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The Inn at the Red Oak

L >> Latta Griswold >> The Inn at the Red Oak




But with an impatient gesture, as if to thrust aside these tragic
memories, he stepped across the threshold, and kneeling at the hearth,
took the wood from Tom's arms and began to lay a fire. In the meantime
his friend fumbled at the window casements, opened them, and let in the
light of day and the pure air of out-of-doors. Soon the fire was
crackling cheerily on the great andirons and casting its bright
reflection on the dark oak panelling of the walls. Nothing had been
disturbed--the old cabinet with the lions' heads stood opposite the
window; the little _escritoire_, behind which he had crouched on the
fatal night, was pushed back against the wall; the chairs, the tables,
thick with dust, stood just as they had been standing for many years.

"Do you realize, Tom," Dan said, as they stood side by side watching the
blazing logs, "that it is sixteen years since General Pointelle stayed at
the Inn and used this room? And the treasure, if there is any treasure,
has been mouldering here all that time."

"Let's get at it," said Tom. "I confess this place gives me the creeps.
Have you got my translation of the directions?"

"Yes, here it is." Dan spread out the bit of paper on one of the tables.
"'The hidden door is released by a spring beneath the hand of the lady in
the picture nearest the fireplace on the north side of the room.' Ah!
that must be it--that old landscape let into the panel there." He walked
nearer and examined it closely.

It was a simple landscape, a garden in the foreground, forest and hills
in the distance; and in the midst a lady in Eighteenth century costume
caressing the head of a greyhound. It was beautifully mellow in tone, and
might well have been a production of Gainsborough, though the Frosts had
preserved no such tradition.

Dan began to fumble, according to the directions, beneath the hand of
the stately lady, pressing vigourously here and there with thumb and
forefinger. "What's that?" he cried suddenly. A faint click, as of a
spring in action, had sounded sharp in the stillness, but apparently with
no other effect. "By Jove!" he exclaimed, "I believe there is something
behind it. You heard the click? See there! the panel's opened a bit at
the side." Surely enough, there was a long crack on the right--the length
of the picture. "Here, let's push."

Careless of the landscape, they put their hands upon the panel and
pressed with all their force to the left. It yielded slowly, slipping
back side-wise into the wall, and revealed a narrow opening, beyond which
was a little circular stairway, leading apparently to some chamber above.

"Here's the entrance to the secret chamber all right," Dan exclaimed.
"Let's see where it goes to." He climbed in and started up the winding
flight of stairs, Tom close behind him. About half way up the height
of the Oak Parlour he came to a door. "Can't go any farther," he
called to Tom.

"What's the matter?"

"There's a door here; it leads, evidently, into some little room between
the Oak Parlour and the bedroom next. Who would ever have guessed it?"

"Can't you open the door; is it locked?"

Dan fumbled about till he found and turned the knob. "No," he answered.
"I've opened it. But it's pitch dark inside. Get a candle."

He waited anxiously while Tom went below again to get a candle, a
strange feeling of dread creeping over him now that at last he was about
to penetrate the secret which had been of such tragic purport in his
life. In a moment Tom had returned, a candle in either hand, one of
which he handed to Dan, and together they entered the secret chamber. It
was a little room scarcely six feet square, without light, and so far as
they could see without ventilation. As they stood looking about the
candle flickered strangely casting weird shadows over the walls.
Suddenly they saw at their feet a tiny golden casket, and then, in a
corner of the room a row of small cloth bags, several of which had been
ripped open, so that a stream of golden coin flowed out upon the floor.
Nearby stood another little golden chest; and Tom, lifting the lid,
started back astonished. For there sparkling and glowing in the candle
light as though they were living moving things, lay a heap of precious
gems--diamonds, rubies, opals, sapphires, amethysts, that might have
been the ransom of a princess.

"It's a treasure right enough!" cried Dan. "But what's this?" He turned
to the opposite corner where there lay a heap of something covered with a
great black cloth. They approached gingerly, and Dan stooped and picked
up an edge of the covering. "It's a cloak," he exclaimed. Startled, he
paused for a moment; then quickly pulled the cloak away, uncovering, to
their horror, a lifeless body.

"Tom!" Dan cried in a ghastly whisper. "A man has died here."

Tom held the candle over the gruesome heap. "But who?" he asked in a
hoarse whisper.

For reply Dan pointed significantly to the cloak which he had dropped on
the floor.

"What!" cried Tom. "Good God! the old Marquis! But how? I don't
understand--" he added, staring blankly.

"He must have come here the afternoon he pretended to leave the Inn, must
have learned the secret passage somehow. It was he who loosened the
casement in the Oak Parlour that night, and got his message to Bonhomme.
He was waiting here for him. Can't you see it all--the panel slipped
back; he couldn't open it again; Bonhomme didn't come; he was caught like
a rat in a trap."

"My God, what a fate!"

"We can't leave his body here. We must give it decent burial, you and I,
Tom, for we can't let this be known."

"And the treasure?"

"Ah! there was treasure, wasn't there? Wait, let's see what is in the
little casket." He picked up the golden casket that they had stepped over
as they entered, and raised the lid. A single scrap of paper was inside
on the little velvet cushion, inscribed in the same handwriting as the
paper of directions, "_Pour Eloise de Boisdhyver_."

"But come," Tom whispered, holding back the door, "I can't stand this any
longer. We'll come back again, and do what must be done. Come, Dan."

Dan gave a last look into the strange horrible little room, then he
followed his friend. They closed the door behind them and crept slowly
down the narrow winding stairs to the Oak Parlour, leaving the
treasure in the secret chamber and the Marquis guarding it in the
silence and darkness of death. What had been so basely striven for was
sorrily won at last.

THE END.

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