astounded and horrified, the major, with isabella dallas clinging to his arm, stood staring at the empty bed. the candles were still burning, but jaggard had fallen from his chair and was lying, a huddled heap, upon the floor. the one window of the room was wide open, and the wind--now blowing freely--was shaking a loose shutter to and fro. the shock of the discovery was so terrific that jen for once in his life lost his presence of mind. he was recalled to his senses by the wild voice of isabella.
"maurice! maurice! where is he?" she cried, leaving the major and rushing toward the empty bed. "you said he was here--my poor dead love; but i can't see him. where is he? where is he?"
"god knows!" stammered jen, turning his horrified gaze on the poor girl. he did not know what to do. isabella was in a dangerous state of hysteria. she had on but a loose white dressing-gown, and her presence in the house at three o'clock in the morning was enough to overpower jen's sense of the reasonable, independent of the crowning horror of the missing corpse. at this juncture the much-needed aid came from without. david sarby rushed into the room.
he was half-clothed, pale as the white dress of isabella dallas, and evidently, from the wild look in his eyes and the quivering of his nether lip, badly scared. stopping short a few paces from the door, he held up the lamp which he carried, to survey the astonishing scene before him. the sight of jen tongue-tied and immovable, of isabella weeping on her knees by the bedside, of the bed itself vacant of its dead occupant--all these things were calculated to shock even stronger nerves than those of david sarby. nevertheless, after a pause of sheer astonishment, he managed to stammer out a question:
"did--did she cry out?" he asked, nodding toward the girl. "i heard a shriek."
his presence and question unlocked the major's tongue.
"yes," he replied, in a hesitating manner, as of one unused to speech. "she came to the library window ten minutes ago, having escaped from the custody of her mother and dido. quite hysterical, as you see, and bent upon seeing our poor dead lad. to pacify her i brought her, but as you see--"
"the body is gone!" cried david, hurrying toward the bed.
"gone! gone!" moaned isabella, rising. "oh, my dear, dead lover."
"jaggard!"
"there," said jen, pointing to the inanimate form of his old servant. "he is asleep or dead."
"dead!" wailed isabella, catching at the word, "maurice dead!"
"we must alarm the house," cried sarby, in a horrified tone, and thereupon walked swiftly toward the door. but before he could reach it the major, having recovered his presence of mind, seized him by the arm.
"no, no!" said jen, hastily. "do not bring any one here as yet, david. we must think of this poor girl. take her home at once. when you are both out of the house i shall give the alarm. you understand--no one must know that miss dallas has been in my house at this hour."
"i quite agree with you," said david, simply, and, turning to isabella, he took her gently by the hand. "come, miss dallas. this is no place for you."
"maurice!" muttered isabella, looking piteously at him.
"maurice is not here. come, miss dallas, let me take you back to your mother."
"my mother is so cruel," said isabella in a low tone, "and i feel so ill," she continued, raising her hand to her loose hair. "yes, yes; i must go home. but maurice--my dear maurice."
"i shall tell you all about it to-morrow," answered jen, soothingly, and led her out of the room. "at the present moment you must go home with mr. sarby. david, there is a loose cloak of mine in the hall. wrap it round her and come into the library. it is best that she should leave in the way she came."
david did as he was told, and snatched up his own ulster after wrapping up isabella. in the library they found the major reopening the shutters of the window, which he had closed on the girl's entry. when he flung them aside a gust of wind blew inward, sprinkling him with moisture.
"rain," said jen, drawing back, "all the better; there will be no spies about, and you can take miss dallas home without being observed."
taking the girl by the hand, david led her toward the window. she was in a half-dazed condition, the result of the strong excitement which had impelled her to make this midnight visit, and her nerves being thus dulled, she surrendered herself passively to the guidance of david. only at the window did she pause and look steadfastly at the major.
"you must find out what has become of my dear maurice's body," she said, quietly.
"i promise you," replied jen, with a look of stern determination in his face.
"and you will let me know?"
"i promise you," said jen again. "please go. miss dallas. there is no time to be lost, and you must not be found here."
thus entreated, isabella stepped out into the night, and in a moment or so she was swallowed up in the darkness with her companion. left alone, the major closed the window, bolted and barred the shutters, and then hastened back to the death chamber, where he rang the bell. in a few minutes the footman, half-dressed and half-asleep, made his appearance; then came the policeman hastily from the kitchen; finally, as the bell still continued ringing, all the other servants, male and female, poured into the room. a single glance showed them what had occurred--the insensible jaggard, the empty bed, the open window. a babel of voices ensued.
"silence, all of you," cried jen, authoritatively. "we must act, not talk. two of you take jaggard to his room. tell the groom to ride at once to deanminster for dr. etwald and inspector arkel. sampson," he added, turning to the policeman, who was stolidly staring at the empty bed, "rouse yourself. take lanterns and search for footmarks. there must have been more than one person to carry off a dead body."
these directions were obeyed at once. the house, the grounds, the whole wild night with its driving tempest became radiant with lights and alive with terrified men. that a human being should be murdered was sufficiently ghastly without this crowning horror of a missing body coming after. every man looked on his fellow with suspicion; in the yellow light of the lanterns, dimly through the steady downpour of rain, could be seen pallid faces and scared expressions. and while the men folk scoured the house, the park, and the adjacent lanes environing "ashantee," the female servants, unnerved and hysterical, crowded together in the kitchen, whispering over hastily prepared tea. it was a wild night, and full of the vague horrors of death and mystery.
etwald came immediately from deanminster in company with arkel, whom this last extraordinary event took entirely by surprise. he questioned sampson--the young policeman left in charge--he searched the chamber of death, stepped out of the window and across the lawn toward the belt of laurels which divided the lawn from a winding and tortuous lane. this, a tenebrous pathway even in the noonday, slipped eel-like through darkling trees to emerge into the high road a quarter of a mile away. arkel was so long absent that jen could only surmise that he had gone into this outward darkness, and on the inspector's return it appeared that the major was right in his conjecture. furthermore arkel brought back certain news.
"without doubt the body was taken out through the window," he said to jen. "the flower-bed beneath the lattice is trampled down. it was carried across the lawn--for i could see by the light of the lantern the footmarks of four feet--and through the bushes into the lane. the way can be traced easily enough to that point; but it is too dark to note any further sign."
"nothing more can be done to-night," said jen, gloomily. "the men have returned dead tired, but they have seen nothing and no one."
"where were you when the body was stolen?"
"sleeping in the library. i saw that all was safe about midnight, and then sat down over a book and fell asleep. i woke somewhere about three--"
"you are sure it was that hour?"
"certain. i heard the hall clock strike. on waking i went into the room where the dead body was laid out to assure myself that all was well. i found the bed empty, the window open, and jaggard insensible."
"did you hear any noise?"
"none at all. but the wind and rain were wild outside, so that they may have drowned the noise made by those who broke in."
"we must question your servant," said arkel, having noted the major's answers in his pocket-book. "he was stunned, i believe?"
"i can't say. i haven't examined him. stunned or drugged, i suppose."
"and where is mr. sarby?" asked the inspector, as they turned to leave the room.
the major was prepared for this question, and as he did not intend that the visit of isabella to the house should become known to the police, he answered it in a guarded fashion.
"mr. sarby went out as soon as we discovered the loss, and he has not yet returned."
"was he with you when you made the discovery?"
"no. he had retired to bed," rejoined jen. "but as soon as i saw what had taken place i called him up, and he jumped through the window to see if he could espy any traces of the robbers. then the servants came, and i sent for you."
inspector arkel, who could not see one inch beyond his nose, was quite satisfied with this explanation, and nodded in reply. he left the room with the major to seek out jaggard, and, if possible, to learn from him what had occurred. but this they were unable to do. the man had been stunned by a blow on the head, and was quite insensible.
"and yet he was a strong man," said etwald, when he conveyed this intelligence. "he must have been taken by surprise."
"undoubtedly," asserted jen, readily. "but he must also have been asleep, else he would have called out as the men burst through the window."
"how do you know there were more than one?" asked etwald, in a jesting tone.
"because maurice was an unusually heavy man," replied the major, "and he could not have been carried off--that is, his body could not have been carried off," he corrected, with a sigh, "unless by two men. there may have been three, for all i know. but what is the meaning of it all?" cried jen, in bewildered dismay. "why was the poor lad's body stolen?"
"resurrectionists!" suggested arkel; whereupon major jen shuddered.
"for god's sake, don't even hint at such a thing," he cried, vehemently. "it would be too terrible; and, as it happens, quite unbelievable. it is incredible that such a thing could occur nowadays."
"it is incredible that such a thing as the theft of a body should occur," said etwald, dryly. "yet it has taken place. but where is mr. sarby? i should think that he would be present to aid you." jen was just about to repeat his feigned explanation regarding david's absence, when the door opened, and the young man, wet and exhausted, entered the room. to give him his cue, the major spoke to him at once.
"you are just in time, david, as i was telling these gentlemen about your hunt after those wretches. did you see anyone?"
"i saw nothing," said david, wearily. "god knows what has become of the body!"
"have you any theory, mr. sarby?"
"no, doctor! i am too weary to frame theories at this hour of the night. but, no doubt, mr. inspector yonder, can--"
"certainly not," interrupted arkel, sharply. "i can prove nothing. i am quite puzzled."
"and no wonder," said etwald, counting off events on his fingers. "the devil-stick, the murder, the theft of the body. this is a catalogue of horrors. a man might do worse than write a story on these things."
"i agree with you!" remarked the major, sharply. "a man might make a jest of these horrors--as you are doing."
"i assure you i never felt less like jesting in my life," replied etwald, coldly. "but it is no use discussing such a thing at five in the morning. if you can do without me, major, i shall return to deanminster. i am tired."
"but jaggard?" asked david, rising stiffly from his chair.
"he is all right for the time being. i have detailed a housemaid as nurse, and she knows what to do. i'll come back again in the morning and see if he has recovered his senses."
when etwald took his departure, major jen sent david to bed, in spite of the young man's remonstrances, but remained up himself to talk to arkel. for a long time jen discussed the matter with the inspector, but the conversation proved extremely unsatisfactory. arkel was not a clever detective, or even a keen-witted man, and in a case like the present--difficult and involved--he was quite at a loss how to proceed. finally, major jen dismissed him in despair, and while arkel went to see his men, who were posted round the house--a clear case of shutting the stable-door after the steed was stolen--jen remained alone to think of what he should do. "i must be my own detective," he thought, pacing the library. "this man is a fool. he will find out nothing, and i won't have even the satisfaction of burying the body of my poor lad. i must do the work myself, with the assistance of david. to find out who stole the devil-stick; that is the first step. to discover who killed maurice; that is the second step. to learn who carried away his body; that is the third step. three very difficult things to find out, and i don't see where to begin. i must learn all i can about maurice's past life, for he may have enemies of whom i know nothing. once i learn who his enemies are--if he had any--and i may discover the truth. i shall go and sleep, and when i awaken i shall set to work to solve these mysteries."
as he spoke the major unbarred the shutters of the window. the rain had ceased, the dawn was breaking, and the terrible night was at an end.
"it is an omen!" said the major, "an omen of good!"
