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CHAPTER XXXVI
THE INCIDENT
OF THE CORRIDOR
Ezra Girdlestone hardly went through the formality of greeting Kate next morning when she came down to breakfast. He was
evidently ill at ease, and turned away his eyes when she looked at
him, though he glanced at her furtively from time to time. His father
chatted with him upon City matters, but the young man’s answers
were brusque and monosyllabic. His sleep had been troubled and
broken, for the conversation of the night before had obtruded unpleasantly on his dreams.
Kate slipped away from them as soon as she could and, putting
on her bonnet, went for a long walk through the grounds, partly for
the sake of exercise, and partly in the hope of finding some egress.
The one-eyed gate-keeper was at his post, and set up a hideous
shout of laughter when he saw her; so she branched off among the
trees to avoid him, and walked once more very carefully round the
boundary wall. It was no easy matter to follow it continuously, for
the briars and brambles grew in a confused tangle up to its very
base. By perseverance, however, she succeeded in tracing every foot
of it, and so satisfying herself finally that there was no diminution
anywhere in its height, no break in its continuity, save the one small
wooden door which was securely fastened.
There was one spot, however, where a gleam of hope presented
itself. At an angle of the wall there stood a deserted wooden shed,
which had been used for the protection of gardeners’ tools in the
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
days when the grounds had been kept in better order. It was not
buttressed up against the wall, but stood some eight or ten feet from
it. Beside the shed was an empty barrel which had once been a water-butt. The girl managed to climb to the top of the barrel, and
from this she was easily able to gain the sloping roof of the shed. Up
this she clambered until she stood upon the summit, a considerable
height above the ground. From it she was able to look down over the
wall on to the country-road and the railway line which lay on the
other side of it. True that an impassable chasm lay between her and
the wall, but it would be surely possible for her to hail passers-by
from here, and to persuade some of them to carry a letter to Bedsworth or to bring paper from there. Fresh hope gushed into her
heart at the thought.
It was not a very secure footing, for the planks of, which the shed
was composed were worm-eaten and rotten. They cracked and crumbled beneath her feet, but what would she not dare to see a friendly
human face? As she stood there a couple of country louts, young
lads about sixteen, came strolling down the road, the one whistling
and the other munching at a raw turnip. They lounged along until
they came opposite to Kate’s point of observation, when one of them
looking up saw her pale face surmounting the wall.
“Hey, Bill,” he cried to his companion, “blowed if the mad wench
bean’t up on the shed over yander!”
“So she be!” said the other eagerly. “Give me your turnip. Jimmy, an’
I’ll shy it at her.”
“Noa, I’ll shy it mysel’,” said the gallant Jimmy; and at the word
whizz came the half of a turnip within art inch of Kate’s ear.
“You’ve missed her!” shrieked the other savage. “’Ere, quick,
where be a stone?” But before he could find one the poor girl, sick at
heart, clambered down from her exposed situation.
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THE FIRM OF GIRDLESTONE
“There is no hope for me anywhere,” she sobbed to herself. “Every
man’s hand is against me. I have only one true friend, and he is far
away.” She went back to her room utterly disheartened and dispirited.
Her guardian knocked at her door before dinner time. “I trust,”
he said, “that you have read over the service. It is as well to do so
when you cannot go to church.”
“And why should you prevent me from going to church?” she
asked.
“Ah, my lady,” he said with a sneer, “you are reaping what you
have sown. You are tasting now, the bitter fruits of your disobedience. Repent before it is too late!”
“I have done no wrong,” she said, turning on him with flashing
eyes. “It is for you to repent, you violent and hypocritical man. It is
for you to answer for your godly words and your ungodly and wicked actions. There is a power which will judge between us some day,
and will exact atonement for your broken oath to your dead friend
and for your cruel treatment of one who was left to your care.” She
spoke with burning cheeks and with such fearless energy that the
hard City man fairly cowered away from her.
“We will leave that to the future,” he said. “I came up to do you
a kindness, and you abuse me. I hear that there are insects about the
house, beetles and the like. A few drops from this bottle scattered
about the room would keep them away. Take care, for it is a violent
though painless poison if taken by a human being.” He handed her
a phial, with a brownish turbid liquid in it, and a large red poison
label, which she took without comment and placed upon the mantelpiece. Girdlestone gave a quick, keen glance at her as he retired.
In truth he was astonished at the alteration which the last few days
had made in her appearance. Her cheeks were colourless and sunken, save for the single hectic spot, which announced the fever within. Her eyes were unnaturally bright. A strange and new expression
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had settled upon her whole countenance. It seemed to Girdlestone
that there was every chance that his story might become a reality,
and her reason be permanently deranged. She had, however, more
vitality than her guardian gave her credit for. Indeed, at the very
time when he set her down in his mind as a broken woman, she had
formed a fresh plan for escape, which it would require both energy
and determination to put into execution.
During the last few days she had endeavoured to make friends
with the maid Rebecca, but the invincible aversion which the latter
had entertained for her, ever since Ezra had visited her with his unwelcome attentions, was not to be overcome by any advances which
she could make. She performed her offices with a heart full of malice, and an eye which triumphed in her mistress’s misfortunes.
Kate had bethought herself that Stevens, the gatekeeper, only
mounted guard during the day. She had observed, too, at the time
of her conversation with him, that the iron gate was in such a state
of disrepair that, even if it were locked, it would not be a difficult
matter to scramble through or over it. If she could only gain the
open air during the night there would be nothing to prevent her
from making her way to Bedsworth, whence she could travel on
to Portsmouth, which was only seven miles away. Surely there she
would find some charitable people who would communicate with
her friends and give her a temporary shelter.
The front door of the house was locked every night, but there
was a nail behind it, on which she hoped to find the key. There
was another door at the back. Then there were the windows of the
ground-floor, which might be tried in case the doors were too securely fastened. If only she could avoid waking any one there was no
reason why she should not succeed. If the worst came to the worst
and she was detected, they could not treat her more cruelly than
they had already done.
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THE FIRM OF GIRDLESTONE
Ezra had gone back to London, so that she had only three enemies to contend against, Girdlestone, Rebecca, and old Mrs. Jorrocks. Of these, Girdlestone slept upon the floor above, and Mrs.
Jorrocks, who might have been the most dangerous of all, as her
room was on the ground-floor, was fortunately so deaf that there
was little risk of disturbing her. The problem resolved itself, therefore, into being able to pass Rebecca’s room without arousing her,
and, as she knew the maid to be a sound sleeper, there seemed to be
every chance of success.
She sat at her window all that afternoon steeling her mind to
the ordeal before her. She was weak, poor girl, and shaken, little fit
for anything which required courage and resolution. Her mind ran
much upon her father, and upon the mother whom she had never
known, but whose miniature was among her most precious treasures.
The thought of them helped to dispel the dreadful feeling of utter
loneliness, which was the most unendurable of all her troubles.
It was a cold, bright day, and the tide was in, covering the mudbanks and lapping up against the walls of the Priory grounds. So clear
was it that she could distinguish the houses at the east end of the Isle
of Wight. When she opened her window and looked out she could
perceive that the sea upon her right formed a great inlet, dreary and
dry at low tide, but looking now like a broad, reed-girt lake. This was
Langston Harbour, and far away at its mouth she could make out
a clump of buildings which marked the watering-place of Hayling.
There were other signs, however, of the presence of man. From
her window she could see the great men-of-war steaming up the
Channel, to and from the anchorage at Spithead. Some were low
in the water and venomous looking, with bulbous turrets and tiny
masts. Others were long and stately, with great lowering hulks and
broad expanse of canvas. Occasionally a foreign service gunboat
would pass, white and ghostly, like some tired seabird flapping its
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way home. It was one of Kate’s few amusements to watch the passing
and repassing of the vessels, and to speculate upon whence they had
come and whither they were bound.
On that eventful evening Rebecca went to bed rather earlier
than usual. Kate retired to her room, and having made her final
preparations and stuffed her few articles of jewelry into her pockets,
to serve in place of money, she lay down upon her bed, and trembled
at the thought of what was in front of her. Down below she could
hear her guardian’s shuffling step as he moved about the refectory.
Then came the creaking of the rusty lock as he secured the door, and
shortly afterwards he passed upstairs to his room. Mrs. Jorrocks had
also gone to bed, and all was quiet in the house.
Kate knew that some hours must elapse before she could venture to make the attempt. She remembered to have read in some
book that the sleep of a human being was usually deepest about
two in the morning, so she had chosen that hour for her enterprise.
She had put on her strongest dress and her thickest shoes, but had
muffled the latter in cloth, so that they should make no sound. No
precaution which she could think of had been neglected. There was
now nothing to be done but to spend the time as best she might
until the hour of action should arrive.
She rose and looked out of the window again. The tide was out
now, and the moon glittered upon the distant ocean. A mist was
creeping up, however, and even as she looked it drew its veil over
the water. It was bitterly cold. She shivered and her teeth began to
chatter. Stretching herself upon the bed once more, she wrapped
the blankets round her, and, worn out with anxiety and fatigue,
dropped into a troubled sleep.
She slumbered some hours before she awoke.
Looking at her watch she found that it was after two. She must
not delay any longer. With the little bundle of her more valuable
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THE FIRM OF GIRDLESTONE
possessions in her hand, she gave such a gasp as a diver gives before he makes his spring, and slipping past Rebecca’s half-opened
door she felt her way down the wooden stair, picking her steps
very carefully.
Even in the daytime she had often noticed how those old planks
creaked and cracked beneath her weight. Now, in the dead silence of
the night, they emitted such sounds that her heart sank within her.
She stopped several times, convinced that she must be discovered,
but all was hushed and still. It was a relief when at last she reached
the ground-floor, and was able to feel her way along the passage to
the door.
Shaking in every limb from cold and fear, she put her hand to
the lock; the key was not there. She tried the nail; there was nothing there. Her wary gaoler had evidently carried it away with him
to his room. Would it occur to him to do the same in the case of the
back door? It was very possible that he might have overlooked it.
She retraced her steps down the passage, passed Mrs. Jorrocks’ room,
where the old woman was snoring peacefully, and began to make
her way as best she could through the great rambling building.
Running along the basement floor from front to back there was
a long corridor, one side of which was pierced for windows. At the
end of this corridor was the door which she wished to reach. The
moon had broken through the fog, and pouring its light through
each opening cast a succession of silvery flickering spots upon the
floor. Between each of these bars of uncertain light was an interval
of darkness. Kate stood at the head of this corridor with her hand
against the wall, awed by the sudden sight of the moonlight and
by the weird effect which was produced by the alternate patches
of shadow and brightness. As she stood there, suddenly, with eyes
distended with horror, she became aware that something was approaching her down the corridor.
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
She saw it moving as a dark formless mass at the further end.
It passed through the bar of light, vanished, appeared once more,
lost itself in the darkness, emerged again. It was half-way down the
passage and still coming on. Petrified with terror, she could only
wait and watch. Nearer it came and nearer. It was gliding into the
last bar of light Immediately in front of her! It was on her! God of
mercy, it was a Dominican friar! The moon shone clear and cold
upon his gaunt figure and his sombre robes. The poor girl threw up
her hands, gave one terrible scream of horror, which rang through
the old house, and sank senseless to the ground.
CHAPTER XXXVII
A CHASE AND A BRAWL
It would be impossible to describe the suspense in which Tom
Dimsdale lived during these weeks. In vain he tried in every manner to find some way of tracing the fugitives. He wandered aimlessly
about London from one inquiry office to another, telling his story
and appealing for assistance. He advertised in papers and crossquestioned every one who might know anything of the matter.
There were none, however, who could help him or throw any light
upon the mystery.
No one at the office knew anything of the movements of the
senior partner. To all inquiries Ezra replied that he had been ordered by the doctors to seek complete repose in the country. Dimsdale dogged Ezra’s footsteps night after night in the hope of gaining some clue, but in vain. On the Saturday he followed him to the
railway station, but Ezra, as we have seen, succeeded in giving him
the slip.
His father became seriously anxious about the young fellow’s
health. He ate nothing and his sleep was much broken. Both the old
people tried to inculcate patience and moderation.
“That fellow, Ezra Girdlestone, knows where they are,” Tom
would cry, striding wildly up and down the room with unkempt
hair and clenched hands. “I will have his secret, if I have to tear it
out of him.”
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
“Steady, lad, steady!” the doctor replied to one of these outbursts. “There is nothing to be gained by violence. They are on the
right side of the law at present, and you will be on the wrong if you
do anything rash. The girl could have written if she were uncomfortable.”
“Ah, so she could. She must have forgotten us. How could she,
after all that has passed!”
“Let us hope for the best, let us hope for the best,” the doctor
would say soothingly. Yet it must be confessed that he was considerably staggered by the turn which things had taken. He had seen so
much of the world in his professional capacity that he had become
a very reliable judge of character. All his instincts told him that Kate
Harston was a true-hearted and well-principled girl. It was not in
her nature to leave London and never to send a single line to her
friends to tell them where or why she had gone. There must, he was
sure, be some good reason for her silence, and this reason resolved
itself into one or two things – either she was ill and unable to hold
a pen, or she had lost her freedom and was restrained from writing
to them. The last supposition seemed to the doctor to be the more
serious of the two.
Had he known the instability of the Girdlestone firm, and the
necessity they were under of getting ready money, he would at once
have held the key to the enigma. He had no idea of that, but in spite
of his ignorance he was deeply distrustful of both father and son.
He knew and had often deplored the clause in John Harston’s will
by which the ward’s money reverted to the guardian. Forty thousand
pounds were a bait which might tempt even a wealthy man into
crooked paths.
It was Saturday – the third Saturday since Girdlestone and his
ward had disappeared. Dimsdale had fully made up his mind that,
go where he would, Ezra should not escape him this time. On two
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