive felt it to-day and Im not so strong, either.
Have you come far, sir? deferentially inquired the innkeeper who, having taken down his long clay, had also taken measure of his customer and decided that he was no ordinary tramp.
The other stopped his eating, looked Warr, the publican, full in the face in a curious, dreamy fashion, and then sighed
Yes, a fair distance a matter of ten or eleven thousand miles.
The landlord caught his breath, and I noticed that he looked still more earnestly into the strangers weather-beaten face.
Ah! maybe youve been abroad to America? he remarked, striking a match and holding it in his fingers before lighting his pipe.
I have, and a good many other places as well, answered the tramp thoughtfully, resting and trying the point of the knife on the hard deal table before him. Im a wanderer I am, but, by Jove! he added, it is real good to see these green English fields once again. When I was out yonder I never thought Id see them any more these old thatched houses, the old church, and the windmill that generally wants a sail.
You speak as though you know Sibberton the landlord said, and then he stopped uneasily.
The customer, who saw in an instant that his slip of the tongue had nearly betrayed him, answered
No, unfortunately I dont. I well, Ive never been in these parts before. And from where I stood I detected by the mans keen, dark eyes that he was not speaking the truth. The innkeeper, too, was puzzled.
This place seems a pretty spot, the shabby wayfarer went on. How far is it to Northampton?
Twelve miles.
The stranger sighed, glanced across at the old grandfather clock, and went on eating. There was silence after this, broken only by the buzzing of the flies against the window close to him, and the placing or adjusting of the tumblers which Warr had gravely begun to polish.
Lets see, remarked the stranger reflectively at last, if this is Sibberton, the old Earl of Stanchester lives here, I suppose?
He did live here, but he died a year ago.
And young Lord Sibberton has come into the property eh? Why, he must be one of the richest men in England, the fellow remarked with something of a sneer.
They say he is, was Warrs reply.
Mention of the name of Stanchester caused me to prick my ears, for I had been private secretary to the old Earl and was now acting in that same capacity to the young man who had recently succeeded to the estates.
And his sister, the fair one Lady Lolita they call her is she married yet? inquired the half-famished man.
No. She still lives with her brother and his wife up at the Hall.
The stranger grunted, and I noticed that he smiled faintly for the first time, but just at that moment he turned and catching sight of my back through the half-opened door, started slightly and appeared to be somewhat embarrassed.
Why did he make that inquiry regarding Lolita, I wondered? My father, Sir George Woodhouse, having been an intimate friend of the old Earls, and his aide-de-camp when he was Viceroy of India, I had been taken into the latters confidential service as soon as I came down from Cambridge, and for the past ten years had lived as a careless bachelor in a pleasant old ivy-covered house at the end of the village, being treated more as one of the Stanchester family than as the millionaire landowners confidential secretary. The present Earl had been at Cambridge with me, and there was a strong bond of friendship between us.
Yours has been a strange life, said the publican at last, in order to obtain more details of the stranger and his motive for inquiring after the people at the Hall.
It has; Ive drifted half over the world, but the passion for wandering is now pretty well worn out of me, wearily responded the other, taking a sip at his beer. They say theres no place like home. I used to think so when the ship was steaming over the blue sea at nights with all asleep below and the clear stars shining over me. I dont think I shall live long; thats why Im back again once more in England. But, he added, we were talking of Lol er, I mean Lady Lolita. Isnt she even engaged?
Not that I know of, answered the innkeeper. If she were, some of the servants would be sure to chatter. There aint much as goes on up at the Hall without me knowing it.
The estimable Warr was right. The tap-room of the Stanchester Arms was the village forum where the footmen, stablemen, kennel-hands and others employed in the Earls great establishment assembled nightly to drink beer and discuss the gossip of the day.
Ah! I suppose shes just as beautiful as ever? remarked the stranger reflectively. His voice quivered oddly, and he rose wearily, brushing the knees of his frayed and shiny trousers. Shes one of the prettiest women in all England, added the ragged wayfarer, whose inquiries seemed to me to be made with some distinct purpose.
Shes lovely, declared Warr. The papers often have portraits of her. Perhaps youve seen them?
Yes, I have, he answered, and the words came out with something like a groan.
At that instant there reached our ears the familiar jingle of harness bells, and Warr, turning quickly, cried
Why, shes just coming along! Youll see her in a moment! And they both dashed to the small diamond-paned window which looked out upon the village street.
The stranger stood with his dark eyes peering out, his body drawn back as though fearing recognition, until a few moments later, when a smart victoria and pair of chestnuts dashed passed, and lolling within, beneath a pale blue sunshade, was the sweet-faced woman in white returning to the Hall after making afternoon calls.
Ah! he gasped as the marvellous beauty of that countenance burst upon him, and was next instant lost to view as the jingling bells receded. Youre right! he said, turning from the window sadly, his face blanched. Shes more beautiful than ever shes absolutely lovely!
The man was a mystery. He attracted me.
The publican remained gravely silent, utterly at a loss to understand the strangers meaning, while at that moment the latter apparently recollected my proximity, for he looked across towards where I, having had business with the innkeeper, still stood awaiting his return.
Suddenly turning to Warr, he said
I notice you have a gentleman in the parlour, there. I wonder whether you would give me just a couple of minutes alone? I want to ask you a question.
The landlord again glanced suspiciously at the mysterious stranger, but seeing the earnest, determined look upon his grizzled face, rather reluctantly consented, and conducted his customer across the low entrance-hall to a room on the opposite side, the door of which he closed behind them.
What transpired therein was in secret, but about five minutes later I heard the door open again, and the stranger, with heavy tread, walk firmly to the door.
You wont forget the name, he called back to Warr in a strange hard voice just before he went forth. Richard Keene K-e-e-n-e.
Ive promised. Trust me, was the innkeepers response, while a moment later the shabby strangers form cast a long shadow across the sanded tap-room and vanished.
Thats a queer customer? I remarked to Warr when he returned to me, for I had come down to pay him an account. I dont like the look of him somehow.
Neither do I, the landlord answered. At first I took him for a burglar spying around to ascertain who was at home up at the Hall, but Ive formed a very different conclusion during the past five minutes. He isnt a burglar, but hes somebody who evidently knows Lady Lolita.
Knows her? I exclaimed, surprised. What do you mean? What did he tell you in private?
Nothing. He asked me to render him a service by giving a letter in secret to her ladyship, and as recompense gave me this. And opening his hand, Warr showed me a sovereign. Something fresh, this! he added. A tramp who gives sovereign tips; and he laughed very heartily to himself.
I did not join in his laughter, for on being handed the letter I saw it was inscribed to her ladyship and marked Private in a neat educated hand, and sealed with black wax with an unfamiliar coat-of-arms bearing a coronet and many quarterings.
He told me also to tell her that Richard Keene has returned, and said that she would understand. Strange, aint it? observed the landlord, with a long pull at his clay.
Very. If you wish, Ill undertake the responsibility of giving Lady Lolita this letter and delivering the message, I said.
No. Ill have to come up to the Hall myself, was the innkeepers reply. The chap actually compelled me to take a solemn oath to deliver it into no other hands but her own!
Then it must contain something of supreme importance, otherwise it might surely have been sent by post, I remarked suspiciously.
Yes, I feel sure it does. Did you notice how the fellows face changed when he saw her drive past? He went as white as a ghost. Hes a mystery that he is.
He is, without a doubt, I said. His announcement that Richard Keene had returned seemed to convey some covert threat. I recollected the tone 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 to follow that remarkable mystery of real life which proved so tantalising, so bewildering and so inscrutable.
Chapter Two
Concerns Lady Lolita
I strolled back up the long beech avenue to the Hall, apprehensive and puzzled. The strangers manner, his curious expression when he had spoken of Lolita, and the bold way in which he had sent her the announcement of the return of Richard Keene were ominous. What, I wondered, did the letter contain, sealed as it was with the arms of some noble 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, although but a paid servant of the Stanchesters, like any of that army of footmen and grooms, loved Lady Lolita in secret, and although no word of affection had ever passed between us, I nevertheless felt that her interests were my own.
My position was, I admit, a unique one. Lolita and I had been friends ever since our childhood days in India, when her father held the highest official position in the East and mine was his confidential assistant, and now, her brother having succeeded, she seemed to regard me as a harmless and necessary director of things in general. Very frequently I was invited to luncheon or to dinner, and treated always as one of the family, even though I was but a paid dependant. Yes, both the young Earl and his sister were extremely kind and considerate, and surely I had no cause for complaint, either in matter of salary, which was a handsome one, or in that of social standing.
So thoroughly had I mastered all the details of the great estate during the haughty old Earls lifetime that I suppose my existence was necessary for the well-being of my college friend who had so suddenly found himself a millionaire. Indeed, he had admitted to me that he had never met several of his estate agents in various parts of the country, therefore I had the absolute control of them and generally superintended the 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 in Sussex, 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 at Cowes and that of the moors. As I came up the straight shady avenue of ancient beeches which met overhead for more than a mile, the magnificent façade of the splendid old place with its countless windows, its towers and high twisted chimneys stood in the soft crimson haze of the brilliant afterglow, its delicate traceries and marvellous architecture giving 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 wings abutting from the sides and ending at the extremities in towers, while its princely proportions were such as to place it among the largest and most notable family mansions in the country.
The last rays of sunset flashed upon its many windows as I emerged from the avenue, and then passing across the level lawns and ancient bowling-green, I entered the great hall with its wonderful ornamental fireplace and stands of armour, and proceeded along one corridor after another 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 I commanded a view for several miles across the great level park which was some ten miles in extent, and where, in the distance, rose another low, old-fashioned Jacobean building with clock-tower, the kennels of the Earls famous foxhounds. My room was an old-fashioned one, like everything else in that fine mansion. Lined from floor to ceiling with books and in the centre a big writing-table, it had been given over to me by the old Earl when I had first entered upon my duties ten years before. The floor was of oak, polished like a mirror, and over the arched chimney was carved in stone the greyhound courant of the Stanchesters, with the date 1571.
I glanced at severed notes that had been dropped into the rack in my absence, and then casting myself into an easy chair lit a cigarette and continued my apprehensive reflections.
The summer dusk darkened into night, and having a quantity of correspondence to attend to, I went to the room I sometimes occupied, changed, dined alone, and then about nine oclock returned to my study to finish my work.