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It obscured the china, it dimmed the glasses of the pictures, it piled in little drifts on the heads and arms of the dingy statues there. Many years must have passed since a housemaid's brush or duster had touched anything in Longdean Grange. It was like a palace of the Sleeping Beauty, wherein people walked as in a waking dream. The lady of the house made her way slowly to the dining-room.
A cipher telegram from Longdean had warned her that Henson was coming there, had given her more than a passing hint what Henson required, and her native wit had told her why Henson was after the Rembrandt. Precisely why he wanted the picture she had not discovered yet. But she knew that she would before long.
In the dense stillness the occasional howl of a dog could be heard. A slight flush of annoyance crossed Henson's broad face. "Some day I shall poison all those hounds," he said. Enid looked up at him swiftly. "If all the hounds round Longdean were poisoned or shot it would be a good place to live in," she said. Henson smiled caressingly, like Petruchio might have done in his milder moments.
But then, the police had not picked Merritt up yet. Was it possible that Merritt had found out that But Henson did not care to think of that, either, He would go back to the quiet lodgings he had taken in Kemp Town for a day or two, he would change his clothes and walk over to Longdean Grange, and it would go hard if he failed to get a cheque from the misguided lady there.
Can't you hear me? That's better. I'll see Miss Gates the first thing in the morning and get her to go over to Longdean and see your sister.... Confound it, don't cut us off yet. What does it matter so long as the messages are paid for? Nobody else wants the line. Well, I may for an hour more.... Are you there? Very sorry; it's the fault of the Post Office people. Here is the plot in a nutshell.
He was hard as nails, whereas good living and a deal of drinking, quite in a gentlemanly way, had told heavily on Henson. Unless help came unexpectedly Henson was still in dire peril. There was just a chance that a villager might be about; but Longdean was more or less a primitive place, and most of the houses there had been in darkness for hours.
Now, which is the nearest way to Longdean Grange?" "So the House of the Silent Sorrow, as they call it, is to be our destination! I must confess that the place has ever held a strange fascination for me. We will go over the golf links and behind Ovingdean village. It is a rare spot for a tragedy." Bell rose and lighted a fresh cigar. "Come along," he said.
I went there because I had begun to suspect who occupied the place and to try and ascertain how the Rembrandt engraving got into 218, Brunswick Square. Miss Gates must have heard us talking over the matter, and that was why she went to Longdean Grange to-night." "I hope she got home safe," said David. "The cab man says he put her down opposite the Lawns." "I hope so.
I will be at Longdean as soon as possible and bring Van Sneck here. No, I won't ring off; you had better do that. I shall be over in less than an hour." David hung up the receiver and proceeded to don a short covert coat and a cap. In the breast-pocket of the coat he placed a revolver. "Just as well to be on the safe side," he said.
Charles" was, or how he got that name, it would have puzzled the wisest head of the village to tell. And yet, but for the mighty clamour of that hideous bell and that belt of wildness that surrounded it, Longdean Grange was a cheerful-looking house enough. Any visitor emerging from the drive would have been delighted with it.
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