Mary E. Hanshew - The Riddle of the Frozen Flame

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Borkins gave a sigh of relief. He passed his hand over his forehead, and
his eyes--rather shifty, rather narrow, pale blue eyes which Merriton had
instinctively disliked (he couldn't tell why)--lightened suddenly.

"Thank Gawd for that, sir!" he said, solemnly. "You've relieved my
mind on that score. I've always thought--your poor uncle, Sir Joseph
Merriton--and those flames there might 'ave been the reason for his
disappearance, though of course--"

"What's that?" Merriton turned round and looked at him, his brow
furrowed, the whole personality of the man suddenly awake. "My uncle,
Borkins? How long have these--er--lights been seen hereabouts? I don't
remember them as a child."

"Oh, mostly always, I believe, sir; though they ain't been much noticed
before the last four years," replied Borkins. "I think--yes--come August
next. Four years--was the first time my attention was called to 'em."

Merriton's laugh held a note of relief.

"Then you needn't have worried. My uncle has been missing for a little
more than _five_ years, and that, therefore, when he did disappear the
flames obviously had nothing to do with it!"

Borkins's wrinkled, parchment-like cheeks went a dull, unhealthy red. He
opened his mouth to speak and then drew back again. Merriton gave him a
keen glance.

"Of course, how foolish of me. As you say, sir, impossible!" he stammered
out, bowing backward toward the door. "I'll be getting back to my bed
again, and leave you to finish your rest undisturbed. I'm sorry to 'ave
troubled you, I'm sure, sir, only I was afraid something 'ad 'appened."

"That's all right. Good-night," returned Merriton curtly, and turned the
key in the lock as the door closed. He stood for a moment thinking, his
eyes upon the winking, flickering points of light that seemed dimmer in
the fast growing light. "Now why did he make that bloomer about dates, I
wonder? Uncle's been gone five years--and Borkins knew it. He was here at
the time, and yet why did he suggest that old wives' tale as a possible
solution of the disappearance? Borkins, my lad, there's more behind those
watery blue eyes of yours than men may read. Hmm! ... Now I wonder why
the deuce he lied to me?"

CHAPTER III

SUNSHINE AND SHADOW

When Merriton shaved himself next morning he laughed at the reflection
that the mirror cast back at him. For he looked for all the world as
though he had been up all night and his knee was painful and rather
stiff, as though he had strained some ligament in it.

"Beastly place is beginning to make its mark on me already!" he said, as
he lathered his chin. "My eyes look as though they had been stuck in with
burnt cork, and--the devil take my shaky hand! And that railroad business
yesterday helps it along. A nice state of affairs for a chap of my age, I
must say! Scared as a kid at an old wives' story. Borkins is a fool, and
I'm an idiot.... Damn! there's a bit off my chin for a start. I hope to
goodness no one takes it into their heads to pay me a visit to-day."

His hopes, however, in this direction were not to be realized, for as
the afternoon wore itself slowly away in a ramble round the old place,
and through the stables--which in their day had been famous--the big,
harsh-throated doorbell rang, and Merriton, in the very act of telling
Borkins that he was officially "not in," happened to catch a glimpse of
something light and fluffy through the stained-glass of the door, and
suddenly kept his counsel.

A few seconds later Borkins ushered in two visitors. Merriton, prepared
by the convenient glass for the appearance of one was nevertheless not
unpleased to see the other. For the names that Borkins rolled off his
tongue with much relish were those of "Miss Brellier and Mr. Brellier,
sir."

His lady of the thrice blessed wreck! His lady of the dainty accent and
glorious eyes.

His face glowed suddenly and he crossed the big room in a couple of
strides and in the next second was holding Antoinette's hand rather
longer than was necessary, and was looking down into the rouguish
greeny-gray eyes that had captivated him only yesterday, when for one
terrible, glorious moment he had held her in his arms, while the railroad
coach dissolved around them.

"Are you fit to be about?" he said, his voice ringing with the very
evident pleasure that he felt at this meeting with her, and his eyes
wandering to where a strip of pink court plaster upon her forehead showed
faintly through the screen of hair that covered it. Then he dropped her
hand and turned toward the man who stood a pace or two behind her tiny
figure, looking at him with the bluest, youngest eyes he had ever looked
into.

"Mr. Brellier, is it not? Very good of you, sir, to come across in this
neighbourly fashion. Won't you sit down?"

"Yes," said Antoinette, gaily, "my uncle. I brought him right over by
telling him of our adventure."

The man was tall and heavily built, with a wealth of black hair thickly
streaked with gray, and a trim, well-kept "imperial" which gave him the
foreign air that his name carried out so well. His morning suit was
extremely well cut, and his whole bearing that of the well-to-do man
about town. Merriton registered all this in his mind's eye, and was
secretly very glad of it. They were two thoroughbreds--that was easy to
see.

And as for Antoinette! Well, he could barely keep his eyes from her.
She was lovelier than ever, and clad this afternoon in all the fluffy
femininity that every man loves. Anything more intoxicatingly delicious
Merriton had never seen outside of his own dreams.

"It was certainly ripping of you both to come," he said nervously,
feeling all hands and feet. "Never saw such a lonely spot in all my life,
by George, as this house! It fairly gives you the creeps!"

"Indeed?" Brellier laughed in a deep, full-throated voice. "For my part
the loneliness is what so much appeals to me. When one has spent a busy
life travelling to and fro over the world, m'sieur, one can but
appreciate the peaceful backwaters which are so often to be found in this
very dear, very delightful England of yours. But that is not the mission
upon which I come. I have to thank you, sir, for the great kindness and
consideration you displayed to my niece yesterday."

His English was excellent, and he spoke with the clipped, careful accent
of the foreigner, which Merriton found fascinating. He had already
succumbed to something of the same thing in Antoinette. He was beginning
to enjoy himself very much indeed.

"There was no need for thanks--none at all.... What is your opinion of
the Towers, Miss Brellier?" he asked suddenly, leaning forward toward
her, anxious to change the conversation.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"That is hardly a fair question to ask!" she responded, "when I have been
in it but a matter of five minutes or more. But everything to me is
enchanting! The architecture, the furnishings, the very atmosphere--"

"Brrh! If you could have been here last night!" He gave a mock shudder
and broke it with a laugh. "Why, a truly haunted house wasn't a patch on
it! If this place hasn't got a ghost, well then I'll eat my hat! I could
fairly hear 'em, dozens and dozens of them, clinking and clanking all
over the place. And if you could see my room! I sleep in a four-poster as
big as a suburban villa, and every now and again the furniture gives a
comfy little crack or two, like someone practising with a pistol, just to
remind me that my great-great-great-grandmother's ghost is sitting in the
wardrobe and watching over me with true great-etc.-grandmotherly
conscientiousness.... I say, do you ride? There ought to be some rippin'
rides round here, if my memory doesn't fail me."

She nodded, and the conversation took a turn that Sir Nigel found more
than pleasant, and the time passed most agreeably.

Merriton, only anxious to entertain his guests, suddenly exploded the
bomb which shattered that afternoon's enjoyment for all three of them.

"By the way," he remarked, "last night, while I was lying awake I saw
a lot of funny flames dancing up and down upon the horizon. Seemed as
though they lay in the marshes between your place and mine, Mr. Brellier.
Borkins pulled a long story about 'em with all the usual trimmin's. Said
they were supernatural and all that. Ever seen 'em yourself? I must say
they gave me a bit of a turn. I'm not keen on spirits--except in bottle
form (which by the way is a rotten bad pun, Miss Brellier,) but in India
one gets chockful of that sort of thing, and there never seems to be any
rational explanation. It leaves you feeling funny. What's your opinion of
'em? For seen 'em you must have done, as they seem to be the talk of the
whole village from what Borkins says."

Antoinette's spoon tinkled in the saucer of the tea-cup she was holding
and her face went white. Brellier shifted his eyes. A sort of tension had
settled suddenly over the pleasant room.

"I--well, to tell you the truth, I can't explain 'em myself!" Brellier
said at last, clearing his throat with signs of genuine nervousness.
"They seem to be inexplicable. I have seen them--yes, many, many
times. And so has 'Toinette, but the stories afloat about them are
rather--unpleasant, and like a wise man I have kept myself free of
investigation. I do hope you'll do the same, Sir Nigel. One never knows,
and although one cannot always believe the silly things which the
villagers prattle about, it is as well to be on the safe side. As you
say, these things sometimes lack a rational explanation. I should be
sorry to think you were likely to run into any unnecessary danger." He
bent his head and Merriton could see that his fingers twitched.

"Borkins actually told me stories of people who had disappeared in a
mysterious manner and were never found again," he remarked casually.

Brellier shrugged his shoulders. He spread out his hands.

"Among the uneducated--what would you? But it is so, even since I myself
have been in residence at Withersby Hall--something like three and a half
years--there have been several mysterious disappearances, Sir Nigel, and
all directly traceable to a foolhardy desire to investigate these
phenomena. For myself, I leave well enough alone. I trust you are going
to do likewise?"

His eyes searched Merriton's face anxiously. There was a worried furrow
between his brows.

Merriton laughed, and at the sound, 'Toinette, who had sat perfectly
still during the discussion of the mystery, gave a little cry of alarm
and covered her ears with her hands.

"I beg of you," she broke out excitedly, "please, please do not talk
about it! The whole affair frightens me! Uncle will laugh I know, but--I
am terrified of those little flames, Sir Nigel, more terrified than I can
say! If you speak of them any more, I must go--really! Please, _please_
don't dream of trying to find out what they are, Sir Nigel! It--it would
upset me very much indeed if you attempted so foolish a thing!"

Merriton's first sensation at hearing this was pleasure that he was
capable of upsetting her over his own personal welfare. Then the
something sinister about the whole story, which seemed to affect every
one with whom he came into touch, swept over him. A number of otherwise
rational human beings scared out of their wits over some mysterious
flames on the edge of the Fens at night time, seemed, in the face of this
glorious summer's afternoon, to be little short of ridiculous. He tried
to throw the idea off but could not. 'Toinette's pale face kept coming
before him; the sudden dropping of her spoon struck an unpleasant chord
in his memory. Brellier's attitude merely added fuel to the fire and soon
they rose to go, Merriton following them to the door.

"Don't forget, then, Miss Brellier, that you are booked to me for a ride
on Thursday," he said, laughingly.

She nodded to him and gave his hand a little squeeze at parting.

"I shall not forget, Sir Nigel. But--you will promise me," her voice
dropped a tone or two, "you will promise me that you will not try and
find out what those--those flames are, won't you? I could not sleep if
you did." And they were gone.

Merriton stood awhile in silence, his brows puckered and his mouth stern.
First Borkins, and then Brellier, and now--_her_! All of them begging him
almost upon their knees to forego a perfectly harmless little quest of
discovery. There seemed to his mind something almost fishy about it all.
What then were these "Frozen Flames"? What secret did they hide? And what
malignant power dwelt behind the screen of their mystery?

CHAPTER IV

AN EVIL GENIUS

Thus, despite the bad beginning at Merriton Towers the weeks that
followed were filled with happiness for Merriton. His acquaintance with
'Toinette flourished and that charming young woman grew to mean more and
more to the man who had led such a lonely life.

And so one day wove itself into another with the joy of sunlight over
both their lives. He took to going regularly to Withersby Hall, and
became an expected guest, dropping in at all hours to wile away an hour
or two in 'Toinette's company, or else to have a quiet game of billiards
with Brellier, or a cigar in company with both of them, in the garden,
while the sun was still up. He never mentioned the flames to them again.
But he never investigated them either. He had promised 'Toinette that,
though he often watched them from his bedroom window, at night, watched
them and wondered, and thought a good deal about Borkins and how he had
lied to him about his uncle's disappearance upon that first night.
Between Borkins and himself there grew up a spirit of distrust which he
regretted yet did nothing to counteract. In fact it is to be feared that
he did his best at times to irritate the staid old man who had been in
the family so long. Borkins _did_ amuse him, and he couldn't help leading
him on. Borkins, noting this attitude, drew himself into himself and his
face became mask-like in its impassivity.

But if Borkins became a stone image whenever Merriton was about, his
effusiveness was over-powering at such times as Mr. Brellier paid a visit
to the Towers. He followed both Brellier and his niece wherever they went
like a shadow. Jokingly one day, Merriton had made the remark: "Borkins
might be your factotum rather than mine, Mr. Brellier; indeed I've no
doubt he would be, if the traditions of the house had not so long lain in
his hands." He was rewarded for this remark by a sudden tightening of
Brellier's lips, and then by an equally sudden smile. They were very good
friends these days--Brellier and Merriton, and got on very excellently
together.

And then, as the days wore themselves away and turned into months,
Merriton woke up to the fact that he could wait no longer before putting
his luck to the test so far as 'Toinette was concerned. He had already
confided his secret to Brellier, who laughed and patted him on the back
and told him that he had known of it a long time and wished him luck. It
wasn't long after this he was telling Brellier the good news that
'Toinette had accepted, and the two of them came to tell him of their
happiness.

"So?" Mr. Brellier said quietly. "Well, I am very, very glad. You have
taken your time, _mes enfants_, in settling this greatest of all
questions, but perhaps you have been wise.... I am very happy for you, my
'Toinette, for I feel that your future is in the keeping of a good and
true man. There are all too few in the world, believe me!...

"'Toinette, a friend awaits you in the drawing-room. Someone, I fear me,
who will be none too pleased to hear this news, but that's as may be.
Dacre Wynne is there, 'Toinette."

At the name a chill came over Merriton.

_Dacre Wynne!_ And here! Impossible, and yet the name was too uncommon
for it to be a different person from the man who always seemed somehow to
turn up wherever he, Merriton, might chance to be. Sort of a fateful
affinity. Good friends and all that, but somehow the things he always
wanted, Dacre Wynne had invariably come by just beforehand. There was
much more than friendly rivalry in their acquaintanceship. And once, as
mere youngsters of seventeen and eighteen, there had been a girl, _his_
girl, until Dacre came and took her with that masterful way of his. There
was something brutally over-powering about Dacre, hard as granite,
forceful, magnetic. To Nigel's young, clean, wholesome mind, little given
to morbid imaginings as it was, it had almost seemed as if their two
spirits were in some stifling stranglehold together, wrapt about and
intertwined by a hand operating by means of some unknown medium. And now
to find him here in his hour of happiness. Was this close, uncomfortable
companionship of the spirit to be forced on him again? If Wynne were
present he felt he would be powerless to avoid it.

"Do you know Dacre Wynne?" he asked, his voice betraying an emotion that
was almost fear.

'Toinette Brellier glanced at her uncle, hesitated, and then murmured:
"Yes--I--do. I didn't know you did, Nigel. He never spoke of you.
I--he--you see he wants me, too, Nigel, and I am almost afraid to tell
him--about us. But I--I have to see him. Shall I tell him?"

"Of course. Poor chap, I am sorry for him. Yes, I know him, 'Toinette.
But I cannot say we are friends. You see, I--Oh, well, it doesn't
matter."

But how much Dacre Wynne was to matter to him, and to 'Toinette, and to
the public, and to far away Scotland Yard, and to the man of mystery,
Hamilton Cleek, not they--nor any one else--could possibly tell.

They went into the long, cool drawing room together, and came upon Dacre
Wynne, clad in riding things, and looking, just as Nigel remembered he
always looked, very bronzed and big and handsome in a heavy way. His back
was toward them and his eyes were upon a photo of 'Toinette that stood on
a carved secretaire. He wheeled at the sound of their footsteps and came
forward, his face lighting with pleasure, his hand outstretched. Then he
saw Merriton behind 'Toinette's tiny figure, and for a moment some of the
pleasure went out of his eyes.

"Hello," he said. "However did you get to this part of the world? You
always turn up like a bad penny.... What a time you've been 'Toinette!"

Merriton greeted him pleasantly, and 'Toinette's radiant eyes smiled up
into his bronzed face.

"Have I?" she said, with a little embarrassed laugh. "Well, I have been
out riding--with Nigel."

"Oh, Nigel lives round here, does he?" said Wynne, with a sarcastic
laugh. "Like it, old man?"

"Oh, I like it well enough," retorted Merriton. "At any rate I'll be
obliged to get used to it. I've said good-bye to India for keeps, Wynne.
I'm settled here for good."

Wynne swung upon his heel at the tone of Merriton's voice, and his eyes
narrowed. He stood almost a head taller than Nigel--who was by no means
short--and was big and broad and heavy-chested. Merriton always felt at
a disadvantage.

"So? You are going to settle down to it altogether, then?" said Wynne,
with an odd note in his deep, booming voice. 'Toinette sent a quick,
rather scared look into her lover's face. He smiled back as though to
reassure her.

"Yes," he said, a trifle defiantly. "You see, Wynne, I've come into a
place near here. I'm--I'm hoping to get married soon. 'Toinette and I,
you know. She's done me the honour to promise to be my wife. Congratulate
me, won't you?"

It was like a blow full in the face to the other man. For a moment all
the colour drained out of his bronzed cheeks and he went as white as
death.

"I--I--certainly congratulate you, with all my heart," he said, speaking
in a strange, husky voice. "Believe me, you're a luckier chap, Merriton,
than you know. Quite the luckiest chap in the world."

He took out his handkerchief suddenly and blew his nose, and then wiped
his forehead, which, Merriton noted, was damp with perspiration. Then he
felt in his pockets and produced a cigarette.

"I may smoke, 'Toinette? Thanks. I've had a long ride, and a hard
one.... And so you two are going to get married, are you?"

'Toinette's face, too, was rather pale. She smiled nervously, and
instinctively her hand crept out and touched Merriton's sleeve. She could
feel him stiffen suddenly, and saw how proudly he threw back his head.

"Yes," said 'Toinette. "We're going to be married, Dacre. And I am--oh,
so happy! I know you cannot help being pleased--with that. And uncle,
too. He seems delighted."

Wynne measured her with his eyes for a moment. Then he looked quickly
away.

"Well, Merriton, you've got your own back for little Rosie Deverill,
haven't you? Remember how heart-broken you were at sixteen, when she
turned her rather wayward affections to me? Now--the tables have turned.
Well, I wish you luck. Think I'll be getting along. I've a good deal of
work to do this evening, and I'll be shipping for Cairo, I hope, next
week. That's what I came to see you about 'Toinette, but I'm afraid I am
a little--late."

"Cairo, Mr. Wynne?" Brellier had entered the room and his voice held a
note of surprise. "We shall miss you--"

"Oh, you'll get on all right without me, my friend," returned Wynne with
a grim smile, and a look that included all three of them in its mock
amusement. "I'm not quite so much wanted as I thought. Well, Nigel, I
suppose you'll be giving a dinner, the proper 'stag' party, before you
become a Benedict. Sorry I can't be here to join in the revels."

He put out his hand, Nigel took it, and wrung it with a heartiness and
friendship that he had never before felt; but after all he had conquered!
It was he Antoinette was going to marry. His heart was brimming over with
pity for the man.

"Look here," he said. "Come and dine with me at the Towers before you go,
Wynne, old man. We'll have a real bachelor party as you say. All the
other chaps and you, just to give you a sort of send off. What about
Tuesday? I won't have you say no."

For a moment a look of friendship came into Wynne's eyes. He gazed into
Merriton's, and then returned the hand-grasp frankly. It was almost as
though he understood this mute apology of Nigel's, and took it at its
proper value.

"Thanks, old boy. Very decent of you, I'm sure. Yes, I'd like to have a
peep at the other chaps before I sail. Just for old times' sake. I've
nothing special doing Tuesday that I can't put off. And so--I'll come. So
long."

"Good-bye," said Merriton, rather relieved at Wynne's attitude--and yet,
in spite of himself, distrusting it.

"Good-bye, 'Toinette.... It's really good-bye _this_ time. And I wish you
all the happiness you deserve."

"Thank you."

He looked into her eyes a moment, and then with a sudden sigh turned
quickly away and went out of the room. Brellier strode after him and
wrung his hand while the two that were left clung to each other in
silence. It was as though an unseen, sinister presence had suddenly gone
from the room. The tension was lifted, and they could breathe naturally
again.

Standing together they heard the front door slam.

CHAPTER V

THE SPECTRE AT THE FEAST

Merriton, clad in his evening clothes and looking exceedingly handsome,
stood by the smoking room door, with Tony West, short and thickset,
wearing a suit that fitted badly and a collar which looked sizes too
large for him (Merriton had long given up hope of making him visit a
decent tailor) and waited for the sound of motor wheels which would
announce the arrival of further guests.

It was the memorable Tuesday dinner, given in the first place for Dacre
Wynne, as a sort of send off before he left for Cairo. In the second
Merriton intended to break it gently to the other chaps that he was
shortly to become a Benedict.

Lester Stark and Tony West, very loyal and proven friends of Nigel
Merriton, had arrived the evening before. Dacre Wynne was coming down by
the seven o'clock train, Dicky Fordyce, Reginald Lefroy--both fellow
officers of Merriton's regiment, and home on leave from India--and mild
old Dr. Bartholomew, whom everyone respected and few did not love, and
who was in attendance at most of the bachelor spreads in London and out
of it, as being a dry old body with a wit as fine as a rapier-thrust,
and a fund of delicate, subtle humour, made up the little party.

The solemn front door bell of Merriton Towers clanged, and Borkins, very
pompous and elegant, flung wide the door. Merriton saw Wynne's big,
broad-shouldered figure swathed in the black evening cloak which he
affected upon such occasions, and which became him mightily, and with an
opera hat set at the correct angle upon his closely-clipped dark hair,
step into the lighted hallway, and begin taking off his gloves.

Tony West's raspy voice chimed out a welcome, as Merriton went forward,
his hand outstretched.

"Hello, old man!" said Tony. "How goes it? Lookin' a bit white about the
gills, aren't you, eh?... Whew! Merriton, old chap, that's my ribs, if
you don't mind. I've no penchant for your bayonet-like elbow to go
prodding into 'em!"

Merriton raised an eyebrow, frowned heavily, and by every other method
under the sun tried to make it plain to West that the topic was taboo.
Wherefore West raised _his_ eyebrows, began to make a hasty exclamation,
thought better of it, and then clapping his hand over his mouth broke
into whistling the latest jazz tune, as though he had completely
extricated both feet from the unfortunate mire he had planted them
in--but with very little success.

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