"It runs," said Abell, "'Another Strange Affair at Ravenspur Castle. The mystery of this remarkable case still thickens. Late on Wednesday night Mr. Rupert Ravenspur, the head of the family, was awakened by a choking sensation and a total loss of breath. On attempting to leave his bed, the unfortunate gentleman found himself unable to move.
"'He states that the room appeared to be filled with a fine spray of some sickly, sweet drug or liquid that seemed to act upon him as chloroform does on a subject with a weak heart. Mr. Ravenspur managed to cry out, but the vapor held him down, and was slowly stifling him – '"
"Ah," Tchigorsky cried. "Ah, I thought so. Go on!"
His eyes were gleaming; his whole face glistened with excitement.
"'Providentially the cry reached the ears of another of the Ravenspurs. This gentleman burst open his father's door, and noticing the peculiar, pungent odor, had the good sense to break a window and admit air into the room.
"'This prompt action was the means of saving the life of the victim, and it is all the more remarkable because it was carried out by a Mr. Ralph Ravenspur, a blind gentleman, who had just returned from foreign parts.'"
A cry – a scream broke from Tchigorsky's lips. He danced about the room like a madman. For the time being it was impossible for the astonished secretary to determine whether this was joy or anguish.
"You are upset about something, sir," he said.
Tchigorsky recovered himself by a violent effort that left him trembling like a reed swept in the wind. He gasped for breath.
"It was the madness of an overwhelming joy!" he cried. "I would cheerfully have given ten years of my life for this information. Abell, you will have to go to Ravenspur for me to-day."
Abell said nothing. He was used to these swift surprises.
"You are to see this Ralph Ravenspur, Abell," continued Tchigorsky. "You are not to call at the castle; you are to hang about till you get a chance of delivering my message unseen. The mere fact that Ralph Ravenspur is blind will suffice for a clue to his identity. Look up the time-table!"
Abell did so. He found a train to land him at Biston Junction, some ten miles from his destination. Half an hour later he was ready to start. From an iron safe Tchigorsky took a small object and laid it in Abell's hand.
"Give him that," he said. "You are simply to say: 'Tchigorsky – Danger,' and come away, unless Ralph Ravenspur desires speech with you. Now, go. And as you value your life, do not lose that casket."
It was a small brass box no larger than a cigarette case, rusty and tarnished, and covered with strange characters, evidently culled from some long-forgotten tongue.
CHAPTER V
A RAY OF LIGHT
A sense of expectation, an uneasy feeling of momentous events about to happen, hung over the doomed Ravenspurs. For once, Marion appeared to feel the strain. Her face was pale, and, though she strove hard to regain the old gentle gaiety, her eyes were red and swollen with weeping.
All through breakfast she watched Ravenspur in strange fascination. He seemed to have obtained some kind of hold over her. Yet nothing could be more patient, dull, and stolid than the way in which he proceeded with the meal. He appeared to dwell in an unseen world of his own; the stirring events of the previous night had left no impression on him whatever.
For the most part, they were a sad and silent party. The terror that walked by night and day was stealing closer to them; it was coming in a new and still more dreadful form. Accident or the intervention of Providence had averted a dire tragedy; but it would come again.
Ravenspur made light of the matter. He spoke of the danger as something past. Yet it was impossible wholly to conceal the agitation that filled him. He saw Marion's pale, sympathetic face; he saw the heavy tears in Vera's eyes, and a dreadful sense of his absolute impotence came upon him.
"Let us forget it," he said almost cheerfully. "Let us think no more of the matter. No doubt, science can explain this new mystery."
The speaker's sightless eyes were turned upwards; he seemed to be thinking aloud rather than addressing the company generally. Marion turned as if something had stung her.
"Uncle Ralph knows something that he conceals from us," she cried.
Ralph smiled. Yet he had the air of one who is displeased with himself.
"I know many things that are mercifully concealed from pure natures like yours," he said. "But as to what happened last night I am as much in the dark as any of you. Ah, if I were not blind!"
A strained silence followed. One by one the company rose until the room was deserted, save for Ralph Ravenspur and his nephew Geoffrey. The handsome lad's face was pale, his lips quivered.
"I am dreadfully disappointed, uncle," he observed.
"Meaning from your tone that you are disappointed with me, Geoff. Why?"
"Because you spoke at first as if you understood things. And then you professed to be as ignorant as the rest of us. Oh, it is awful! I – I would not care so much if I were less fond of Vera than I am. I love her; I love her with my whole heart and soul. If you could only see the beauty of her face you would understand.
"And yet when she kisses me good-night I am never sure that it is not for the last time. I feel that I must wake up presently to find that all is an evil dream. And we can do nothing, nothing, nothing but wait and tremble and – die."
Ralph had no reply; indeed there was no reply to this passionate outburst. The blind man rose from the table and groped his way to the door with those long hands that seemed to be always feeling for something like the tentacles of an octopus.
"Come with me to your grandfather's room," he said. "I want you to lend me your eyes for a time."
Geoffrey followed willingly. The bed room was exactly as Ravenspur had quitted it, for as yet the housemaid had not been there.
"Now look round you carefully," said Ralph. "Look for something out of the common. It may be a piece of rag, a scrap of paper, a spot of grease, or a dab of some foreign substance on the carpet. Is there a fire laid here?"
"No," Geoffrey replied. "The grate is a large open one. I will see what I can find."
The young fellow searched minutely. For some time no reward awaited his pains. Then his eyes fell upon the hearthstone.
"I can only see one little thing," he said.
"In a business like this, there are no such matters as little things," Ralph replied. "A clue that might stand on a pin's point often leads to great results. Tell me what it is that attracts your attention."
"A bronze stain on the hearthstone. It is about the size of the palm of one's hand. It looks very like a piece of glue dabbed down."
"Take a knife and scrape it up," said Ralph. He spoke slowly and evidently under excitement well repressed. "Wrap it in your handkerchief and give it to me. Has the stuff any particular smell?"
"Yes," said Geoffrey. "It has a sickly sweet odor. I am sure that I never smelt anything like it before."
"Probably not. There, I have no further need of your services, and I know that Vera is waiting for you. One word before you go – you are not to say a single word to a soul about this matter; not a single soul, mind. And now I do not propose to detain you any longer."
Geoffrey retired with a puzzled air. When the echo of his footsteps had died away, Ralph rose and crept out upon the leads. He was shivering with excitement; there was a look of eager expectation, almost of triumph, on his face.
He felt his way along the leads until he came to a group of chimneys, about the center one of which he fumbled with his hands for some time.
Then the look of triumph on his face grew more marked and stronger.
"Assurance doubly sure," he whispered. His voice croaked hoarsely with excitement. "If I had only somebody here whom I could trust! If I told anybody