From the terrace came the sound of fresh young voices. They were those of Vera and Geoffrey talking almost gaily as they turned their steps toward the granite cliffs. For the nerves of youth are elastic and they throw off the strain easily.
They walked along side by side until they came to the cliffs. Here the rugged ramparts rose high with jagged indentations and rough hollows. There were deep cups and fissures in the rocks where a regiment of soldiers might lie securely hidden. For miles the gorse was flushed with its golden glory.
"Let us sit down and forget our troubles," said Geoffrey. "How restful the time if we could sail away in a ship, Vera, away to the ends of the earth, where we could hide ourselves from this cruel vendetta and be at peace. What use is the Ravenspur property to us when we are doomed to die?"
Vera shuddered slightly and the exquisite face grew pale.
"They might spare us," she said plaintively. "We are young and we have done no harm to anybody. And yet I have not lost all faith. I feel certain that Heaven above us will not permit this hideous slaughter to continue."
She laid her trembling fingers in Geoffrey's hand, and he drew her close to him and kissed her.
"It seems hard to look into your face and doubt it, dearest," he said. "Even the fiend who pursues us would hesitate to destroy you. But I dare not, I must not, think of that. If you are taken away I do not want to live."
"Nor I either, Geoff. Oh, my feelings are similar to yours!"
The dark violet eyes filled with tears, the fresh breeze from the sea ruffled Vera's fair hair and carried her sailor hat away up the cliff. It rested, perched upon a gorse bush overhanging one of the ravines or cups in the rock. As Geoffrey ran to fetch the hat he looked over.
A strange sight met his astonished gaze. The hollow might have been a small stone quarry at some time. Now it was lined with grass and moss, and in the center of the cup, which had no fissure or passage of any kind, two men were seated bending down over a small shell or gourd placed on a fire of sticks.
In ordinary circumstances there would have been nothing strange in this, for the sight of peripatetic hawkers and tinkers along the cliffs was not unusual.
But these men did not belong to that class. They were tall and spare; they were clad in dingy robes; on their heads were turbans of the same sad color. They were dark of feature, with thin faces and ragged beards. In appearance they were singularly alike; indeed, they might have been twin brothers some time past the prime of life.
From the shell on the ground a thick vapor was rising. The smell of it floated on the air to Geoffrey's nostrils. He reeled back almost sick and faint with the perfume and the discovery he had made. For that infernal stuff had exactly the same smell as the pungent drug which had come so near to destroying the life of Rupert Ravenspur only a few hours before.
Here was something to set the blood tingling in the veins and the pulses leaping with a mad excitement. From over the top of the gorse Geoffrey watched with all his eyes. He saw the smoke gradually die away; he saw a small mass taken from the gourd and carefully stowed away in a metal box. Then the fire was kicked out and all traces of it were obliterated.
Geoffrey crept back again to Vera, trembling from head to foot. He had made up his mind what to do. He would say nothing of this strange discovery to Vera; he would keep it for Ralph Ravenspur's ears alone. Ralph had been in foreign parts and might understand the enigma.
Meanwhile it became necessary to get out of the Asiatics' way. It was not prudent for them to know that a Ravenspur was so close. Vera looked into Geoffrey's face, wondering.
"How pale you are!" she said. "And how long you have been!"
"Come and let us walk," said Geoffrey. "I – I twisted my ankle on a stone and it gave me a twinge or two. It's all right now. Shall we see if we can get as far as Sprawl Point and back before luncheon?"
Vera rose to the challenge. She rather prided herself on her powers as a walker. The exercise caused her to glow and tingle, and all the way it never occurred to her how silent and abstracted Geoffrey had become.
CHAPTER VI
ABELL CARRIES OUT HIS ERRAND
When Ralph Ravenspur reached the basement, his whole aspect had changed. For the next day or two he brooded about the house, mainly with his own thoughts for company. He was ubiquitous. His silent, cat-like tread carried him noiselessly everywhere. He seemed to be looking for something with those sightless eyes of his; those long fingers were crooked as if about the throat of the great mystery.
He came into the library where Rupert Ravenspur and Marion were talking earnestly. He dropped in upon them as if he had fallen from the clouds. Marion started and laughed.
"I declare you frighten me," she said. "You are like a shadow – the shadow of one's conscience."
"There can be no shadow on yours," Ralph replied. "You are too pure and good for that. Never, never will you have cause to fear me."
"All the same, I wish you were less like a cat," Ravenspur exclaimed petulantly, as Marion walked smilingly away. "Anybody would imagine that you were part of the family mystery. Ralph, do you know anything?"
"I am blind," Ralph replied doggedly. "Of what use is a blind man?"
"I don't know; they say that when one sense is lost the others are sharpened. And you came home so mysteriously, you arrived at a critical moment for me, you were at my door at the time when help was sorely needed. Again, when you burst my door open you did the only thing that could have saved me."
"Common sense, sir. You were stifling and I gave you air."
Ravenspur shook his head. He was by no means satisfied.
"It was the common sense that is based upon practical experience. And you prowl about in dark corners; you wander about the house in the dead of the night. You hint at a strange past, but as to that past you are dumb. For Heaven's sake, if you know anything tell me. The suspense is maddening."
"I know nothing and I am blind," Ralph repeated. "As to my past, that is between me and my Maker. I dare not speak of it. Let me go my own way and do not interfere with me. And whatever you do or say, tell nobody – nobody, mind – that you suspect me of knowledge of the family trouble."
Ralph turned away abruptly and refused to say more. He passed from the castle across the park slowly, but with the confidence of a man who is assured of every step. The recollection of his boyhood's days stood him in good stead. He could not see, but he knew where he was and even the grim cliffs held no terrors for him.
He came at length to a certain spot where he paused. It was here years ago that he had scaled the cliffs at the peril of his neck and found the raven's nest. He caught the perfume of the heather and the crushed fragrance of the wild thyme, but their scents were as nothing to his nostrils.
For he had caught another scent that had brought him up all standing with his head in the air. The odor was almost exhausted; there was merely a faint suspicion of it, but at the same time it spoke to Ralph as plainly as words.
He was standing near the hollow where Geoffrey had been two days ago. In his mind's eye Ralph could see into this hollow. Years before he had been used to lie there winter evenings when the brent and ducks were coming in from the sea. He scrambled down, sure-footed as a goat.
Then he proceeded to grope upon the grass with those long restless fingers. He picked up a charred stick or two, smelt it, and shook his head. Presently his hand closed upon the burnt fragments of a gourd. As Ralph raised this to his nostrils his eyes gleamed.
"I was certain of it," he muttered. "Two of the Bonzes have been here, and they have been making the pi. If I could only see!"
As yet he had not heard of Geoffrey's singular discovery. There had been no favorable opportunity of disclosing the secret.
Ralph retraced his steps moodily. For the present he was helpless. He had come across the clue to the enigma, but only he knew of the tremendous