The Man with a Shadow

Still no reply, and, beginning to be startled, Tom Candlish went down upon one knee and tried to move his brother’s head into a more comfortable position.

As he did so, the light fell athwart so ghastly and strange a countenance, from whose lips the blood was slowly trickling, that he let the head glide from his hands, for it to sink suddenly with a dull thud upon the stairs.

“Good God!” ejaculated the young man, in a low, excited voice. “Here, Luke! Luke, old man: hold up!”

There was no movement – not even a sigh; and Tom Candlish ran to alarm the house; but, as he reached the swing-door at the end of the passage, and stood gazing into the hall, he stopped and ran back to lay his hand upon his brother’s heart; then caught his wrist, and afterwards thrust a hand right into his breast, but only to withdraw it quite aghast.

“Here! a doctor!” he gasped, his voice being like a hoarse whisper. “Smith! Somebody! Here!”

He rose and hurried to the door leading into the entrance hall once more, but stopped again as he reached it, and stood gazing back at the distorted figure at the foot of the stairs.

Then he turned and looked up the dimly-lit staircase, but all was perfectly still. No one appeared to have heard the altercation or the fall. All seemed to be sleeping; and, panting heavily, as wild thoughts full of wonder and dread flooded his brain, Tom Candlish closed the door softly, ran back along the passage, ascended the stairs, and gained the billiard-room, where he groped his way once more to the spirit stand, removed the stopper, and drank heavily from the brandy decanter.

“Hah!” he ejaculated, as he took a long breath, and turned to see that the oval pane in the baize door seemed to have assumed the aspect of a huge, dull eye glaring at him.

“Am I going mad?” he muttered, as he staggered to the door. “I must call help; perhaps – perhaps – he is seriously hurt.”

He stole softly down the stairs, and paused by the prostrate figure, still lying perfectly motionless, and in its hideously-distorted position.

“I must call help – call help!” whispered the young man, whose face was now ghastly; but though there were bells that might have been rung and people were within call, he only crept along the passage, without attempting to touch the fallen man, pushed the spring-door gently, so that it should make no noise, closed it again, stood listening, and then, in the midst of the dead silence, stole on tip-toe up the grand staircase to his bedroom, where he once more stopped to listen, and then crept softly in and closed the door.

The silence in the old Hall was as that of death for a few moments, before it was broken by a faint click, as of the bolt of a lock just shot.

Once more silence, and then on the dim staircase there was a musical purring noise, followed by the pleasant chimes of a clock, which rang out the half-hour after midnight.

Then once again the stillness as of death.

Chapter Twenty Five.

Smith Finds Something Wrong

“You heard nothing?” said the doctor.

“Nothing at all. I went to bed at the usual time, sir,” said the butler – “half-past ten – yes, sir, I’ve the chaise waiting; won’t you come in that, and I can tell you as we drive over?”

“Yes; all right,” said the doctor, and five minutes later they were rattling along the road towards the Hall.

“Now, go on,” said North. “Yes, sir; I went to bed as usual, and slept very soundly till about an hour ago, and then I suddenly woke. I don’t know what made me wake; but I did, and somehow began thinking, as I’ve often thought before, about the plate in the pantry, and whether it was safe.”

“Don’t you sleep in the pantry?”

“No, sir; it’s so damp. So I lay telling myself it was all nonsense and fancy; but the more I thought so, the more uncomfortable I grew, till I could stand it no longer, and I got up, slipped on my trousers and great-coat, and went to the top of the stairs, where I felt quite a chill, as I knew something was not as it should be, for the lamp was not turned out on the hall table.”

“What lamp?”

“The hall lamp that Sir Luke always puts out himself when he goes up to bed.”

“Where do you say you left him last night?”

“In the billiard-room, sir, playing with Mr Tom, sir.”

“Yes; go on.”

“So I went down, sir; and there saw through the baize door that the lamp was burning at the end of the passage at the foot of the billiard-room stairs.”

“Yes.”

“And as soon as I got through the baize door, there, under the lamp, lay my poor master, all like of a heap.”

“What did you do?”

“Ran to him, and tried to put him in a more comfortable position, sir; but – ”

“Yes; I understand.”

“Then I rushed up and called Mr Tom, sir; and we went to the squire together, and rang the bells and alarmed the house. Then, as soon as the boy had put the horse in the chaise, sir, I drove over to fetch you.”

“But did you do nothing to try and revive him?”

“Oh! yes, sir; but – ”

“I understand,” said the doctor. “And Mr Tom?”

“He couldn’t believe it, sir. He said he played billiards with the squire for some time, and then grew tired and went to bed, leaving him knocking the balls about, and it’s all very plain, sir. I tell you of course, though I wouldn’t say so to another soul, poor Sir Luke used to take a great deal too much. I filled the spirit stand only this morning, and the brandy decanter was quite empty. He had a deal too, at dinner, before.”

“And you think he pitched downstairs, Smith?”

“Yes, sir; that is my belief,” said the butler; “and Mr Tom seemed to think so too.”

They reached the Hall to find every one in a state of the most intense excitement, but an ominous silence reigning through the place.

“Thank goodness you’ve come at last,” cried a familiar voice, and Tom hurried to meet North. “Pray be quick; he is insensible still.”

The doctor looked at the young man curiously.

“Where is he?”

“We carried him into the dining-room, and laid him on a sofa; but he has not stirred since. I’m afraid something is broken.”

As he spoke he led North into the dining-room, where the candles were burning, the shutters were closed, and curtains drawn; and there, upon a couch in the middle of the room, lay Sir Luke Candlish, as his brother had said, without having moved since he had been borne carefully in.

The doctor’s examination was short, and Tom Candlish stood looking on, apparently too much overcome to speak.

“Well,” he said at last, “is he very bad? Is anything broken?”

The doctor raised his eyebrows, and could have replied “his neck,” but he said simply: “Bad, sir? Can you not see that he is dead?”

“Dead?” ejaculated Tom; and his jaw dropped, while his face assumed a look of intense horror.