The House of Strange Secrets Part 13

"I am quite satisfied that you know nothing whatever about that which you are pleased to call the mystery of this house. I confess that I have a secret. Who has not? Mine is one that I am very anxious to keep.

Again, I say, who is not desirous of keeping secrets as such? Further, I confess that you have had good grounds for mistrust. That bicycle business was enough to lay me open to suspicion. What I am now going to say I will repeat afterwards upon oath, if you so please, but, as a gentleman, I hope my word will not be doubted. That bicycle was found by my servant standing in the rear of this house the morning after what was evidently the first attempt on your father's life. Whose it was, and whence it came, was for the time a mystery. Then you honoured me with a visit, and I learned in what an uncomfortable position circ.u.mstances had placed me. As I say, I have no desire to emerge from the darkness of my retirement. I did not wish you to know that I had found the bicycle, for fear that you, doubting my word, would carry out your threat of communicating with the police, and having the house searched. Therefore, I secretly returned you the bicycle which evil destiny had given into my hands.

"This I can safely say--and swear, if it please you--that there neither has been, nor is, anything illegal or wrong going on in this house. Does that satisfy you?"

No one answered. Laurence was inclined to doubt the man's word. He had heard some equally astounding falsehoods from him before. Lena, also, knew not whether to believe the statement or not.

"Then," said the doctor, "I will fetch a volume of the Testament. But before going any further, tell me if you know any man who would answer to this description--Medium height, iron-grey moustache, possibly a grey beard, but I doubt it; age about sixty; peculiarly courteous and old-fashioned as to speech; an abhorrer of tobacco in any form."

"That is the Squire--do you know him?" asked Lena and Laurence excitedly, and almost in one breath.

"Ah!" responded Doctor Meadows. But his p.r.o.nunciation of the monosyllable was pregnant with meaning.

CHAPTER XIX

A TRUCE AND A PROMISE

"Then you know my father?" asked Laurence, after the pause that followed the doctor's laconic remark.

"That I cannot say," responded Meadows, "but it seems like it, does it not?"

"You astonish me by confessing to a former acquaintance with Squire Carrington. Were you not on the point of taking your oath that you knew nothing about my father?"

"No, I was not going so far as that, I am only prepared to swear that I have had no hand in these attempts on your father's life, for I will tell frankly that I was almost confident I had met your father long before you told me that I was right in my description of his appearance.

Life is indeed strange. A moment ago you were doubting my word--you may feel inclined to do so now, little thinking that probably I alone could throw any light on the mystery. You know this, for I think you have already told me as much, that Ma--Squire Carrington is keeping some deep secret from the world--even from you, his son. What if I, and I alone, am able to reveal that secret?"

"You speak in riddles," replied Laurence. "You appear to know my father, yet last time we referred to the subject you told me deliberately that you had not 'the pleasure of his acquaintance.' What am I to believe?

Now you deny all connection with these murderous attacks on his life, and yet you profess to be in a position to reveal the cause of them, and to throw light upon the Squire's well-guarded secret."

"As I have said," explained Doctor Meadows, "fate plays strange tricks with us mortals. I am speaking the truth when I say that I think I know more about your father's secret than any living creature, except the Squire himself, and his a.s.sailant. Tell me, though, what do you know of Mr. Carrington's past?"

"Very little," replied Laurence; "if I knew more I might be able myself to shed some light on the darkness. This alone I have been told by my father, who is one of those men who keep their private affairs a sealed book to the rest of the world--that my mother, who was of high birth, died when I was born, twenty-two years ago; that my father never followed any profession or trade, and that I am an only child."

"Ah," murmured Meadows, "that is all you know, is it?" He sat gazing steadily at the fireplace, his brow knit up as though he was wrapped in thought. For a short s.p.a.ce of time there was silence in the Oriental room.

"Well, do you agree," the doctor said at last, "to my proposal that I should play the detective and solve the mystery encircling your father's life?"

"I have already obtained the a.s.sistance of an investigator," replied Laurence, somewhat coldly.

"Ah, and is he quite satisfactory?"

Lena smiled at the question.

"No," she responded, "he is hardly all that one can desire. He comes from Burton's Private a.s.sistance Bureau." She turned to Laurence. "You must not be ungracious," she said gently. "Doctor Meadows--I call him by that name for want of a better, though I am certain it is a disguised one--Doctor Meadows is most kind in making this suggestion. We have really no call upon his generosity at all. If he thinks he is in a position to a.s.sist us in our investigation, why not permit him to do so?

Since he gives us his word as a gentleman that neither he nor his servant has any connection with the plot to murder the Squire, why, he is at liberty to have as many secrets of his own as he likes without being annoyed by suspicious young people like us. Under the circ.u.mstances I am sure Doctor Meadows will not expect you to ask him to the house to pursue his inquiry, but please do let him help us as best he can from here. I am sure his forehead shows him to be an adept at detective work. It's quite as good a one as Sherlock Holmes had!"

Laurence meditated. He naturally could not refuse Lena such a small thing, and because she asked it he changed his behaviour towards the doctor, and became more polite to the old gentleman, who received the alteration with undisguised pleasure.

"If I could only tell you why this house is the house of strange secrets that you believe it to be, I would do so with all my heart. Alas! that is impossible. As you have discovered, I have a secret--one which I must keep at all costs. I beg you not to refer to it again. As you have cleverly discovered, madam, my name, too--the one you know--is a pseudonym. One day, perhaps, you will know why I have had to take such precautions. Then you will find that it is by no fault of mine that I am compelled to play the part I do. I thank you, both of you, for your kindness. I am in your hands. If you do not believe my word of honour, you can point out this house to the police and have it searched. By so doing you will ruin me. You will cause such a sensation in the world--yes, I am not exaggerating--as has not been for years. And it will not do you the slightest good. Believe me, were you to do as you once suggested, Mr. Carrington, you would, rather than win any praise or honour, as you might if you exposed a gang of coiners or a murder-house, place yourself in a most unenviable position. But not for this reason do I ask you to refrain from taking active measures against me, but on the ground of humanity, and because I alone can explain the terrible secret that has blasted your poor father's life."

"Doctor Meadows, the more I get to know you, the greater enigma you become to me," said Laurence. "You must yourself agree with me when I say that such words as you have spoken are most remarkable. I cannot wonder at this, for you are the most remarkable man I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. As you say, perhaps one day I shall know your history and the cause of all that has raised my suspicions. Then, no doubt, I shall see you in your true light, but, until then, understand this: I shall take no steps whatever to unravel the mystery that surrounds you, and shall respect all that you have told me, never alluding to what is evidently a painful subject for discussion to you, without your permission. And here is my hand on it. When I speak as I do, I think I speak both for myself and for this lady, who has done me the honour of promising to become my wife."

"Oh, you story-teller!" broke in Lena, in tones of mock displeasure; "I have not yet given my answer. If you aren't careful it shall be 'no.' At present I am the person to answer for myself, and I second all that Mr.

Carrington has said," she added, turning to Meadows.

"Thank you," replied the old gentleman, "thank you, both of you. You will not regret the course you have adopted. But this detective whom you have engaged--can you prevent him from making things unpleasant for me?"

"I will do my best," replied Laurence briskly. "But," he proceeded, "you should really be more careful in your selection of a servant, doctor.

One of my causes of suspicion was his very peculiar conduct in refusing to show me out of the front door, after our last interview, without my bribing him. That is hardly what one expects from a gentleman's servant, is it?"

"No, indeed," answered Meadows, with a sickly smile. "I must apologise for his misconduct. He is not the most desirable servant one could have, but he is very necessary to me. This time I will show you out myself, and I shall not trouble you for a 'pour-boire.'"

CHAPTER XX

MR. HORNCASTLE, FROM DARTMOOR

"And now," said Meadows, as he lay back in his arm-chair, "now, as you have been good enough to promise to take me into your confidence, may I ask if you will give me a brief outline of the manner in which this plot against Mr. Carrington has been carried out?"

"Certainly," said Laurence; and he proceeded to sketch briefly the events of the last few days.

"Well," said the doctor, when his young visitor had concluded the narrative, "one thing is quite certain. Since you are now sure that the enemy is not lurking in this house, he must be even nearer home. I mean that the chances are he is still hiding in the old barn. By the way, do you happen to know of any secret place of concealment in that building?"

"No; that I do not. But I feel sure, from the manner in which the creature escaped from me on the night when I encountered him in the dark, that there must be such a hiding-place. Strange that a new arrival should discover a secret room, when I, who have explored the barn scores of times, have not even learned of its existence."

"Now," pursued Meadows, "I have already told you that I am probably the one person who can throw any light upon the secrets and mysteries in which this weird creature plays so important a part, yet I must confess that I am unable to divulge one word of what I know--or, rather, suspect--about the Squire's secret. As you are already aware, I do know your father, Mr. Carrington; that is, I did know him many years ago, before you were born, and before his marriage. Were I to tell you any suspicions I should be breaking a promise I made, and have kept for all these years; and I would rather die than do so. I know that by telling you this I am probably laying myself open to further suspicion, but I have found, to my cost, that to tell the truth is the best policy, whatever the consequences may be. One thing, though, I can do, and that is to help you to run this fiendish creature to earth. This I may as well tell you: the person who is haunting your father--the fear of whose coming has, indeed, haunted him for years--is not a woman, as you have at one time imagined. It is a man. And with all respect for your detective-nurse, his motive is neither jealousy, anarchy, nor robbery.

It is revenge!"

"I must say that I always considered that such must be the case," said Laurence; "hence my inclination to believe it was the poacher who swore to be even with my father one day."

"Ah!" remarked Doctor Meadows, "if it were only a poacher--a prince of poachers, even--then our task would be very much easier. As it is, we must prepare ourselves for a hard battle if we hope to capture the rascal. Though I know nothing about him personally, I can tell you that he is certain to be diabolically cunning and clever. You have already found that out yourself. But, tell me, have you discovered anything in the nature of a clue? Anything such as the feather the detective in fiction finds on the murdered man's bed, which may lead to the detection of the criminal?"

Laurence shook his head. He had left the work of searching the room in which the final attempt had been made on the Squire's life to the detective from Burton's. Whether Mr. Oliver Potter had taken the opportunity thus presented he did not know.

"Then, tell me, please, about your father's room. Is there a looking-gla.s.s over the mantelboard?"

"No; my father dislikes mirrors of any kind. He shaves even without the aid of a gla.s.s. But why?"

"One minute. I think you said your butler found the bedroom door slightly ajar when he entered, and discovered that your father was apparently murdered? Yes? Well, then, do you recollect hearing whether any of the maids happened to be about in the corridor at the time when the a.s.sault must have taken place? A housemaid, for instance, with a slop pail?"

"No; I was not told that such was the case. Besides, the servants were at supper when Kingsford went upstairs to attend to the Squire's wants, so we may be quite sure that none of the women were on the bedroom floor. But why on earth do you ask? This has surely nothing to do with the case?"

"I am merely trying to obtain some proof that my theory is the right one, though, to be sure, proof is hardly necessary. What I wish to discover is why the a.s.sa.s.sin did not carry out his vile deed."