Chapter 22

THE END OF IT ALL.

Towton could not quite understand the situation, as there was no time to consider matters. All he knew was that the Bolly Dam had burst, and even had Miss Jewin not spoken, the appalling noise would have informed him of the catastrophe. With Ida in his arms he spurred his horse frantically out of the gate and across the village bridge. He found the crooked street filled with people, called out by the unexpected thunder.

"The dam's burst: get on the high ground," shouted Towton, and with a yell of fear men, women, and children began to run wildly in the direction of the gorge and to disappear amongst the houses in the hope of gaining some level beyond the height of the down-coming flood. But there was scanty time for safety. The hollow booming sound of the waters plunging through the narrows sounded ever nearer and nearer with terrible distinctness: it seemed as though the waters were bellowing for their prey. In a moment the Colonel comprehended that it was too late to skirt the village and gain the winding road, where they would be safe. Ida gave a cry of alarm as he wrenched round the now startled horse and clattered through the village street on his way down the valley. It seemed the only chance.

"I'll save you yet, my darling," muttered Towton, setting his teeth. "We must make for Gatehead," and he drove his spurs into the animal, which now was becoming unmanageable with the roaring of the flood. Ida, almost insensible with terror, clung to her lover's neck, and the horse, making no more of the double burden than if it had been a feather, tore at top speed along the road between the torrent and the precipice. There was no safety on either side, as the precipice could not be climbed, and the dry bed of the stream merely offered a deeper grave. Fortunately, the road sloped gradually to the mouth of the valley, some two miles away, therefore the downward trend offered extra means to escape the pursuing greedy waters. A backward glance showed Towton that a tremendous flood was shooting out of the bottle-mouth of the upper gorge with terrific rapidity. The whole of the huge lake, artificial as well as natural, was emptying itself in one vast outpour, and owing to the narrowness of the valley the concentrated force was gigantic. If the flood caught them they would either be dashed to pieces against the rocks or would be borne onward--horse and maid and man--to be expelled at Gatehead, as if fired from the mouth of a cannon.

"Oh, God, save us! Oh, God, save us!" was all that Ida could moan.

"He will; He will," cried Towton, riding under spur and whip with a mad joy in the adventure, perilous as it was. "He will save the innocent and punish the guilty. Never fear, never fear, my darling."

On roared the enormous body of water, curling like a mighty wave crested with foam and glistening like a colossal jewel in the serene sunshine. It passed with a hoarse triumphant screaming over the fated village, and in a single moment Bowderstyke was not. Bearing _d�bris_ and bodies of cattle and men, women and children on its breast, the water rolled majestically on its destroying way. Like a wall of steel it stood up, stretching from wall to wall of the valley, and before it tore the terrified horse, warned by its instinct of rapidly approaching danger.

"We are lost! we are lost!" screamed Ida, hiding her face on Towton's shoulder. "We can never escape. It's a mile further."

"There's a crack--a path--a break in the precipice," panted the man, almost despairing of saving what he loved best in the world. "If we can gain that we can scramble up, and--and---- Great God! How it travels!"

From the sides of the valley trees were being wrenched up by their roots, and even the stones lying in the bed of the torrent were being lifted and swept onward like pieces of straw. Owing to the increasing breadth of the valley the shouting and the level of the flood had somewhat lessened, but the hoarse, steady murmur with which it smoothly advanced seemed to be even more terrible than its triumphant screaming. Nearer and nearer it rolled, towering, as it seems to the desperate fugitives, right up to the high heavens. The horse raced onward furiously, but there seemed to be no chance of escaping that rapidly approaching death-wave, which swept along with relentless speed. The man and woman were both silent, and both prayed inwardly, as they faced the eleventh hour of death.

And it was the eleventh hour, for there was still hope. Rounding a corner swiftly Towton rose in his stirrups and sent forth a cry almost as hoarse as that of the flood. A short distance ahead he saw a streak of green grass marking the ruddy stone face of the precipice, and knew that here was the crack to which he had referred. It was a mere chink in the wall, of no great width, caused, no doubt, by the volcanic action which had formed the valley in far distant ages. Many a time as a lad had Towton climbed up that narrow natural staircase to the moors above, but never had he expected to find it a means of preserving his own life and the life he valued dearer than his own. Setting his teeth, he glanced backward and then urged the horse to renewed efforts. The wall of water was almost upon them, advancing with terrible and steady persistence. The last moment seemed to be at hand.

Suddenly the Colonel wrenched at the horse's bit and pulled the animal up with a jerk. As it fell back on its haunches he slipped off with the almost insensible girl in his arms and ran desperately towards the sloping green bank, which showed itself like a port of safety between the bare, bleak stones. As he gained it the horse, having recovered itself, rushed past with a loose bridle and with the stirrups lashing its sides. But Towton paid no heed. Almost in a dream he scrambled up the bank, bearing Ida as though she were a feather-weight. With straining eyes and bursting temples, and with his heart beating furiously, he clambered desperately, dragging the girl rather than carrying her, as he needed at least one hand free to grip the tough grasses. Fortunately the slope was gradual, and had it not been there would have been no hope of escape. As it was, when they were a considerable way up the mighty wave surged majestically past, and its waters shot up the crevice with gigantic force. This was rather a help than a hindrance, as it assisted the almost broken man to mount higher. But to the end of his days Colonel Towton never knew how he saved his wife. All he could remember was straining upward, dragging the now insensible woman with aching limbs and a blood-red mist before his eyes. When his brain was somewhat clearer he found himself bending over Ida in a turfy nook, while barely three feet below him the grey water gurgled and sang and bubbled as if in a witch's cauldron.

"Safe! Safe!" muttered Towton, and dropped insensible across the inanimate body of the woman he had so miraculously saved from a terrible death.

Nine months later, when the cuckoo had brought summer to the land, and the earth was gay with flowers, two married men met unexpectedly in the viridarium of the Athenian Club. They came face to face under the peristyle, and after mutual glances of surprise and congratulation burst out laughing. Then followed a warm handshake and merry speech.

"Well, married man," said Vernon, as he sat opposite his friend at a small table and ordered a half-pint of champagne to signalise the happy meeting. "So you are back from your honeymoon?"

"As you see," said the military benedict; "and you have returned with Lady Vernon from the classic shores of Italy."

"We came back last week, and are staying in town for a few days before going to Slimthorp."

"Welcome by the tenantry, triumphal arches, addresses, dinners and speeches, and what not, I suppose?" observed the Colonel smiling.

"Oh, yes. The tenants are delighted to have a master who will take an interest in their doings and a mistress who can act the Lady Bountiful. Lucy and I are about to enter into our kingdom, so we intend to take full advantage of the satisfaction of our loving subjects."

"You are devilish lucky, Vernon. I have scarcely a loving subject left, and Bowderstyke Valley has been swept clean from end to end."

"As I saw," replied Sir Arthur with a shudder at the recollection. "By jove! Colonel, you don't know what I suffered that afternoon when I thought that you and Ida were smashed to pieces. Do you remember how Lucy fainted when you appeared coming across the moorland with Ida hanging half dead on your arm? It was a meeting of the living and the dead."

"Any woman less plucky than Ida would have died," said Towton, his face lighting up with a fond smile. "When we got beyond the highest level of the water she had fainted, and then I did. It was Ida who recovered first, and, by Jupiter, sir, she brought me round! How we climbed to the top of the moor I don't know, but she was as plucky as a man, bless her!"

"How is she now, Colonel?"

"As happy as the day is long, although I don't deny that we both feel sad when we look at our wrecked property. However, with her money we intend to rebuild Bowderstyke Village and to reconstruct Gatehead, which was also destroyed, if you remember. I daresay we'll be able to inveigle people to live in the valley by offering land at low terms. In a year or two we will have plenty of tenants to give you and Lady Vernon a rousing welcome when you pay us a visit."

"That won't be for some time, Colonel, as we have to look after our own kingdom. I am glad to see that you are looking so well. When was it that we last met?"

Towton laughed and his eyes twinkled. "You must be happy to have lost your memory so completely," he said with a jolly laugh. "Why, after our mutual wedding breakfast at Lady Corsoon's; don't you recollect? Weren't we married in great style on the same day, and didn't you go to Italy and Greece for a honeymoon while Ida and I returned to The Grange?"

"It all seems like a dream," said Vernon absently, and a cloud passed over his face, "and in my newly-found happiness I have tried to forget these sad memories. We never had an exhaustive talk over things, Colonel, and now that our wives are not here I should like to ask a few questions."

"Ask away. It's just as well we are alone. Ida doesn't care to talk of that dreadful day or of her association with Miss Hest."

"Nor does Lucy. That dreadful woman! What a dare-devil she was, and as clever as they make them."

"She was a sight too clever," replied Towton drily, "as she burnt her fingers at the last. I suppose you know that Miss Jewin was caught?"

"You wrote me something about it."

"Didn't Lady Corsoon tell you anything?"

"No. Why should she?" said Vernon with a look of surprise.

"Well, as you knew the secret of her pawning those jewels, I thought she would have told you of their recovery."

"What! Were they recovered? Who had them?"

"Miss Jewin. She escaped, but Drench caught her. She sent for me before she committed suicide."

Vernon looked horrified. "Did she kill herself, poor wretch?"

"Yes. She hanged herself by her garters in her cell. I expect she knew that she would get a long term of imprisonment, and so preferred to get out of the world. But, as I said, she sent for me and told me where the jewels were. She also threw a light on the catastrophe of the Bolly Dam breaking."

"We knew that Hokar exploded a charge of dynamite," said Vernon looking inquiringly at his friend. "Don't you remember how he could not get away in time, and confessed when dying that he had been ordered by Miss Hest to blow up the dam when she gave the signal by firing a revolver."

"Oh, yes. I remember that as it all came out in the papers," said Towton with a shrug; "and that's just the point. Listen, and---- Oh, here's the wine."

Vernon sent away the waiter after he filled their glasses, and the two gentlemen drank to their dear wives and to a happy future for themselves as married men. When this ceremony was ended, the Colonel related what he had learned from unfortunate Miss Jewin before she passed away.

"I, dragged him down in disguise to Gerby Hall, and there locked him in an upper room. Miss Jewin acted as gaoler, but in spite of her vigilance the wretched man managed to break one of his prison bars and escape. He then appeared in the drawing-room and denounced Miss Hest. Always prepared for further treachery on the part of Maunders, and never being in the habit of leaving anything to chance, Frances had arranged that she should have the dam broken down in the event of the police coming to arrest her, and so they would be destroyed."

"But she would be destroyed with them," said Vernon at this point, "and as a matter of fact she was. Don't you remember how her body and that of Maunders clutching one another in a death-grip were found when the flood subsided? She anticipated her death."

"She did nothing of the sort, sir, as Miss Jewin told me. The betrayal of her identity with Francis Hest and with The Spider came unexpectedly because of Maunders' escape. But, always making things sure, she had already posted Hokar at the dam, where he had placed a charge of dynamite under the wall. Miss Hest didn't expect trouble, as she thought she had thrown dust in my eyes by the clever way in which she had acted."

"I think she did, Colonel, and very successfully," remarked Vernon smiling.

"I admit it. She was a wonderfully clever woman and extremely unscrupulous. However, on the chance that some danger might come along she posted Hokar at Bolly Dam and told him to fire the charge when he heard the report of a revolver."

Vernon nodded. "I remember on that day how the wind was blowing up the gorge and how clearly the sounds came up from the village. Hokar heard the shots very easily."

"He heard two or three, and might have guessed that his infernal mistress was not giving the agreed signal. She was shooting Maunders, if you remember. It was her intention after we left to have escaped by a similar crack up the side of the precipice behind Gerby Hall to that which saved Ida and myself. But she didn't intend to give the signal until she was on the upward journey with Miss Jewin; Maunders was to be left behind to drown in the house. But Miss Hest forgot for the moment and let her temper get the better of her. By firing the shots she gave the signal, and Hokar blew up the dam prematurely."

"I see. But if Miss Jewin escaped why didn't Miss Hest?"

"Ah, that's where her Nemesis came in. Maunders caught her by the leg and toppled her over, then he gripped her throat, and they were both drowned."

"Serve her right, and him also," said Vernon coolly.

"I agree with you. They were a dangerous couple, and it seems like retributive justice that Maunders should bring all her carefully-laid plans of escape to grief. Miss Jewin at the first alarm caught up the box of Lady Corsoon's jewels and fled out of the back way and up the crevice, as arranged. She concealed herself for a time, and was warned by the exhaustive reports in the papers of what was going on."

"That's the worst of those papers," said Vernon with disgust, "as I found out when I was a detective. They warn the criminals of everything. I suppose Miss Jewin saw how the whole story of The Spider was set forth and appreciated the sensation it caused."

"Of course she did. I was angry at the papers myself, for The Grange was simply infested with reporters and journalists and photographers. However, after the inquest the sensation died away. Everybody has, more or less, forgotten the matter by this time. It's just as well, as neither I nor you, Vernon, wished to be bothered with questions."

"Quite so. That was why I remained abroad with my wife for such a time."

"And that was why I went back with Ida to Bowderstyke," said the Colonel. "However, to continue. Drench caught Miss Jewin and she hanged herself in her cell, as I have told you. I found the box of jewels and returned them to your mother-in-law. Thus her husband has never found out how she pawned them; so that's all right."

"I hope it has been a lesson to her."

"Not a bit of it. I dined with her a week ago, and so did Ida. Afterwards we went to a bridge drive and Lady Corsoon played furiously. She's a born gambler. But Sir Julius does not know, and never will know, how she pawned his much-prized family jewels."

"I wonder Miss Jewin didn't sell them?"

"She had enough money to live on in a small way, and, of course, lived plainly to avert suspicion. The jewels she kept as a peace-offering in case she should be arrested. She hoped to make terms by threatening to denounce Lady Corsoon. However, her heart failed her, and she handed them over to me."

"Poor woman. By the way, Colonel, what was your wife's real opinion of Miss Hest? I could never quite understand."

Towton was silent for a few minutes. "It is hard to say. Ida told me that she really liked Miss Hest for a long time, and thought that she was a genuine friend. But Miss Hest showed the cloven foot by trying to get Ida married to Maunders, and----"

"Why to Maunders?"

"Because he was under Miss Hest's thumb, and if he obtained possession of Ida's fortune by marriage Miss Hest undoubtedly would have had the spending of it."

"But this marriage to Francis. How could that be when Francis didn't exist?"

"Oh, I think that was a mere blind to make Ida fancy Francis was a real person and not Miss Hest in disguise. I can never understand," added the Colonel with a thoughtful look, "how it was that Ida didn't detect the woman under the man. Women are so quick in these matters."

"It was the very boldness of the disguise," said Vernon emphatically. "I was taken in myself at that Georgian Hall Bazaar. A less clever woman than Miss Hest would have made herself look utterly different to her natural self. As it was, she scarcely changed her looks at all save by wearing a man's dress and painting that cicatrice on her face. Anyone would have said that the supposed brother was the sister dressed up. Such actually was the case, and--well, you know that everyone was taken in. A thousand pities, Colonel, that Miss Hest did not apply her splendid faculties to better purpose. She was undeniably very clever."

"A criminal genius, as we have often said when we talked of The Spider. I must say that Professor Gail, although he admired her talents, was staggered when he found out from the papers that she was the renowned Spider. I believe he had a fit. However, he has now made up endless romantic stories about her, and actually got an engagement with his wife on the strength of having known her. It's an ill wind which blows no one any good."

"If Frances Hest had lived and could have escaped hanging and imprisonment, Colonel, she would have been engaged at a music-hall to appear at a salary of hundreds a week. This age likes romantic criminality."

"I think Miss Hest's criminality was prosaic in the extreme," said the Colonel very drily. "She couldn't earn money honestly and therefore took the left-handed path. All her philanthropy was a sham, and I really believe that she had the Bolly Dam built less to supply the villages with water than to protect herself from arrest."

"But the human lives----"

"Pooh! She thought nothing of human life, and was a kind of female Napoleon in that way. She wrung Dimsdale's neck as though he had been a chicken the moment she found her personal safety was in danger. Had he not torn off her mask and thus recognised her she would have spared him. A marvellously clever woman: she quite took me in. I never expected to find The Spider in her, and had not Maunders escaped to betray her I would have believed that the non-existing Francis was the blackguard. And more, she would have got ten thousand pounds from Ida, and perhaps in America would have started on a new career of roguery. However, I recovered the signed document and the cheque from the body, so nothing was said about that matter in the papers. I was glad for my wife's sake."

"What became of Bahadur?"

"He bolted from the country and has never been heard of. His uncle, Hokar, as you know, died after the explosion."

"And Mrs. Bedge?"

"She buried all memory of Constantine with his bones, but I think she regards him as a martyr who was led astray by Miss Hest. Yet from the lips of The Spider herself I learned that it was Maunders who induced that very clever lady to become a criminal."

"Do you think Maunders himself blackmailed his aunt?"

"He was quite capable of it. But I think Miss Hest did that to protect Maunders from possible suspicion. For no one would think that the man had anything to do with the matter of The Spider, who blackmailed his adopted mother. Simply a smart trick of Miss Hest's, Vernon, that's all."

"Have some more champagne, Colonel?"

"Thank you, no more. Come along and see my wife."

"I have to meet Lucy at Swan & Edgar's," said Vernon glancing at his watch.

"I'll go with you there first and then we can have afternoon tea together."

"Right you are, Colonel, on condition that you dine with Lucy and myself at our hotel and come to the theatre afterwards."

Towton nodded. "Well, Ida and I are up in town for a frolic, so we'll come."

"When do you return to Bowderstyke?"

"In two or three days. I'm seeing about the re-building of the Bolly Dam."

"Isn't that dangerous?" asked Vernon as they left the club. "No. I am arranging for large channels to carry off the water. Besides, had not the dam been blown up by that Indian beast the catastrophe would not have taken place. Any more questions?"

"No," said Sir Arthur after a pause. "I think you have enlightened me on every point. We'll talk no more of the matter."

"Not in the presence of our wives, at all events," said the Colonel bluffly, and stepping out smartly along Pall Mall. "But when I think of all the mystery and devilish cantrips we have had to do with, and how narrowly Ida and I escaped a dreadful death, I can only thank God that we are happily married. There's one small domestic animal, if it can be called so, Vernon, on which I can never look without a shudder."

"What's that?" asked Sir Arthur, not following his friend's train of thought.

"What, sir! What, have you forgotten the past already?"

"Oh!" Vernon laughed, but somewhat seriously. "You mean a spider."

"Yes," snapped the Colonel sharply, "I mean a spider."

THE END.