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<h3>Chapter Eleven.</h3> <h4>The Treasure.</h4> A week of horror and anxiety, during which the customary legal processes had been gone through. A jury had visited the Dark House and been conducted through the two rooms, to go away disappointed at not seeing the inside of the great iron safe. Then, after the evidence had been given, by the various witnesses at the inquest, including that of the two doctors who had performed the post-mortem examination, a verdict was returned which charged Charles Pillar with wilful murder, and stated that the Indian had committed justifiable homicide. The doctors had differed, as it is proverbially said that they will, Dr Heston, the young medical man, who had been called in first, telling the jury that he was not satisfied that the blows given had caused the death, and drawing attention to the peculiar odour he had noticed. But the Coroner, an old medical man, sided with the colleague, who pooh-poohed the idea, and the verdict was given. The coroner was a good deal exercised in his mind whether some proceedings ought not to have been taken in respect to the remains of the late Colonel, but he obtained no legal support, and the terrible murder and attempted robbery at Number 9A, Albemarle Square, with the history of the embalming, and the mysterious inner chamber, were public property for the usual nine days, when something fresh occurred, and the interest died away. Then, once more, there was the old peace in the Dark House, where the remains of Colonel Capel lay in state in the mystery-haunted room. The servants were very reticent, and consequently but little was heard of the proceedings in Albemarle Square. A good many loiterers had stopped to stare at the darkened windows of the great mansion; but as two coffins had been borne from the place, it was forgotten outside that another still remained. What might have been some busy-body’s business, became no one’s, and the horrible tragedy tended towards the simplification, of the dead man’s instructions. “It is nine days now since the Colonel’s commands should have been fulfilled,” said Mr Girtle, as they were seated at lunch in the darkened dining-room—the same party, for Katrine had expressed her determination to stay in the house through all the trouble, and Lydia had offered to remain with her. Katrine and Lydia had kept a great deal to their rooms; Mr Girtle spent most of his time in the library, busy over papers, only appearing at meal times, and, consequently, Paul Capel was thrown a great deal into the society of Gerard Artis, treating him always in the most friendly way, and declining to notice the barbs of the verbal arrows the other was fond of launching. One of Artis’s favourite allusions was to the house his companion inherited. “I felt horribly jealous of you at first,” he said. “Seemed such a pot of money; but with special commands to live here with a haunted room, and a mausoleum beyond it—no, thank you.” “What shall you do with the chamber of horrors?” said Artis, on another occasion. “You heard—it is to be built-up.” “No, no; I mean the bedroom. Ugh!” “I shall take that as my own.” “What? A room haunted with the spirits of three dead men! Bah! Impossible.” Then came the ninth day, and Mr Girtle announced that on the next his instructions should be carried out precisely at twelve. “That will give you ample time, Mr Capel, to visit a banker afterwards; for, after the late experience, I should not lose an hour in depositing your great uncle’s bequest in the hands of your banker.” “You will go with me, I hope.” The old man looked pleased, and nodded. “But I had reckoned upon seeing the jewels,” said Katrine, with a smile at the young heir, which made his heart throb, and Lydia shrink. “That pleasure must be deferred, Miss D’Enghien,” said the old lawyer, crustily; and no more was said. At twelve o’clock punctually, the next day, Mr Girtle unlocked the door of the Colonel’s room, and fulfilling Ramo’s duty, held it back while the young men bore in lights; Katrine and Lydia followed, and the old butler, looking shrunken and depressed, came last, to close the door and draw the curtain. It was mid-day, but it might have been midnight. Candles were lit again on chimney-piece and dressing-table, and after the old solicitor had seen that the door was fastened within, he took out his key, drew the portal curtain at the end, and then unlocked and slowly pushed open the iron door. At a given order the butler solemnly carried a couple of candles down into the vault, and stood there in the gloomy stone chamber, where, to those who stood waiting his return, they seemed to cast a peculiarly weird light. Then, in utter silence, the lid was placed over the calm, sleeping features, and the four men, taking each a handle, lifted and bore the coffin down. There was some little difficulty in the sharp turn of the steps, but in a few minutes all was done, and the coffin lay upon the flagstones, while the two girls stood hand clasping hand. Mr Girtle walked round to the back of the iron safe and stooped down, when a peculiar clang was heard, as if a spring had been set free, and a large panel at the end where Capel was standing, dropped down. As the old lawyer came back, candle in hand, it was now seen that the panel that had fallen laid bare a key-hole. Upon the key being inserted in this, and turned, the panel flew back, and glided over the key-hole as soon as the key was drawn out, displaying a second key-hole, crossed by a row of lettered brass slides. These the old lawyer manipulated till the letters formed in a row a particular word, when the second key-hole was laid bare, the key inserted and turned, and one end of the iron safe revolved on a pair of huge pivots, shewing the interior—plain, rectangular and dark, with an oblong mass of black metal in the centre. “The steel chest,” said the old lawyer, in a whisper, as he stepped inside the great safe, in which he could nearly stand upright. Candle in hand he went to the other end, put down the light for a moment to set his hands free to get a second key—a curiously long, thin key, with the end of which he pushed something at the back of the chest. Then, going to one side, he repeated the act, went back round to the other side, and again repeated it, after which he came to the front, and as he held down the light, those who were intently watching his actions saw that there was a small circle of Roman figures, with a hand like that of a small clock, which he pushed round with the end of the key, till it was at the letter V. This done, he bent over the chest, and repeated the action twice upon the top. Then, as he stepped out, a sharp sound was heard, and a key-hole was laid bare once more. In this he placed the key, turned it, and the steel chest seemed to split open from end to end, dividing in equal parts, which slowly turned over on massive hinges, leaving the centre—a space large enough to hold the coffin—wide open. “Mr Capel,” said the old lawyer, stepping aside, “the next duty is yours. There lie the bank notes and the case of precious stones. I give them over to your care.” Paul Capel hesitated for a moment, glanced at his companions, then back at the opening leading to the Colonel’s room, where Katrine and Lydia were watching. The young man’s heart beat heavily as he took the candle, and, stooping down, entered the iron chamber to take from its hiding place his enormous fortune. It was but a step, and he had only to stretch out his hand to pick up the two cases, but— The steel chest held nothing. The treasure was not there. <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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