The Heath Hover Mystery Read online

holding ittighter. But the tiny creature became almost frantic, striking itsclaws into his hand. He released it, and it darted like lightning intothe far corner of the room, where it crouched, still growling.

  For all his scepticism the man was conscious of a chill feeling in theregion of the spine. He reached out a hand for the square bottle. Thehand shook, and glass clinked against glass more than once as he filledout a liberal measure. This he tossed off, and as he glanced againtowards the centre of attention the glass fell from his hand on to thetable. _The door had opened_.

  Had opened--was opening. As yet but a few inches of dense black slit,but it seemed to be gaining in width. Mervyn gazed at it with dilatedeyes, and as he did so he realised that the blood had receded from hisface, leaving it cold--clammy. What on earth--or beyond the earth--could have opened that door, secured as it was with a solid lock, thekey of which was at that moment safe within one of the drawers of hiswriting table? What on earth--or from beyond the earth--was he going tobehold when that door should be opened to its full width? Moved by anatural instinct of material defence, he backed towards the fireplace--still without taking his gaze from that slowly opening door--and bentdown as though to seize the poker, but refrained, as the convictionflooded his mind that whatever it might be that he was about to meetcertainly no material weapon would be available against it. Again hefound his voice.

  "Any one there?" he repeated, this time conscious of very much more thana suspicion of a quaver in his voice.

  As if in answer, the door noiselessly opened further. The black gap nowoccupied half the doorway. And then, while he was meditating a franticrush forward to make one desperate effort at clearing up the mysterywhatever it might be, something occurred to divert the awful tensity ofapprehension which had about reached its climax.

  Through the doleful, long drawn howling of the winter wind and therattle of sleet, came a cry. A cry--ever so faint--distant--but justaudible; a cry, as of distress, of utter, dire, and hopeless extremity--and it came from without. And it was clearly and unmistakably human.

  CHAPTER TWO.

  THE CRY FROM THE ICE.

  Every nerve rigid and tense Mervyn listened again. Yes--it wasrepeated. It echoed forth more distinctly now upon the dismal night,and it came from far up the great pond above. Quickly he rose and threwon a warm cloak, and as quickly reached the front door, turned the key,and went out. Somebody was in imminent peril--and then he remembered.The ice!

  He sprang up the path stairway which led to the sluice, and even as hedid so the thought flashed through his mind that he had been on the eveof falling asleep in his chair when the phenomenon of the door handlehad befallen to start him wide awake. No more thought however did hegive to this, as he reached the level of the sluice and looked out.

  The long triangle of the pond narrowing away between its overhangingwoods, shone in the moonlight a gleaming sheet of ice, whose silversurface the drive of sleet was already whitening, and the firs in thedark woods which flowed down the banks were scintillating withhoarfrost. Now again, from far up that long gleaming triangle, came theraucous, agonised appeal for aid, this time quite distinctly audible.

  "Some one's got stuck there in the ice," said Mervyn to himself. "Butwhat the devil is he doing there at this time of night? Some poacher Isuppose. Well, poaching isn't a capital crime." And raising his voicehe answered the shout with a vigorous and reassuring halloo.

  The sleet had suddenly ceased, and the clouds parting somewhat, showedglimpses of a rushing moon. Far up the frozen surface a darkinterruption was just discernible. Here it was that the ice had parted,and from here now came a responsive, but weakening shout of hopelesshuman extremity.

  "Keep up--keep up," bellowed Mervyn through his hands. "I'm coming."

  He did not stop to think, he did his thinking while he moved. He wentquickly down the sluice path to his house, all superstitious midnightimaginings thrown to the winds. To have started straight for the spotwould have been to render no earthly service to the submerged man. Hewould have been powerless for anything save to stand on the bank andencourage him drowning, wherefore the additional few minutes sacrificedto returning to the house and procuring a ladder might mean thedifference in any case between life and death.

  The ladder was not found quite so easily as he had reckoned on, and whenfound, it proved a trifle heavier than he had expected. In spite of thebiting cold he was streaming with perspiration by the time he haddragged it up the steep path to the level of the sluice again, and bythe time he had brought it to the gate which opened into the paththrough the wood which skirted the length of the long triangle of ice hewas wondering if he could get any further with it. But he sent forth aloud, encouraging shout, and without waiting for an answer, held on hisway.

  Fortunately every inch of the latter was known to him, and shafts ofmoonlight, darting through the leafless wood aided him appreciably.Still the way seemed interminable, and his progress, weighted as it was,was perforce slow. He knew exactly where to find the spot, and, lo--there it was.

  "Are you there?" he cried, parting some elder stems, to reach the edge,and thrusting out the ladder along the smooth, shining surface. Noanswer came, but in the glint of moonlight he could see the shattered,heaving ice slabs, and wedged in between these, supported by both armsextended, he made out the head and shoulders of a man.

  The latter, obviously, was not more than half conscious, indeed it waslittle short of a miracle that he had not, in a state of relaxedmuscular power, lost all hold and slid down to his frozen death in theblack water. Obviously, too, he was in a state of collapse, andincapable of helping himself. The helping would all devolve upon hiswould-be rescuer. The latter, in cold blood, would not in the leasthave relished the job.

  It is curious how the glow of a life-saving attempt will warm thecoldest blood. John Seward Mervyn was a complete and genuine cynic; yetto effect the rescue of this totally unknown stranger, and that at greatperil to himself, here in the biting freezing midnight, seemed to him atthat moment the one thing worth living for.

  At great peril to himself. Yes, for he knew the water here to be amatter of four fathoms in depth--it might as well have been four hundredfor the result would be the same. It was likely enough that inattempting single-handed to get the stranger out he would share thestranger's fate.

  The ice cracked and bent as he pushed out the ladder along its surface;and cautiously, and lying flat in order to distribute his weight, madehis way along it. Then it broke, with a glass-like splintering, andjets of water spurted through. Then the moon was again obscured, and awild drive of sleet whirled down.

  "Here, buck up, man, and lay hold of the ladder," he panted, havingattained within grasp of his objective. The latter, whose staring eyesand blue lips showed the very last stage of exhaustion, made a wildattempt to comply, but his hand just missed its grasp, and thesupporting ice slabs, loosened by the effort, would have let him throughand in another moment would have closed over his head, when his wristwas seized in a tolerably firm grip.

  "Now--you're all right," gasped Mervyn. "Grab hold with the other hand,and work your way along the rungs of the ladder. Come on. Buck up."

  The nearly drowned, and wholly frozen man seemed to understand, foralthough powerless for speech he did just what he was told. There was amingling of splashing and glassy splintering as the ice gave way beneaththis double weight, but Mervyn's head was clear, and he distributed hisown weight while piloting the other along the half submerged ladder. Atlast slowly and laboriously, foot by foot, they regained the bank.

  "Here. You get outside a great toothful of this," said Mervyn,producing the square whisky bottle which he had shoved hastily into hisside pocket with an eye to just such a contingency, and had hurriedlydeposited under a tree, when starting to venture upon the ice. "Thenwe'll sprint as hard as we can for my diggings. Do as I say," he added,sharply, as the other hesitated. "It may mean the difference betweenlife and death."

 
The stranger, who had seemed to hesitate, now obeyed, and took a liberalpull at the potent spirit. His rescuer followed his example.

  "Here, take another pull," urged the latter. "Nothing like it, on topof a freezing soak. Go ahead. It can't hurt you under thecircumstances."

  The stranger complied, and the effect was nearly instantaneous. Hischattering teeth were stilled, and the awful numbness that held hisframe, relaxed, as the generous warmth of the spirit ran through hisveins. Still he did not speak. Mervyn eyed him critically.

  "Come along," he said. "My crib's just handy. Sooner we get there thebetter, for I'm in as risky a state as you are. Man, but I'm juststeaming with perspiration, and a chill upon that on an icy night likethis--at my age--no thank you! Here--I'll give you an arm. You must beclean played out."

  "I am," said the other, speaking