Paul Capel felt a natural instinctive shrinking from approaching the bed, but he did not hesitate, stepping forward with reverence, and even then his heart gave a throb of satisfaction that one of his female companions should have stepped calmly to his side.

Lying there as in a darkened tent, with a couple of Indian tulwars crossed upon the bed's head, was a perfectly plain oaken coffin of unusual size, and without the slightest ornamentation save that on the lid, resting against the side, was a bra.s.s breastplate bearing the dead man's name, age, and the date of death.

Within--wrapped in a rich robe of Indian fabric, glittering with flowers wrought in gold thread--lay the Colonel, his face visible, and presenting to those who gazed upon it for the first time, the fine features of the old soldier, with his closely cut grey hair, ample beard, and the scars of two sword cuts across brow and cheek.

There was no distortion. The old man, full of days, lay calmly asleep, and Paul Capel bent down and kissed the icy brow.

When he rose his companion pressed forward, and, as he gave way, imitated his action, when, to his surprise, he saw that it was not Katrine D'Enghien, but Lydia.

A low sigh fell upon their ears as they were leaving the bed's head, and Paul raised his eyes to see that the old Indian was watching, and in the semi-darkness he saw him quickly raise a portion of Lydia's dress and hold it to his lips.

Drawing back, they gave place to Katrine and Gerard Artis, who walked to the bed's head, stood for a moment or two, and then, as if moved by the same impulse, both drew away. The old Indian stepped back with his candlestick, the polished silver of which seemed to glimmer and flash in the gloom, the heavy curtain fell in its funereal folds, and the group turned to Mr Girtle.

The old man said a few words to Ramo, who crossed the room to the dressing-table, taking one by one the candlesticks, and placing them in Paul and Lydia's hands, after which he took those from the chimney-piece to give to Katrine and Gerard Artis, the old lawyer taking the one the Indian had carried.

This done, Ramo walked softly to the curtain that covered what seemed to be the second door, and again there was the thrilling sound as the rings swept with a low rattle over the rod, laying bare a strong iron door deep down in a narrow arched portal.

Opening his silken robe, he drew out three keys of curious shape, attached to a stout steel chain which seemed to be round his waist, and softly placing one of them in the lock he turned it easily, when a series of bolts shot back with a loud clang. Then taking out the key, he pressed the door with his shoulder, and it swung slowly and heavily open, apparently requiring all the old man's strength to throw it back.

"Iron, and of great thickness," said Mr Girtle, in a low voice. "Mr Capel, shall I lead the way?"

The Colonel's heir bowed, and, candle in hand, the old lawyer pa.s.sed through the doorway, Ramo holding back the curtain, and standing like the guardian of the place.

They saw Mr Girtle take a couple of steps forward, turn sharply, and descend, and as Paul Capel followed, he found that to his left were half a dozen broad stone stairs, flanked by a heavy bal.u.s.trade, and that the old lawyer was standing below, holding up his light.

The next minute, as they reached the floor of what seemed to be a good-sized chamber, there was the sound of the curtain being drawn as if to shut them in, and Ramo came softly down the little flight of steps, to stand at a distance, with reverent mien.

By the light of the five candles they now saw that they were in a perfectly bare-walled chamber, apparently floor, walls, and groined roof of stone, while in the centre stood a large ma.s.sive cube of solid iron, painted thickly to resemble stone.

So large was it that it seemed as if the remainder of the chamber, left uncovered, merely formed a pa.s.sage to walk about the four sides.

"This place the Colonel had constructed where a dressing room used to be," said Mr Girtle; and his voice sounded peculiar, being repeated in whispers from the wall in a hollow, metallic ring that was oppressive as it was strange.

"Why the place is like a vault with a tomb in it," said Artis, with an impatient tone in his voice.

"It is a vault, Mr Artis," said the old lawyer--"a vault in which is a tomb. This," he continued, "is all of enormous strength, blocks of stone and concrete being beneath us, and the walls and roof are of immense thickness. The s.p.a.ce to be blocked up is six feet through."

"Humph, highly interesting, Mr Showman," muttered Artis; and then, at a look from Katrine, he became attentive.

"Colonel Capel," continued the old lawyer, "had his own peculiar ideas, and being an enormously wealthy man, accustomed to command, he considered he had a right to follow out his views. I more than once pointed out to him, when he made me his confidant, that the proceedings he proposed might meet with opposition from the authorities, but he replied calmly that the place was his own freehold, and that everything was to be carried out privately, but at the same time he would give as little excuse as possible for interference with his plans. Besides, he said, once get the matter over, and it would be forgotten in a week."

"But, in the name of common sense," broke out Artis, "why--"

"Will you kindly retain your observations, Mr Artis, until we have returned to the drawing-room," said the lawyer.

Artis was about to reply, but Paul Capel saw that a look from Katrine restrained him, and a jealous pang shot through his heart.

Balm came for the wound directly, as Katrine raised her eyes to his, let them rest there for a few moments, and then veiled them as she gazed upon the floor.

"Colonel Capel," continued the old lawyer, with his words whispering about the stone walls, "had a double intention in having the place constructed. It was for his mausoleum after death, for his strong room during life. Within this iron room or chamber, which would defy any burglar's tools, is a chest of steel, constructed from the Colonel's own designs, to contain his enormous fortune, and when that has been taken out at twelve o'clock to-morrow, it is to be replaced by the coffin that lies in the next room, by us who are present now; to be closed up and locked; the iron chamber is to be also closed; then the iron door; and lastly, we are to see that portal completely walled up, as I have already told you, and--forgotten."

"But," said Artis, quickly, "is the large sum in notes here--in this place?"

"Yes, sir."

"And the diamonds--the pearls?" said Katrine.

"Yes, my dear young lady, all are here."

"And you have the keys?"

"I and Ramo, the deceased's trusted servant."

"But is--"

Artis was about to continue, "it safe to trust that man?" but, as he spoke, he glanced at Ramo, who was watching him.

"My guide is the series of rules written by Colonel Capel, sir," said Mr Girtle, coldly.

"Can we see the jewels?" said Katrine.

"Yes; you can show us the treasure," cried Artis, with a half-laugh.

"As we two are to have nothing, we might be indulged with a peep."

"The treasure is Mr Paul Capel's, sir," said the old lawyer; "but, even if he expressed a wish, I could not depart from my instructions.

To-morrow, at noon, I bid you all to meet me at the door of Colonel Capel's room."

"To-morrow?" said Artis. "To-day."

The old lawyer glanced at his watch.

"Yes," he said, "to-day. I had forgotten that it was so late. Will you kindly accompany me to the drawing-room?"

The Indian went first and drew back the curtain, and they pa.s.sed up into the bedroom, where the old officer lay in state.

There they paused, as Ramo drew back the iron door and turned the key, when the bolts shot into their sockets, and the curtain was drawn.

Then, glancing at the bed, they pa.s.sed out of the room, Ramo locking the door, listening sharply, with his ears twitching, as he caught a faint creaking noise made by a lock in the lower part of the house.

"How strange that bronze figure looks," said Mr Girtle, glancing up at the great centaur looming indistinctly against the stained-gla.s.s window, in whose recess it stood.

"Yes," said Paul. "It is a fine work, but it looks as if it were going to dash out some one's brains."

"That is what I have always thought whenever I have entered or left that room."

"I wish to Heaven it had--both of you," muttered Artis. "A hundred pounds. Good G.o.d! A hundred pounds!"

The same thought may have entered Katrine D'Enghien's head, for, as they moved towards the drawing-room, she laid her arm affectionately round Lydia's slight waist, and said softly to herself: