CHAPTER SIX.

THE HORROR OF LOCKIE.

Many readers will recall the tragedy of Renstoke Castle and the terrible death of young Lord Renstoke. The case aroused much sensation at the time. It would have aroused far more had the real facts been allowed to transpire.

They were known, however, to only a few people, and, for reasons which were at the time sufficient, they were kept secret. I am now able to lift the veil which shrouded one of the most perplexing mysteries which has ever puzzled the scientific world. Even now, the story is not complete; the great secret died with the amazing but perverted genius who discovered it.

Lord Renstoke, a young man only thirty, was one of those favoured individuals on whom Fortune seemed to have showered all her gifts. Born and brought up in Canada, he was connected only very remotely with the ancient family of Renstoke, and no one ever dreamed that he could by any possibility succeed to the t.i.tle, which carried with it Renstoke Castle and a rent-roll of something like a hundred thousand pounds a year.

James Mitch.e.l.l, as Lord Renstoke was before he succeeded to the t.i.tle, had left a lumber camp in Upper Canada when the call of the Great War brought Britishers from all the wild places of the world to join the colours. He served as a private in one of the Canadian Regiments, rapidly winning his way upward, and finally being awarded the Victoria Cross for a piece of dare-devil folly--so his comrades declared--that had led to the capture of an important German position and had helped very materially to bring about one of the most brilliant of the many successes scored by the Canadians in the closing stages of the fighting.

That episode seemed to mark the turning-point in the fortunes of James Mitch.e.l.l. From then onward it seemed as though Fate had no gifts that were too good to be showered upon him. It was only a few weeks later that the obscure Canadian private was summoned to headquarters to receive the astounding intelligence that through a series of deaths that in fiction would have been deemed fantastic, he was a peer of the United Kingdom with a vast fortune at his disposal.

Then James Mitch.e.l.l, Baron Renstoke, went back to his trenches and the comrades he had learned to love to finish the work on hand.

It was during the latter half of the war that James Mitch.e.l.l found himself swept by chance into the strange web of mystery and adventure that surrounded the doings of Yvette Pasquet and d.i.c.k Manton. He had been detailed, quite privately and "unofficially," to help Yvette in one of her achievements, and the clever French girl had been quick to recognise in him an a.s.sistant of more than ordinary ability. Yvette was one of those rare people who never forget, and so there came about a gradual friendship which included d.i.c.k Manton and Jules Pasquet. Yvette rejoiced unfeignedly when, after the Armistice, she learned of Mitch.e.l.l's good fortune. The friendship continued and ripened, and Yvette, Jules, and d.i.c.k Manton were staying at Renstoke Castle when a terrible stroke of malign fate cut short a career of brilliant promise and brought an ancient lineage to an end.

Renstoke Castle was a wonderful old house in Argyllshire, and James Mitch.e.l.l, now Lord Renstoke, was surely one of the favoured of the G.o.ds!

Over six feet in height, strikingly handsome and of superb physique, wealthy and with great charm of manner, there seemed to be nothing to which he could not aspire. Despite the surroundings of his early years he had been well educated for his father, though only a Canadian farmer, had been a man of considerable culture and learning, and had seen that his son, who inherited his own intellectual gifts, had been well taught.

Only the spirit of adventure had led him at twenty-one into the wild places of the world, where he saw existence from many angles, and in a rough outdoor life had brought to perfection physical powers which had been remarkable even in boyhood.

He was now the last of the Renstokes. But he was still young. No one dreamed but that he would marry and that the ancient line would be continued.

Then the blow fell!

Through the late summer a series of mysterious attacks had been made on live stock throughout the western portion of Argyllshire. Sheep, and even deer, had been attacked, evidently by some unusually powerful animal.

Sheep worrying, of course, is not an uncommon vice among dogs, and when the outbreak first started little was thought of the matter. The local farmers and shepherds merely began to watch their dogs more closely than usual. But the outbreaks continued, more and more sheep were killed, and at length the losses became so heavy that drastic steps were taken.

For thirty miles around, not a dog was permitted off the chain after dusk. Bands of men armed with guns, with instructions to shoot any dog on sight, patrolled the country-side by day and night. It was all in vain. Sheep continued to perish under the teeth of the mysterious prowler, and even the smaller deer, in spite of their speed, began to fall victims.

The farmers were at their wits' ends when the mystery was suddenly lifted into the region of unadulterated horror.

Alan MacPherson, a young gamekeeper, had been one of a number of men who, stretched out into a line a couple of miles long, had set out at nightfall to search a lonely piece of moorland in which it was thought the strange animal might be hiding. The line of men had gone forward on a prearranged plan for five or six miles and then "pivoted" on the right hand man, swung round and marched homeward, concentrating finally at a big farm known as Kelsie, where the losses had been very serious.

The men, of course, knew the country thoroughly, and similar manoeuvres had been many times repeated without mishap. Always the last man of the line had turned up within a few minutes of the prearranged time.

On this occasion MacPherson was on the extreme left wheel and, having farthest to go, should have been the last man home. No one was uneasy when it was found he was a few minutes late; he was armed and knew the country like the palm of his hand.

But when the minutes slipped by without news his companions began to be anxious. Three hours pa.s.sed, and, at length, a search party was hastily formed.

Two hours later MacPherson's body was found lying terribly mangled beside a big rock on the slope of a small tor. His gun, still loaded, was only three feet away. Beside the body lay a filled pipe and a box of matches. Evidently the man had laid down his gun to light his pipe and had been suddenly attacked and killed before he could raise a hand to defend himself.

A few minutes later, Lord Renstoke, Yvette, d.i.c.k Manton, and Jules were on the scene. Though all were familiar with the ghastly sights of war, they found themselves in the presence of a horror which overbore all their previous experiences.

Renstoke, whose experience abroad had made him familiar with many wild animals quite unknown to the others, examined the body carefully. At length he rose from his knees with a horrified expression in his eyes, and gave brief orders for the removal of the body to the unfortunate man's home to await the inquest.

But it was not until they had returned to the Castle that he spoke of what he had seen. And his first words gave his comrades a terrible shock.

"No dog did that!" he said quietly, but in a tone of intense conviction.

"Whatever do you mean, Renstoke?" asked d.i.c.k quickly. "What else could have done it? There are no lions or tigers about here, you know."

"Are you sure?" replied Renstoke. "I think we shall have to see Erckmann about this." Boris Erckmann, he went on to explain, was a famous zoologist who lived in a big lonely house on the Renstoke estate some ten miles away. He had spent many years in wandering explorations in tropical countries and was known in the inner circles of science as a man of brilliant attainments. He did not advertise himself, however, living the life of a recluse, and to the general public his name meant nothing. Among his Highland neighbours, a dour people who concerned themselves very little with the affairs of other folk, little notice was taken of him. He lived at Lockie, a big house surmounted by a high wall and perched on a gaunt hill-side overlooking a lonely glen. Among his neighbours, who guessed nothing of his wonderful abilities, Erckmann pa.s.sed for a harmless scientist and was affable and good-natured to those he chanced to meet during his incessant pilgrimages over the wide moorland which stretched for many miles around Lockie.

"Erckmann is said to have a lot of wild animals at Lockie," Renstoke went on to explain, "and it is possible that one of them may have broken loose. I am perfectly certain MacPherson was not killed by a dog."

"But what makes you so certain?" d.i.c.k questioned. "So far as I could see any big dog could have done it."

"Did you ever see a dog with hands, d.i.c.k?" asked Renstoke quietly.

His hearers started simultaneously with a gasp of horror.

"Whatever do you mean?" they asked.

"Just this," Lord Renstoke replied. "He was not killed by a dog at all.

As you saw, the front of his throat was badly torn. But on the back of his neck were two distinct bruises, one on each side and nearly meeting, which suggested the mark of two thumbs, as if he had been seized from behind by two hands which clasped his neck. Now, no dog could have done that. Moreover no dog could have killed him so quickly that he never had a chance either to fight for his life or to call for help.

Remember, he was an extremely powerful man and his nearest neighbour in the line was scarcely more than a hundred yards away. He was killed so suddenly and so swiftly that he had no time even to shout. I have seen many men who had been killed by wolves, bears, and cougars, but never one who had not made a fight for his life."

"But what could it have been?" asked Yvette in a horrified whisper.

"There is only one animal in the world that could have done it," replied Renstoke, "and that is a gorilla. You know the strength of the gorilla compared with that of a man is enormous. It has enormously powerful hands and teeth. A man seized unawares, as MacPherson must have been, would be dead in a few seconds; he wouldn't have the smallest chance either to defend himself or to shout. And I happen to know, though it is not generally known, that Erckmann actually has a gorilla at Lockie.

I am going over to see him after the inquest and I mean to see the gorilla as well. Erckmann is a tenant of mine, though, as it happens, I have never seen him.

"But there is one thing that puzzles me," Renstoke went on after a pause. "The sheep-killing has been going on for several months, and I don't see where such an animal as a gorilla, a.s.suming that it has been at large for so long, can have been hidden without being seen. But, of course, the country is very wild and there are some big woods that may have screened it during the daytime."

"What are you going to say at the inquest?" d.i.c.k asked abruptly.

"Nothing at all until I know a lot more," answered Renstoke deliberately. "Remember, we don't know anything positively yet. I am only giving you my personal opinion."

All agreed that Renstoke's plan was best. But they had yet to learn how far the appalling reality outstripped the horror of their suppositions.

The inquest, held the following afternoon, was almost formal. There was no real evidence, of course, as to how the unfortunate man was killed, and what amounted to an open verdict was found. Neither the doctor who examined the body, nor the detectives from Glasgow who made every possible inquiry, struck the chain of reasoning which had led Renstoke to his strange theory, and it was generally a.s.sumed that MacPherson had been killed by some ferocious dog which had been lurking unseen for months in the wild country around Renstoke.

Next morning all four started for Lockie. Erckmann's house, though only ten miles away in a direct line, was at least thirty by road, and as the day was fine they decided to motor for about five miles, leave the car, and walk across country for the remainder of the distance. It was this decision which led them to the first strange clue in the solution of the terrible mystery.

At the point where they left the car, the road, which had been leading westward, made an abrupt turn at the summit of a desolate hill, and stretched away southward as far as they could see. Their destination was further west, and as d.i.c.k ran the car on to the gra.s.s at the side of the road, they prepared for their tramp.

They had walked some four miles over rough heather-clad country when Renstoke pointed to a big building a mile away and facing the top of the steep rise they had just breasted.

"That is Lockie?" he said.

For the most part, the country was dry. Below them, however, was a shallow valley, along the bottom of which a rippling burn wound its way.

Descending the hill they crossed the brook and soon found themselves at a tiny bridge beside the only gateway they could see in the high stone wall, surmounted by a formidable barrier of barbed iron, which surrounded the building.

In response to Renstoke's knock the door was opened by an ill-favoured individual, evidently a foreigner, who stared at them in blank surprise.

"I want to see Mr Erckmann; is he at home?" Renstoke demanded.