Chapter 15

THE GREATER SECRET.

It was late that night that a startled knocking came at the door of
Elmdene. Laura had been in her room all day, and Robert was moodily
smoking his pipe by the fire, when this harsh and sudden summons broke
in upon his thoughts. There in the porch was Jones, the stout
head-butler of the Hall, hatless, scared, with the raindrops shining in
the lamplight upon his smooth, bald head.

"If you please, Mr. McIntyre, sir, would it trouble you to step up to
the Hall?" he cried. "We are all frightened, sir, about master."

Robert caught up his hat and started at a run, the frightened butler
trotting heavily beside him. It had been a day of excitement and
disaster. The young artist's heart was heavy within him, and the
shadow of some crowning trouble seemed to have fallen upon his soul.

"What is the matter with your master, then?" he asked, as he slowed down
into a walk.

"We don't know, sir; but we can't get an answer when we knock at the
laboratory door. Yet he's there, for it's locked on the inside. It has
given us all a scare, sir, that, and his goin's-on during the day."

"His goings-on?"

"Yes, sir; for he came back this morning like a man demented, a-talkin'
to himself, and with his eyes starin' so that it was dreadful to look at
the poor dear gentleman. Then he walked about the passages a long time,
and he wouldn't so much as look at his luncheon, but he went into the
museum, and gathered all his jewels and things, and carried them into
the laboratory. We don't know what he's done since then, sir, but his
furnace has been a-roarin', and his big chimney spoutin' smoke like a
Birmingham factory. When night came we could see his figure against
the light, a-workin' and a-heavin' like a man possessed. No dinner
would he have, but work, and work, and work. Now it's all quiet, and
the furnace cold, and no smoke from above, but we can't get no answer
from him, sir, so we are scared, and Miller has gone for the police, and
I came away for you."

They reached the Hall as the butler finished his explanation, and there
outside the laboratory door stood the little knot of footmen and
ostlers, while the village policeman, who had just arrived, was holding
his bull's-eye to the keyhole, and endeavouring to peep through.

"The key is half-turned," he said. "I can't see nothing except just the
light."

"Here's Mr. McIntyre," cried half-a-dozen voices, as Robert came
forward.

"We'll have to beat the door in, sir," said the policeman. "We can't
get any sort of answer, and there's something wrong."

Twice and thrice they threw their united