The Fourth Ghost Story MEGAPACK ®. Sarah Orne Jewett

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СКАЧАТЬ spend Christmas week with them,” pursued Mr. Dwerrihouse, after a moment’s pause.

      “And you are coming?”

      “I cannot tell. It must depend on the issue of this business which I have in hand. You have heard perhaps that we are about to construct a branch line from Blackwater to Stockbridge.”

      I explained that I had been for some months away from England, and had therefore heard nothing of the contemplated improvement. Mr. Dwerrihouse smiled complacently.

      “It will be an improvement,” he said, “a great improvement. Stockbridge is a flourishing town, and needs but a more direct railway communication with the metropolis to become an important centre of commerce. This branch was my own idea. I brought the project before the board, and have myself superintended the execution of it up to the present time.”

      “You are an East Anglian director, I presume?”

      “My interest in the company,” replied Mr. Dwerrihouse, “is threefold. I am a director, I am a considerable shareholder, and, as head of the firm of Dwerrihouse, Dwerrihouse and Craik, I am the company’s principal solicitor.”

      Loquacious, self-important, full of his pet project, and apparently unable to talk on any other subject, Mr. Dwerrihouse then went on to tell of the opposition he had encountered and the obstacles he had overcome in the cause of the Stockbridge branch. I was entertained with a multitude of local details and local grievances. The rapacity of one squire, the impracticability of another, the indignation of the rector whose glebe was threatened, the culpable indifference of the Stockbridge townspeople, who could not be brought to see that their most vital interests hinged upon a junction with the Great East Anglian line; the spite of the local newspaper, and the unheard-of difficulties attending the Common question, were each and all laid before me with a circumstantiality that possessed the deepest interest for my excellent fellow-traveller, but none whatever for myself. From these, to my despair, he went on to more intricate matters: to the approximate expenses of construction per mile; to the estimates sent in by different contractors; to the probable traffic returns of the new line; to the provisional clauses of the new act as enumerated in Schedule D of the company’s last half-yearly report; and so on and on and on, till my head ached and my attention flagged and my eyes kept closing in spite of every effort that I made to keep them open. At length I was roused by these words:

      “Seventy-five thousand pounds, cash down.”

      “Seventy-five thousand pounds, cash down,” I repeated, in the liveliest tone I could assume. “That is a heavy sum.”

      “A heavy sum to carry here,” replied Mr. Dwerrihouse, pointing significantly to his breast-pocket, “but a mere fraction of what we shall ultimately have to pay.”

      “You do not mean to say that you have seventy-five thousand pounds at this moment upon your person?” I exclaimed.

      “My good sir, have I not been telling you so for the last half-hour?” said Mr. Dwerrihouse, testily. “That money has to be paid over at half-past eight o’clock this evening, at the office of Sir Thomas’s solicitors, on completion of the deed of sale.”

      “But how will you get across by night from Blackwater to Stockbridge with seventy-five thousand pounds in your pocket?”

      “To Stockbridge!” echoed the lawyer. “I find I have made myself very imperfectly understood. I thought I had explained how this sum only carries us as far as Mallingford—the first stage, as it were, of our journey—and how our route from Blackwater to Mallingford lies entirely through Sir Thomas Liddell’s property.”

      “I beg your pardon,”I stammered. I fear my thoughts were wandering. So you only go as far as Mallingford tonight?”

      “Precisely. I shall get a conveyance from the Blackwater Arms. And you?”

      “Oh, Jelf sends a trap to meet me at Clayborough! Can I be the bearer of any message from you?”

      “You may say, if you please, Mr. Langford, that I wished I could have been your companion all the way, and that I will come over, if possible, before Christmas.”

      “Nothing more?”

      Mr. Dwerrihouse smiled grimly. “Well,” he said, “you may tell my cousin that she need not burn the hall down in my honour this time, and that I shall be obliged if she will order the blue-room chimney to be swept before I arrive.”

      “That sounds tragic. Had you a conflagration on the occasion of your last visit to Dumbleton?”

      “Something like it. There had been no fire lighted in my bedroom since the spring, the flue was foul, and the rooks had built in it; so when I went up to dress for dinner I found the room full of smoke and the chimney on fire. Are we already at Blackwater?”

      The train had gradually come to a pause while Mr. Dwerrihouse was speaking, and, on putting my head out of the window, I could see the station some few hundred yards ahead. There was another train before us blocking the way, and the guard was making use of the delay to collect the Blackwater tickets. I had scarcely ascertained our position when the ruddy-faced official appeared at our carriage door.

      “Tickets, sir!” said he.

      “I am for Clayborough,” I replied, holding out the tiny pink card.

      He took it, glanced at it by the light of his little lantern, gave it back, looked, as I fancied, somewhat sharply at my fellow-traveller, and disappeared.

      “He did not ask for yours,” I said, with some surprise.

      “They never do,” replied Mr. Dwerrihouse; “they all know me, and of course I travel free.”

      “Blackwater! Blackwater!” cried the porter, running along the platform beside us as we glided into the station.

      Mr. Dwerrihouse pulled out his deed-box, put his travelling-cap in his pocket, resumed his hat, took down his umbrella, and prepared to be gone.

      “Many thanks, Mr. Langford, for your society,” he said, with old-fashioned courtesy. “I wish you a good-evening.”

      “Good-evening,” I replied, putting out my hand.

      But he either did not see it or did not choose to see it, and, slightly lifting his hat, stepped out upon the platform. Having done this, he moved slowly away and mingled with the departing crowd.

      Leaning forward to watch him out of sight, I trod upon something which proved to be a cigar-case. It had fallen, no doubt, from the pocket of his waterproof coat, and was made of dark morocco leather, with a silver monogram upon the side. I sprang out of the carriage just as the guard came up to lock me in.

      “Is there one minute to spare?” I asked, eagerly. “The gentleman who travelled down with me from town has dropped his cigar-case; he is not yet out of the station.”

      “Just a minute and a half, sir,” replied the guard. “You must be quick.”

      I dashed along the platform as fast as my feet could carry me. It was a large station, and Mr. Dwerrihouse had by this time got more than half-way to the farther end.

      I, however, saw him distinctly, moving slowly with the stream. Then, as I drew nearer, I saw that he had met some friend, that they were talking as they walked, СКАЧАТЬ