The Chase of the Ruby, Page 2

  CHAPTER I

  GHOSTS IN AFRICA

  'Upon my word, this is--' He hesitated, then chose another form ofwords with which to conclude his sentence. 'This is extraordinary.'

  He allowed the paper to flutter from between his fingers, stoodstaring at nothing, then, stooping, picked up the sheet of blue postfrom where it had fallen at his feet.

  'Extraordinary!' he repeated.

  He regarded it and handled it as if it had been some uncannything--though, on the face of it, it was nothing of the kind. It was aformal letter addressed to 'Guy Holland, Esq., 37A Craven Street,W.C.' It began 'Dear Sir,' and ended 'Yr. obedt. servant, SAML.COLLYER.' Between the beginning and the end it informed him that hisuncle, George Burton, had died at Nice on February 23, and that thewriter would feel obliged if he would call upon him at his earliestpossible convenience.

  'I wonder if I saw him die?' Mr Holland knit his brows as he askedhimself the question. 'How could I, when I was in Mashonaland and hewas in Nice? Absurd!'

  He laughed, as it has been written, 'hollowly'; the laugh ofuneasiness rather than mirth.

  Then he went and saw the lady.

  She was waiting on a seat by a certain piece of water in Regent'sPark. She must have had eyes behind, because, although she was sittingwith her back to him, directly he stepped upon the grass she sprangup, and, as if she had been observing him all the time, went to him atsomething very like a run. He advanced at quick step. They met in themiddle of the grass plot, contrary to regulations, which forbid peopleto walk upon the grass. They each gave two hands, and that with an airwhich suggested that if that had not been a public place they wouldhave given each other something else as well.

  'Guy!' she exclaimed. 'I thought you were the other side of the world.What a time you've been!'

  'Coming from the other side of the world? or from Craven Street? It issome distance from Craven Street to Regent's Park.'

  'You are in Craven Street, are you? What's it mean? You're lookingwell--sort of coppery colour; it suits you.'

  'That's the air of the veldt; it burnishes a man's skin. You'relooking sweet. I say, it's awfully hard lines that I can't kiss you.Mayn't I--just a little one?'

  'In broad daylight, in Regent's Park, with a hundred pairs of eyesobserving us from Hamilton Terrace? Thank you; some other day. When Ihad your note--what a note! "Meet me at the old place at noon"--Iwondered who I was to meet, you or your ghost. As a matter of fact, Ihad a most important engagement--just at noon; but I put it off onpurpose to come and see.'

  'That was very dear of you. I'm not my ghost, I'm me.'

  'But--Guy, have you made your fortune? You didn't seem as if you weregoing to make it at quite such a rate when you wrote last.'

  He shook his head.

  'Came back with less in my pockets than when I left.'

  'Then--what does it mean?'

  'My uncle's dead.'

  'Mr Burton?'

  He nodded.

  'Has he left you his money? Oh, Guy!'

  'As to that, I can't say. At present I know nothing. The fact is,Letty, it's--it's a queer business. You won't laugh?'

  'What at?'

  'Well'--he held out an envelope--'if I hadn't found this letterawaiting me telling me of the old man's death, I should have accusedmyself of softening of the brain, or something of the kind. As it is,I believe I've had a vision.'

  'A vision! You? Guy, fancy your discovering that there are visionsabout.'

  'You're laughing at me now.'

  'I'm doing nothing of the kind. How can you say such a thing? I'm thesoul of gravity. Do I ever laugh?'

  As a matter of fact, there was a twinkle in her eyes even as shespoke, which he perceived.

  'All right; laugh it out. I don't mind. All I can say is that it'sgospel truth, and seems queer enough to me, though I daresay it'sextremely comic to anybody else.'

  'What seems comic? You haven't said a word.'

  'Let's find a seat, and I'll say a good many.'

  They found a seat--not the one she had been sitting on, but one whichwas sheltered by a tree. It was, perhaps, because it was in the shadethat they temporarily ignored the fact that they were yet in Regent'sPark. They were still pretty close together when he began to tell histale.

  'On the 23rd of February I had had a long day in the open. It wasbroiling hot, and in the evening I was glad to get back under cover.As I sat at my tent door, too tired even to smoke, I saw, right infront of me, my uncle.'

  'Your uncle? Mr Burton? Where was this?'

  'Perhaps three hundred miles north of Buluwayo.'

  'But--what was your uncle doing there?'

  'I told you it was a queer business, and so it was. Let me try toexplain. Straight in front of where I was sitting the plain stretchedfor heaven knows how many miles right away to the horizon. There wereno buildings; scarcely a bush or a tree was to be seen; just themonotonous level ground. All at once I perceived, certainly within ahundred feet of where I was, a flight of steps.'

  'A flight of steps?'

  'Well, I had a sort of general idea that there was a building inconnection, but my eyes were fixed upon the steps. I seemed to knowthem. There was a wide open door at top. I felt that I was wellacquainted with what was on the other side of that door. On the stepsmy uncle was standing. Mind, I saw him as well as I see you, and,thank goodness, I can see you pretty well. I can't tell you what hewore, because I'm no hand at describing clothes; but I've animpression that he had on a suit of tweeds and a bowler hat. He wasapparently lounging on the steps, watching the passers-by. He did notsee me--of that I was sure. On a sudden someone else came towards himup the steps. He was a stranger to me, though I think I should knowhim if I saw him again. He was taller than my uncle, and, I imagine,younger. Anyhow, he was altogether a bigger and a stronger man. He hada walking stick in his hand, with a horn handle. Directly he gotwithin reach, without, so far as I could judge, uttering a word ofwarning, with this stick he struck my uncle with all his force acrossthe face. I suspect that my uncle had seen him coming before I did,and, for reasons of his own, had stuck to what he deemed his post ofvantage on the steps, being unwilling to go and meet him, and ashamedto run away. That he was not so taken aback by the suddenness of theattack as I was I felt persuaded. He put out his hand to guardhimself, and, I fancy, at the last moment was disposed to turn tailand flee. But it was too late. The blow got home. He staggered backand would have fallen had not the stranger gripped him with his lefthand, and commenced to belabour him with the stick which he held withhis right. People came streaming out of the open door above and up thesteps from the street. My uncle made not the faintest attempt atresistance. When the people came close enough to hamper the freeaction of his arm, the stranger, giving his victim a push, sent himhead foremost down the steps. In an instant the whole thing vanished.'

  Mr Holland ceased. The lady had been regarding him with wide-open greyeyes.

  'Guy!' she said.

  'Wasn't it odd?'

  'Odd? You must have been dreaming.'

  'I was as wide awake as you are. It was a mirage, or vision, orsomething of the kind. The queerest part of it was that it was soamazingly real, and so near. When the thing had gone I kept askingmyself why I hadn't jumped up and interfered. I could have got therein a dozen strides.'

  'Then what happened?'

  'I sat for a long time half dazed, half expecting the thing to comeagain, or to continue from the point at which it had left off. Then Iwent and told a man with whom I was chumming what I'd seen. He saidthe sun had got into my eyes, advised me to have a drink--made fun ofit altogether. But I knew better; and, as it turned out, I was hauntedby my uncle all through the night.'

  'Awake or sleeping?'

  'Awake. I couldn't sleep. I was haunted by a feeling that he wasdying. The stranger had not killed him; but in consequence of thethrashing he had received he was struggling with death, and keptcalling out to me to come to him; and I c
ouldn't.'

  'Poor Guy!'

  The lady softly stroked the hand of his which she held between hertwo.

  'I wondered if I was on the verge of an attack of illness or goingmad, or what, though personally I felt as fit as a fiddle all thetime, with my senses as much about me as they are now. I kept hearinghim call out, over and over again, "Guy, Guy!" in the voice I knew sowell and wasn't particularly fond of. There was something else whichhe kept repeating.'

  'What was that?'

  '"The ruby."'

  'The ruby?'

  'I haven't a notion of what he meant or what the whole thing meant,but at least a dozen times that night I heard him referring to aruby,--the ruby, he called it. Long and seemingly involved sentences Iheard him utter, but the only two words I could distinguish were thosetwo--"the ruby"; and, as I have said, those two I heard him pronouncecertainly a dozen times. And in the morning I was conscious of anabsolute conviction that he was dead.'

  'How very strange.'

  'I'm not one of your clever chaps, so I don't pretend to be able tosuggest a sufficient explanation, but the entire business reminds meof what I've heard about second sight. Although in the body I was outthere on the veldt I seemed to know and see what was taking placeheaven knows how many thousand miles away. In spite of the persuasionwhich was borne in upon me that he was dead, every day, and sometimesall day, I heard him calling out to me, "Guy, Guy!" and every now andthen, "The ruby!" It was as if he were imploring me to come to him.'

  'So you came.'

  'So I came. The truth is I couldn't stand it any longer. I should havegone off my head if I had had much more of it. I was good for nothing,my nerves were all anyhow, everyone was laughing at me. So I slippedoff by myself without a word to a creature; got down to Cape Town,found a boat just starting, and was off on it at once. Directly theboat was away the haunting stopped. My nerves were all right in aninstant. I told myself I was an ass; that I ought to have wired orwritten, or done something sensible. Since, however, it was too late Itried to make the best of things. I ran up to London so soon as wereached port, meaning, if it turned out that my imagination had made afool of me, to go straight back without breathing a word to anyone ofmy ever having come.'

  'Not even to me?'

  'Not even to you. You wouldn't have liked me to turn up with nothingbut a bee in my bonnet.'

  'So long as you turned up, I shouldn't have cared for forty thousandbees. The idea!'

  'That's very sweet of you. As it happened, no sooner did I appear atmy old quarters than Mrs Flickers produced a letter which had arrivedfor me--she did not know how long ago, and which she had not knownwhat to do with. It turned out to be an intimation from Collyer thatthat my uncle had died on the 23rd of February, the very day on which,out on the veldt, I had seen him assaulted by that unknown individualupon that flight of steps.'

  'Guy, is this a ghost story you have been telling me? I don't want tobe absurd, but it really does look as if it were a case of the hand ofdestiny.'

  'I don't know about the hand of destiny, but it does look as if itwere a case of something.'

  'I shouldn't be surprised if, after all, the old reprobate has leftyou some of his money.'

  'Nor I. Oh, Letty, if he has! We'll be married on Monday.'

  'As this is Friday, couldn't you make it Sunday? Monday seems such along way off. My dear Guy, first of all interview Mr Samuel Collyer.Then you'll learn the worst.'

  'I am going to. Of course I had to see you first--'

  'Of course.'

  'But I wired to him that I'd call this afternoon.'

  'Then call.'

  And Mr Holland called.