The Catholic World Volume Iii Part 132

Involuntarily I glanced at Lister Wilmot. He was deadly pale; but he returned my gaze very steadily, and I noticed the same evil light in his eye as I had once before seen. Smith drew himself up and settled his thick bull-throat in his white choker, whilst his junior partner ran his hand through his hair, and seemed to prepare himself for whatever was coming with a sort of "Do your worst--I don't care for you" air.

"I hold in my hand," I continued, "a memorandum from my journal, and dated October 23, 185--, last Tuesday, gentlemen; and I beg your particular attention to the extract I am going to read to you--'Received a note from Mr. Gilbert Thorneley, of 100 Wimpole street, requesting me to call on him this evening. Went at seven o'clock; made and executed _a will_ for the same, under solemn promise not to reveal the transaction until after his funeral had taken place.

In case of my death, to leave a memorandum of the same addressed to Mr. Hugh Atherton. Saw the will signed by Mr. Thorneley and witnessed by his footman and coachman. Made memorandum of same for H. A., as desired. Put it with private papers, addressed to H. A.' That will, gentlemen, being of later date, will, if forthcoming, upset the will just read, and which is dated two months back."

There was a profound silence for some moments, broken only by the two servants. Barker the footman and Thomas the coachman, who both murmured in low but distinct tones, "Right enough, sir; we did put our names to that there dockiment."

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"I don't quite understand your 'statement,' Mr. Kavanagh," said Smith at last, with an air which plainly said, "And I consider myself insulted by your making it."

"It is quite plain and straightforward, Mr. Smith, though, of course, you are taken by surprise. Allow me to hand you this copy of the memorandum I have read to you, and to which I have signed my name."

"But _where_ is that will, sir? Statements and memoranda go for nothing, if you can't produce your proofs; and the will itself is the only proof."

"Where it is," I replied, "is best known to Mr. Wilmot, or yourselves, or to both. I never saw it after leaving Mr. Thorneley's study on the evening of the 23d."

The two lawyers turned simultaneously to Wilmot.

"Did you know anything of this transaction, sir?" asked Walker.

"Only so far as came out at the inquest yesterday. Where is the will?

I ask. Let Mr. Kavanagh produce it."

There was a world of defiance in his glittering eyes as he rose and faced me.

"Yes," he cried again, with a hard, ringing voice, "let Mr. John Kavanagh produce it."

"Gently, Mr. Wilmot," said Walker in an insinuating voice. "Allow us to deal with this matter; it is really only proper that we should."

"Only proper that we should," echoed old Smith in his peculiar nasal tw.a.n.g.

But Lister Wilmot waved them both imperiously aside; and advancing a step forward, he said with an evident effort to control himself:

"I don't see, Kavanagh, what you can gain by bringing forward this absurd statement. Of course we all imagined that the mysterious business upon which you saw my deceased uncle the last evening of his life was in some way connected with making his will; and Mr. Smith, Mr. Walker, and myself searched through his papers with the utmost care, and with this idea in our minds; but no will, no codicil, no letter, nor memorandum of later date than the one just read could anywhere be found. Knowing what an eccentric character he was, we came to the conclusion that, if any will posterior to this were made, he had destroyed it immediately afterward.--Is this not so?" he turned to the two lawyers.

"It is so," answered Walker, for self and partner. "We made the minutest investigation, and were all three together when the seals were removed which had been placed on everything by the police in charge of the house. Nothing could have been tampered with."

I was fairly baffled, and stood considering what was the next best thing to do, when an old gray-headed man stepped forward and said that, if he might suggest, it would be satisfactory to hear in what particulars the deed I had drawn up differed from the one just made known.

"Yes," said Wilmot, with something like a sneer; "let us hear what were the contents of this will which you say you drew up."

"Wilmot," I answered, "the one whom that will, to my mind, most affected, for reasons which will presently be obvious to all who listen to me now, was the only one who loved the old man in life whose remains we have just followed to the grave--the only one who, I know, mourns his death with all the sincerity of his true and n.o.ble heart.

In his presence I would never publicly have dragged forward a history which is full of sin, of sorrow, of remorse. But he lies in a felon's cell, charged, through a dark mysterious combination of events, and I firmly believe a deeply-laid scheme to work his ruin, with a felon's crime. In his interest therefore, first of all, I must speak. There is also that of another concerned, who comes before most of those present as a complete stranger; whether to _all_ I know not.--Gentlemen, I, like you, believed until this day week that Gilbert Thorneley died childless and a bachelor. {744} Five-and twenty years ago he married a young and beautiful girl, an orphan, but possessed of an immense fortune. He married her for her money. It was a joyless marriage, without love, without happiness. One son was born to them, and shortly after _the young wife died_. The boy grew up an idiot, hated, loathed by his father, who sent him far away from his sight, and who for more than fifteen years before he died never saw his child's face. Remorse at last seems to have surged up in his heart, and he took a resolution to make what reparation he could for his past neglect. This is all which the deceased, Mr. Thorneley, confided to me in plain words; at the rest I can only darkly guess; but that much more might have been told which never pa.s.sed his lips, that some terrible secret of the past remains still unrevealed, I am bound to say I feel convinced from the manner in which that little was revealed to me. Gentlemen, the will which I executed last Tuesday evening, and saw witnessed by the two servants now present, after bequeathing 10,000 a year to his nephew, Hugh Atherton, left the whole and entire of Gilbert Thorneley's property, landed, personal, and in the funds, to his idiot son, Francis Gilbert Thorneley, now living; and const.i.tuted Hugh Atherton as sole guardian of his cousin. With the exception of the same small legacies to the domestics of his household, no other bequest whatever was made; no other name mentioned. This will was executed as a tardy reparation for some wrong done to his dead wife."

There was the sound of a dull, heavy fall, and a cry from one of the women in the room. Mrs. Haag, the housekeeper, had fainted away.

CHAPTER VIII.

INSPECTOR KEENE SEES DAYLIGHT AT LAST.

"And pray, may I ask who was left executor in this wonderful will, since that item seems to have been omitted from an otherwise well-concocted story?" said Mr. Walker, as soon as the housekeeper had been carried out of the room, and order restored.

"Mr. Atherton and myself were named executors."

"For which little business," he continued with unutterable irony, "you were doubtless to receive some _small_ compensation?"

"You are mistaken," I replied quietly; "my name is not otherwise mentioned than as being appointed to act with Hugh Atherton. No legacy was left to me, and I did not even receive the usual fee for drawing up the will. I mention this to remove any false impression which my previous statement may have given."

"Most disinterested conduct on your part, I am sure, Mr. Kavanagh,"

was the reply in the same sarcastic tones. "It was, however, probably understood that the securing 10,000 a year to your friend would not pa.s.s unrewarded by him."

I was losing my temper under the man's repeated insults, and an angry reply had risen to my lips, when Wilmot interposed. He had entirely regained his usual self-possession, and more than his usual confidence. Evidently, he had resolved to change his tactics, and treat me civilly.

"We don't wish to dispute your word, Kavanagh, but you must own there is some excuse for our unbelief. Here are all three of us--Smith, Walker, and myself--ready to take oath that no other will save the doc.u.ment just read was or is to be found amongst my late uncle's papers; not so much as a hint of such a thing existing. And here are you, without a shadow of proof in your hand, stating that a will, posterior to this one lying here, was made by you on the evening previous to my uncle's death. The natural inference drawn is, that that will must now exist; we know it does not exist, or we must have found it, unless my uncle _destroyed it_ immediately {745} after it was made, namely, before he went to bed this day week. Do I put the case clearly and fairly, gentlemen?" he continued, turning to the a.s.sembled company.

The same old gentleman who had spoken before now again advanced. "I have known Gilbert Thorneley," he said, "more than thirty years; but that he was ever married, or had a child living, is as great news to me as to any here present who had known him but as a recent acquaintance. Still, if what Mr. Kavanagh says be true--and no offence to him--that son of whom he speaks must be living now, and must be found. You, Mr. Wilmot, have asked, as proof of this strange statement being true, where is the will? I now ask likewise, as proof of its genuineness, where is the _heir_? Where is the son of my old friend?

Where is Francis Gilbert Thorneley?"

I was fearfully staggered by the question. Never before had it occurred to me that there would be a difficulty in finding the poor idiot when the time came for him to enter upon his inheritance. No doubt, no pa.s.sing misgiving, had crossed my mind but that, along with the will I had drawn up, papers would be left and found, giving all-sufficient information of his whereabouts. For the first time the thought flashed across me that perhaps, after all, I had not acted wisely in maintaining the silence which had been exacted from me by solemn promise. And that solemn promise! What had been old Thorneley's motive in exacting it? Why should he wish such inevitable risks to be run, as he, a shrewd man of the world, would know must be run, of that final will being suppressed by the parties interested in the other one lodged at his lawyers'? Of what, of whom, had he been afraid? Was the secret and mystery of the will in any way connected with the secret and mystery of the murder? As these questions crowded themselves upon me during the brief moment which succeeded the last speaker's queries, I looked round unconsciously on the eager, curious faces turned upon us, the actors in this scene; and suddenly my eye lighted upon a little man dressed in a dapper black suit, with a profusion of curly brown hair, and long beard, standing behind a group near the door. His eyes were fixed on mine--sharp, intelligent, piercing, black eyes--with an expression in them which plainly bespoke a desire of attracting my attention; eyes that were familiar to me, whilst the rest of the man's face and appearance was that of a stranger. Then one hand was lifted to his lips, and I saw him give a voracious bite at his nails. In a moment light broke upon darkness, and I knew him in spite of flowing wig and beard, in spite of funeral black and well-fitting clothes, to be Inspector Keene. I suppose he saw a gleam of intelligence pa.s.s over my countenance, for he began a series of evolutions on his closely-cropped fingers, and I, luckily, could spell the words: "Close this; see Merrivale." I seized the idea, and turning to Wilmot and his lawyers, I said, "This matter is too serious to be dealt with otherwise than in legal form and place. Mr. Merrivale or myself will communicate with Messrs. Smith and Walker. There is nothing further to be said at present;" and I left the room, exchanging another glance with the inspector, who I knew would quickly follow me.

Nor was I mistaken. I drove to Merrivale's, and whilst in full tide of relating what had transpired in Wimpole street, the little man arrived, still in mourning trim, but minus his wig and beard; and I am bound to confess that, despite the seriousness of the moment, I was almost overpowered by the ludicrous change which the doffing of those appendages had wrought in him--he looked so like a broom that had had its bristles cut short off.

"You are a clever fellow, Keene," said Merrivale; "how upon earth did you contrive to pa.s.s muster amongst those city swells?"

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The inspector bowed to the compliment, but seemed no way abashed. "I showed the inside of your purse, Mr. Merrivale, There was no difficulty in sight of _that_. Please go on, Mr. Kavanagh, and I'll wait."

I concluded in as few words as possible, anxiously desiring to hear what Keene had to say; and immediately that I had finished, Merrivale turned toward him:

"What do you think of it all, in heaven's name?"

Mr. Inspector sc.r.a.ped his chin, and waited some moments before replying, his bright keen eyes glancing alternately from one to another of us. "If I were to tell you, sirs, all I _think_, you'd be tired of hearing me, for I've been thinking as hard as my brains could go for the last week past. If you'd have made a friend, Mr. Kavanagh, of Mr. Merrivale or your humble servant in the matter you just now revealed, it might have helped me not a trifle--not a trifle. However, I believe you did it for the best; and after all I think we'll be even with them yet. But it is as confoundedly black a business as it ever fell to my lot to deal with; and I've had businesses, gentlemen, as black as--well, as old Harry himself. You see there's three points to follow up; and if we can tackle _one_ securely, why, I consider we shall tackle all, for I believe they hang together. First," checking it off on his thumb, "there's the murder; and the point there is to find _who_ really bought that grain of strychnine which the chemist has booked. It rests between master and man to reveal; and I incline to the latter, and have my eye on him. Never tell me," said the detective, warming with his subject, "that neither of them don't know; I tell you one of them _does_ know, and my name's not Keene if I don't have it out of them yet. That's one point, an't it, Mr. Merrivale?"

Merrivale a.s.sented. "Then the second," checking number two off on his stumpy fore-finger, "includes four parties, and their connection with each other; the man De Vos or Sullivan, the man O'Brian, Mr. Lister Wilmot, and the housekeeper."

"The housekeeper, Mrs. Haag!" I exclaimed.

"Yes, sir; Mrs. _Haag_, if that's her name."

"You think it is not?"

"I _know_ it isn't."

"You know it?"

"I do. When Jones showed me his notes, and repeated to me what you and he had heard in Blue-Anchor Lane last Thursday night, I _smelt_ a rat, Mr. Kavanagh, and I followed my nose, sir. When I said I was on the scent, I meant it. From that hour I wrote down in my note-book, 'Mrs.