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When he had vanished I remarked in as cheerful voice as I could command, that I thought it was bedtime, and as nobody stirred, added, “Don’t be afraid, young lady. If you feel lonely, you must tell that stout maid of yours to sleep in your room. Also, as the night is so hot I shall take my nap on the stoep, there, just opposite your window. No, don’t let us talk any more now. There will be plenty of time for that to-morrow.”
She rose, looked at Anscombe, looked at me, looked at her father very pitifully; then with a little exclamation of despair passed into her room by the French window, where presently I heard her call the native maid and tell her that she was to sleep with her.
Marnham watched her depart. Then he too went with his head bowed and staggering a little in his walk. Next Anscombe rose and limped off into his room, I following him.
“Well, young man,” I said, “you have put us all in the soup now and no mistake.”
“Yes, Allan, I am afraid I have. But on the whole don’t you think it rather interesting soup—so many unexpected ingredients, you see!”
“Interesting soup! Unexpected ingredients!” I repeated after him, adding, “Why not call it hell’s broth at once?”
Then he became serious, dreadfully serious.
“Look here,” he said, “I love Heda, and whatever her family history may be I mean to marry her and face the row at home.”
“You could scarcely do less in all the circumstances, and as for rows, that young lady would soon fit herself into any place that you can give her. But the question is, how can you marry her?”
“Oh! something will happen,” he replied optimistically.
“You are quite right there. Something will certainly happen, but the point is—what? Something was very near happening when I turned up on that stoep, so near that I think it was lucky for you, or for Miss Heda, or both, that I have learned how to handle a pistol. Now let me see your foot, and don’t speak another word to me about all this business to-night. I’d rather tackle it when I am clear-headed in the morning.”
Well, I examined his instep and leg very carefully and found that Rodd was right. Although it still hurt him to walk, the wound was quite healed and all inflammation had gone from the limb. Now it was only a question of time for the sinews to right themselves. While I was thus engaged he held forth on the virtues and charms of Heda, I making no comment.
“Lie down and get to sleep, if you can,” I said when I had finished. “The door is locked and I am going on to the stoep, so you needn’t be afraid of the windows. Good-night.”
I went out and sat myself down in such a position that by the light of the hanging lamp, which still burned, I could make sure that no one could approach either Heda’s or my room without my seeing him. For the rest, all my life I have been accustomed to night vigils, and the loaded revolver hung from my wrist by a loop of hide. Moreover, never had I felt less sleepy. There I sat hour after hour, thinking.
The substance of my thoughts does not matter, since the events that followed make them superfluous to the story. I will merely record, therefore, that towards dawn a great horror took hold of me. I did not know of what I was afraid, but I was much afraid of something. Nothing was passing in either Heda’s or our room, of that I made sure by personal examination. Therefore it would seem that my terrors were unnecessary, and yet they grew and grew. I felt sure that something was happening somewhere, a dread occurrence which it was beyond my power to prevent, though whether it were in this house or at the other end of Africa I did not know.
The mental depression increased and culminated. Then of a sudden it passed completely away, and as I mopped the sweat from off my brow I noticed that dawn was breaking. It was a tender and beautiful dawn, and in a dim way I took it as a good omen. Of course it was nothing but the daily resurrection of the sun, and yet it brought to me comfort and hope. The night was past with all its fears; the light had come with all its joys. From that moment I was certain that we should triumph over these difficulties and that the end of them would be peace.
So sure was I that I ventured to take a nap, knowing that the slightest movement or sound would wake me. I suppose I slept until six o’clock, when I was aroused by a footfall. I sprang up, and saw before me one of our native servants. He was trembling and his face was ashen beneath the black. Moreover he could not speak. All he did was to put his head on one side, like a dead man, and keep on pointing downwards. Then with his mouth open and starting eyes he beckoned to me to follow him.
I followed.
RODD’S LAST CARD
The man led me to Marnham’s room, which I had never entered before. All I could see at first, for the shutters were closed, was that the place seemed large, as bedchambers go in South Africa. When my eyes grew accustomed to the light, I made out the figure of a man seated in a chair with his head bent forward over a table that was placed at the foot of the bed almost in the centre of the room. I threw open the shutters and the morning light poured in. The man was Marnham. On the table were writing materials, also a brandy bottle with only a dreg of spirit in it. I looked for the glass and found it by his side on the floor, shattered, not merely broken.
“Drunk,” I said aloud, whereon the servant, who understood me, spoke for the first time, saying in a frightened voice in Dutch—
“No, Baas, dead, half cold. I found him so just now.”
I bent down and examined Marnham, also felt his face. Sure enough, he was dead, for his jaw had fallen; also his flesh was chill, and from him came a horrible smell of brandy. I thought for a moment, then bade the boy fetch Dr. Rodd and say nothing to any one else, He went, and now for the first time I noticed a large envelope addressed “Allan Quatermain, Esq.” in a somewhat shaky hand. This I picked up and slipped into my pocket.
Rodd arrived half dressed.
“What’s the matter now?” he growled.
I pointed to Marnham, saying—
“That is a question for you to answer.
“Oh! drunk again, I suppose,” he said. Then he did as I had done, bent down and examined him. A few seconds later he stepped or reeled back, looking as frightened as a man could be, and exclaiming—
“Dead as a stone, by God! Dead these three hours or more.”
“Quite so,” I answered, “but what killed him?”
“How should I know?” he asked savagely. “Do you suspect me of poisoning him?”
“My mind is open,” I replied; “but as you quarrelled so bitterly last night, others might.”
The bolt went home; he saw his danger.
“Probably the old sot died in a fit, or of too much brandy. How can one know without a post-mortem? But that mustn’t be made by me. I’m off to inform the magistrate and get hold of another doctor. Let the body remain as it is until I return.”
I reflected quickly. Ought I to let him go or not? If he had any hand in this business, doubtless he intended to escape. Well, supposing this were so and he did escape, that would be a good thing for Heda, and really it was no affair of mine to bring the fellow to justice. Moreover there was nothing to show that he was guilty; his whole manner seemed to point another way, though of course he might be acting.
“Very well,” I replied, “but return as quickly as possible.”
He stood for a few seconds like a man who is dazed. It occurred to me that it might have come into his mind with Marnham’s death that he had lost his hold over Heda. But if so he said nothing of it, but only asked—
“Will you go instead of me?”
“On the whole I think not,” I replied, “and if I did, the story I should have to tell might not tend to your advantage.”
“That’s true, damn you!” he exclaimed and left the room.
Ten minutes later he was galloping towards Pilgrim’s Rest. Before I departed from the death chamber I examined the place carefully to see if I could find any poison or other deadly thing, but without success. One thing I did discover, however. Turning the leaf of a blotting-book that was by Marnham’s elbow, I came upon a sheet of paper on which were written these words in his hand, “Greater love hath no man than this—” that was all.
Either he had forgotten the end of the quotation or changed his mind, or was unable through weakness to finish the sentence. This paper also I put in my pocket. Bolting the shutters and locking the door I returned to the stoep, where I was alone, for as yet no one else was stirring. Then I remembered the letter in my pocket and opened it. It ran—
“DEAR MR. QUATERMAIN,—
“I have remembered that those who quarrel with Dr. Rodd are apt to die soon and suddenly; at any rate life at my age is always uncertain. Therefore, as I know you to be an honest man, I am enclosing my will that it may be in safe keeping and purpose to send it to your room to-morrow morning. Perhaps when you return to Pretoria you will deposit it in the Standard Bank there, and if I am still alive, forward me the receipt. You will see that I leave everything to my daughter whom I dearly love, and that there is enough to keep the wolf from her door, besides my share in this property, if it is ever realized.
“After all that has passed to-night I do not feel up to writing a long letter, so
“Remain sincerely yours,
“H. A. MARNHAM.”
“PS.—I should like to state clearly upon paper that my earnest hope and wish are that Heda may get clear of that black-hearted, murderous, scoundrel Rodd and marry Mr. Anscombe, whom I like and who, I am sure, would make her a good husband.”
Thinking to myself this did not look very like the letter of a suicide, I glanced through the will, as the testator seemed to have wished that I should do so. It was short, but properly drawn, signed, and witnessed, and bequeathed a sum of ÂŁ9,000, which was on deposit at the Standard Bank, together with all his other property, real and personal, to Heda for her own sole use, free from the debts and engagements of her husband, should she marry. Also she was forbidden to spend more than ÂŁ1,000 of the capital. In short the money was strictly tied up. With the will were some other papers that apparently referred to certain property in Hungary to which Heda might become entitled, but about these I did not trouble.
Replacing these documents in a safe inner pocket in the lining of my waistcoat, I went into our room and woke up Anscombe who was sleeping soundly, a fact that caused an unreasonable irritation in my mind. When at length he was thoroughly aroused I said to him—
“You are in luck’s way, my friend. Marnham is dead.”
“Oh! poor Heda,” he exclaimed, “she loved him. It will half break her heart.”
“If it breaks half of her heart,” I replied, “it will mend the other half, for now her filial affection can’t force her to marry Rodd, and that is where you are in luck’s way.”
Then I told him all the story.
“Was he murdered or did he commit suicide?” he asked when I had finished.
“I don’t know, and to tell you the truth I don’t want to know; nor will you if you are wise, unless knowledge is forced upon you. It is enough that he is dead, and for his daughter’s sake the less the circumstances of his end are examined into the better.”
“Poor Heda!” he said again, “who will tell her? I can’t. You found him, Allan.”
“I expected that job would be my share of the business, Anscombe. Well, the sooner it is over the better. Now dress yourself and
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