The House of Whispers. William Le Queux

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СКАЧАТЬ XVI SHOWS A GIRL'S BONDAGE

      CHAPTER XVII DESCRIBES A FRENCHMAN'S VISIT

      CHAPTER XVIII REVEALS THE SPY

      CHAPTER XIX SHOWS GABRIELLE DEFIANT

      CHAPTER XX TELLS OF FLOCKART'S TRIUMPH

      CHAPTER XXI THROUGH THE MISTS

      CHAPTER XXII BY THE MEDITERRANEAN

      CHAPTER XXIII WHICH SHOWS A SHABBY FOREIGNER

      CHAPTER XXIV "WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK"

      CHAPTER XXV SHOWS GABRIELLE IN EXILE

      CHAPTER XXVI THE VELVET PAW

      CHAPTER XXVII BETRAYS THE BOND

      CHAPTER XXVIII THE WHISPERS AGAIN

      CHAPTER XXIX CONTAINS A FURTHER MYSTERY

      CHAPTER XXX REVEALS SOMETHING TO HAMILTON

      CHAPTER XXXI DESCRIBES A CURIOUS CIRCUMSTANCE

      CHAPTER XXXII OUTSIDE THE WINDOW

      CHAPTER XXXIII IS ABOUT THE MAISON LÉNARD

      CHAPTER XXXIV SURPRISES MR. FLOCKART

      CHAPTER XXXV DISCLOSES A SECRET

      CHAPTER XXXVI IN WHICH GABRIELLE TELLS A STRANGE STORY

      CHAPTER XXXVII INCREASES THE INTEREST

      CHAPTER XXXVIII "THAT MAN'S VOICE!"

      CHAPTER XXXIX CONTAINS THE CONCLUSION

      THE HOUSE OF WHISPERS

       Table of Contents

CHAPTER I

       Table of Contents

      THE LAIRD OF GLENCARDINE

      "Why, what's the matter, child? Tell me."

      "Nothing, dad—really nothing."

      "But you are breathing hard; your hand trembles; your pulse beats quickly. There's something amiss—I'm sure there is. Now, what is it? Come, no secrets."

      The girl, quickly snatching away her hand, answered with a forced laugh, "How absurd you really are, dear old dad! You're always fancying something or other."

      "Because my senses of hearing and feeling are sharper and more developed than those of other folk perhaps," replied the grey-bearded old gentleman, as he turned his sharp-cut, grey, but expressionless countenance to the tall, sweet-faced girl standing beside his chair.

      No second glance was needed to realise the pitiful truth. The man seated there in his fine library, with the summer sunset slanting across the red carpet from the open French windows, was blind.

      Since his daughter Gabrielle had been a pretty, prattling child of nine, nursing her dolly, he had never looked upon her fair face. But he was ever as devoted to her as she to him.

      Surely his was a sad and lonely life. Within the last fifteen years or so great wealth had come to him; but, alas! he was unable to enjoy it. Until eleven years ago he had been a prominent figure in politics and in society in London. He had sat in the House for one of the divisions of Hampshire, was a member of the Carlton, and one year he found his name among the Birthday Honours with a K.C.M.G. For him everybody predicted a brilliant future. The Press gave prominence to his speeches, and to his house in Park Street came Cabinet Ministers and most of the well-known men of his party. Indeed, it was an open secret in a certain circle that he had been promised a seat in the Cabinet in the near future.

      Then, at the very moment of his popularity, a terrible tragedy had occurred. He was on the platform of the Albert Hall addressing a great meeting at which the Prime Minister was the principal speaker. His speech was a brilliant one, and the applause had been vociferous. Full of satisfaction, he drove home that night to Park Street; but next morning the report spread that his brilliant political career had ended. He had suddenly been stricken by blindness.

      In political circles and in the clubs the greatest consternation was caused, and some strange gossip became rife.

      It was whispered in certain quarters that the affliction was not produced by natural causes. In fact, it was a mystery, and one that had never been solved. The first oculists of Europe had peered into and tested his eyes, but all to no purpose. The sight had gone for ever.

      Therefore, full of bitter regrets at being thus compelled to renounce the stress and storm of political life which he loved so well, Sir Henry Heyburn had gone into strict retirement at Glencardine, his beautiful old Perthshire home, visiting London but very seldom.

      He was essentially a man of mystery. Even in the days of his universal popularity the source of his vast wealth was unknown. His father, the tenth Baronet, had been sadly impoverished by the depreciation of agricultural property in Lincolnshire, and had ended his days in the genteel quietude of the Albany. But Sir Henry, without betraying to the world his methods, had in fifteen years amassed a fortune which people guessed must be considerably over a million sterling.

      From a life of strenuous activity he had, in one single hour, been doomed to one of loneliness and inactivity. His friends sympathised, as indeed the whole British public had done; but in a month the tragic affair and its attendant mysterious gossip had been forgotten, as in truth had the very name of Sir Henry Heyburn, whom the Prime Minister, though his political opponent, had one night designated in the House as "one of the most brilliant and talented young men who has ever sat upon the Opposition benches."

      In his declining years the life of this man was a pitiful tragedy, his filmy eyes sightless, his thin white fingers ever eager and nervous, his hours full of deep thought and silent immobility. To him, what was the benefit of that beautiful Perthshire castle which he had purchased from Lord Strathavon a year before his compulsory retirement? What was the use of the old ancestral manor near Caistor in Lincolnshire, or the town-house in Park Street, the snug hunting-box at Melton, or the beautiful palm-shaded, flower-embowered villa overlooking the blue southern sea at San Remo? He remembered them all. He had misty visions of their splendour and their luxury; but since his blindness he had seldom, if ever, entered them. That big library up in Scotland in which he now sat was the room he preferred; and with his daughter Gabrielle to bear him company, to smooth his brow with her soft hand, to chatter and to gossip, he wished for no other companion. His life was of the past, a meteor that had flashed and had vanished for ever.

      "Tell me, child, what is troubling you?" he was asking in a calm, kind voice, as he still held the girl's hand in his. The sweet scent of the roses from the garden beyond filled the room.

      A smart footman in livery opened the door at that moment, asking, "Stokes has just returned with the car from Perth, Sir Henry, and asks if you want him further at present."

      "No," СКАЧАТЬ