Between the time of Murbridge's funeral and his own arrival at
Childerbridge, Jim had plenty of leisure to consider his position, and
to make up his mind as to how much he should let Alice know of the
other's story.
After mature consideration, he decided that he had better tell her
everything. Yet it had been such a painful shock to himself that he
could well understand how it would affect her.
It was mid-morning when he arrived at Childerbridge, and Alice had
walked down to the gates to meet him. He alighted from the carriage on
seeing her, and they strolled across the park together.
"I have been so anxious to hear from you," she said, linking her arm
through her brother's. "What have you to tell me? Did you find that
wretched man?"
"Yes, I found him," he answered, "and he was dying."
She paused for a moment before she put the next question.
"And did he confess?"
"No," said Jim. "I firmly believe I wronged him in suspecting him of--of
what happened. But I made another discovery, and one, I fear, that will
cause you some astonishment and not a little pain. I learnt from him
that his name was not Murbridge, but McCalmont."
"McCalmont?" she echoed, as if she did not understand. "But that was our
mother's maiden name."
"Exactly," said Jim, "and he was her brother!"
Alice looked at him in horrified surprise.
"Oh, Jim," she answered, "surely such a thing cannot be possible?"
"I am afraid it is only too true," Jim replied. "His story was most
circumstantial. He was our mother's youngest brother, and was, I am very
much afraid, a disgrace to the family."
"But if he had been our mother's brother, why did he entertain such a
deadly hatred for our father?" she asked.
"For the simple reason that father had been successful, while he had
been the reverse," Jim replied. "I rather fancy the poor old governor
had helped him out of one or two of his worst scrapes, and such being
the perverse nature of mankind, he hated him for the very benefits he
had received from him."
They walked some distance in silence.
"Poor, wretched man," said Alice at last. "Oh, Jim, you don't know how
thankful I am that he was not the author of that terrible crime. And
now, before we say anything further, there's one thing I must talk to
you about."
"What is that?" he enquired.
"It is about Helen," she answered. "I met her in the village this
morning. I don't want to frighten you, but she is looking very ill. She
seems to have come to look years older within the last few days. There
is a frightened expression on her face that haunts me even now."
Jim was troubled. This was bad news indeed.
"Did she give you any reason for it?" he enquired.
"She tried to account for it by saying that her grandfather had not been
at all well lately, and that she had had rather a trying time with him."
"Alice," said Jim, after the short pause that ensued, "I have come to
the conclusion that old Bursfield is insane. Helen did not tell you, I
suppose, that he uttered all sorts of threats against me the other day.
For some reason or another he has taken an intense dislike to me."
"She said nothing about it," Alice answered. "I am sorry for her. What
is best to be done, do you think?"
"It is difficult to say," Jim answered. "One thing is quite certain. She
cannot go on living with him if he is to continue in this strain. Under
such circumstances there is a limit even to a woman's fidelity. I must
endeavour to see her as soon as possible."
"Would it do for me to go and see her, do you think?" asked Alice. "I
should then be able to tell you something definite about Mr. Bursfield's
condition."
Jim shook his head.
"No," he said, "such a thing would not be wise. I must think the matter
over and see what is best to be done."
By the time he reached the house he had arrived at a conclusion.
"Do you remember, Alice," he said, "that clever young doctor that we met
at the Caltrops on the evening that we dined with them, soon after our
arrival in England? His name was Weston. Mrs. Caltrop declared that,
before many years were past, he would be a recognised authority on
mental diseases."
"I remember him quite well," Alice answered. "He took me in to dinner,
and was so interested in Australia. He had a brother in Sydney, I think.
What about him."
"Well, I have made up my mind to telegraph to Mrs. Caltrop for his
address, and having got it, to wire and ask him to come down and see Mr.
Bursfield. He would be able to tell me then whether or not it is safe
for Helen to go on living with him. If he says not, then she must leave
him at once."
"I should think it would be a very good plan, provided always that you
can get Mr. Bursfield to see him. You will find that the difficulty."
"Not at all," Jim answered. "I have a scheme that I think will answer.
At any rate we will try it."
A telegram was accordingly despatched to Mrs. Caltrop, asking her to
forward the address of the doctor in question. This done, Jim sent for
Terence.
"Well, Terence," he said, when the latter made his appearance, "any sign
of the Black Dwarf during my absence?"
"Never a one, sir," Terence replied. "I kept my eyes and ears open all
night, and waited about after dark, but there's not been so much as a
mouse stirring."
"I am glad to hear it," Jim remarked, and then gave Terence a brief
description of his visit to London, and of what he had discovered there.
"Then if it wasn't he as did it," said Terence, "who could it have
been?"
Before he answered, Jim looked at the door, as if to make sure that it
was closed.
"Terence," he said, "I am gradually coming to the conclusion that the
Black Dwarf, whoever he may be, was responsible for it."
"I've thought of that myself, sir," Terence replied.
"In the first place, he was seen by one of the maid-servants in the
gallery on the night that my father was murdered."
"Don't they say, sir, as how another gentleman was murdered in the same
way in this house?"
"I believe there is some legend to that effect," said Jim, "but how true
it is, I cannot say. I don't think, however, we need take that
circumstance into consideration."
"Then what are we to do, sir?"
"Watch and wait until we catch him," Jim replied. "When we've done that
we shall be satisfied whether he is flesh or blood or not, and if he is,
by what right he dares to enter my house."
There was a lengthy pause, then with a diffidence that was somewhat
unusual with him, Terence said:
"You'll excuse me, sir, I hope, for saying such a thing, but between you
and me, sir, I cannot help thinking that we was happier at Mudrapilla."
Jim heaved a heavy sigh. A longing to be back in the old home, and to be
engaged in the pursuits he had been brought up to from a boy, had been
with him a great deal of late.
"Yes," he said. "I think we were happier at Gundawurra. I must go back
there soon, Terence, if only for a whiff of Bush air. I am very much
afraid that playing the fine gentleman in England does not suit me."
When the other had left the room, Jim lay back in his chair and fell
into a reverie. He closed his eyes, and was transported back to the old
home where he had been born, and where he had spent his happiest days.
How sweet it would be to settle down there some day, with Helen as his
wife. He tried hard to realise the day's work upon the run; the
home-coming at night, to find Helen at the gate waiting for him; the
evenings spent in the cool verandah, with the moon rising above the
river timber. Then he came back to the very real anxieties of the
present. An hour later a message came from Mrs. Caltrop. It was as
follows:
"Doctor Weston, Harley Street."
Whereupon he took another telegraph form and wired to the doctor to the
effect that he would be grateful if he could make it convenient to
travel down to Childerbridge that afternoon. In order that the latter
might understand from whom the message emanated, he added the words,
"Met you at dinner at Mrs. Caltrop's." Luncheon was scarcely finished
before a message arrived from the doctor saying that he would endeavour
to be at Childerbridge at four o'clock. Accordingly at half-past three
Jim drove to the railway station to await his coming. Punctual to the
moment the train steamed into the station, and he looked about among the
passengers for the man he wanted.
Presently he descried him coming along the platform--a tall,
good-looking man, resembling a soldier more than a Harley Street
physician.
"Mr. Standerton, I believe," he said as he approached Jim.
"And you are Doctor Weston, of course," the latter answered with a
smile.
"Now," said the doctor, "I will commence, Mr. Standerton, by saying that
it is absolutely necessary that I should catch the six o'clock train
back to London."
"I will arrange that you do so," Jim replied, and then the doctor
surrendered his ticket and they strolled out of the station. "Now,
perhaps, I had better tell you my reasons for asking you to come down
to-day. Shall we walk a little way along the road. I have no desire to
be overheard. I will now make you acquainted with the facts of the case,
in order that you may go direct to the house of the gentleman I want you
to see."
"He is not a member of your own family, then?" the doctor enquired.
"No, he is no sort of relation. In fact, I had not seen him until a few
months ago."
They paused beside a gate and faced each other.
"I gather that it is rather an unusual case?" the doctor remarked.
"A very unusual one," Jim replied. "The matter stands in this way. I am
engaged to a young lady who is the adopted granddaughter of the
gentleman in question."
The doctor nodded, but said nothing. He listened attentively, while Jim
told his tale, explained his fears for Helen's safety, and described the
threats the old gentleman had made use of concerning himself.
When he had finished Dr. Weston drew some lines on the ground with the
point of his umbrella, as if he were working out a difficult
calculation.
"This is certainly a singular case, Mr. Standerton," he said at last.
"You are not connected with this gentleman in any way, and he, not
approving of your marriage with his granddaughter, has forbidden you his
house. The young lady's only reason for believing him to be a little
weak in his intellect is his treatment of you. I really do not know
whether, under the circumstances, I should be justified in seeing him."
Jim's heart sank. He had not looked at the matter from this point of
view. Observing his disappointment, the doctor smiled.
"Nevertheless," he continued, "I will see him, provided you will give me
your promise that my report shall be considered a purely confidential
one."
"Am I to understand that I am not to acquaint Miss Decie or my sister
with your decision?"
"Of course, I will allow you to tell them, and equally, of course,
provided it goes no further."
"In that case I will give you my promise most willingly," said Jim.
"And now the question comes as to how I can obtain my interview with
him."
"I have thought out a plan that should enable you to do that," Jim
replied. "I happen to know that for a long time past he has been engaged
in writing a history of the neighbourhood, and my house in particular
which at one time was the property of his family."
"Quite so; and the ruins a mile or two back, what are they called?"
"Clevedon Castle," Jim answered. "I believe it was destroyed by
Cromwell."
"That should answer my purpose. And now with your permission I will
drive to his house--not in your carriage, but in a cab. I shall see you
afterwards, I presume?"
"I will wait for you here, or at my own house, whichever you please,"
said Jim.
"Your house, I think, would be better," the doctor answered. "I will
drive there directly I leave Mr.----. By-the-way, you have not told me
his name or given me his address."
Jim furnished him with both, and then the doctor hailed a fly and drove
away.
It was nearly half-past five before Jim was informed by Wilkins that Dr.
Weston had called, and that he had been shown to the study.
He immediately proceeded thither, to find the doctor sitting before the
fire.
"Well, Mr. Standerton," he began, "I have seen Mr. Bursfield, and have
had rather a curious interview with him."
"And what decision have you come to?"
"Well, I think your supposition is correct. Not to be technical, I might
say that he is not really responsible for his actions. While we
discussed archaeology, and the history of the neighbourhood, he was
rational enough, but when I chanced to touch upon this house, and your
connection with it, his whole demeanour changed. If I were in your place
I should avoid him as much as possible, for there can be no doubt that
he would do you a mischief if he could. As for Miss Decie, I would not
advise you to persuade her to leave him, at least not at present. It
would in all probability immediately produce unfavourable results, and
in so doing might snap the frail link that still connects him with
Sanity. The influence she exerts over him, where you are not concerned,
is undoubtedly a beneficial one."
"Am I to consider that she is safe with him?"
"I should say so," the doctor replied. "Of course, if he has many more
of these paroxysms of rage it might be necessary for her to leave him.
But she must be the best judge of that. Doubtless you can arrange that
with her. And now I must be getting back to the railway station; if I
wish to catch my train I have not much time to lose."
"I am exceedingly obliged to you, Doctor Weston," said Jim gratefully.
"I cannot say that you have made my mind easier, but you have at least
let me know exactly how matters stand with Mr. Bursfield."
"I am glad to have been of service," said the doctor.
James handed him an envelope containing his fee, and escorted him to the
door. When he had seen him depart he returned to the drawing-room and
communicated his intelligence to his sister.
"Poor Helen," said Alice, "it is no wonder that she looks anxious. What
will you do now, Jim?"
"I must take the night to think the matter over," he answered. "Since
the old man is undoubtedly mad, and not only mad, but dangerously so, I
cannot bear to contemplate her remaining with him, and yet I have no
desire to hasten the crisis."
All the evening Jim brooded over the matter, imagining all sorts of
dangers for the woman he loved. At last the time came for them to retire
to rest. He was in the act of lighting Alice's candle in the hall, when
the sound of steps on the gravel path outside attracted his attention.
"Good gracious!" cried Jim, "who on earth can it be at this time of the
night?"
So saying, he hastened to the door. The lights from the hall shone on
the steps, and showed him Helen Decie, standing, bareheaded, before him.
For a moment the shock at seeing her there at such an hour, and in such
a plight, deprived him of speech. Alice was the first to break the
silence.
"Helen, my dear girl," she cried, "what does this mean?"
Then Helen stepped into the hall, and James closed the door behind her.
He had scarcely done so, before she gave a little cry and fell to the
floor in a dead faint. Picking her up, Jim carried her to the big settee
in the centre.
"My poor girl," he cried, "what has he done to you?" Then, turning to
Alice, he added, "What can have happened?"
She did not answer him, but sped upstairs to her bedroom, to presently
return with a bottle of smelling salts. Under their restorative
influence, consciousness very soon returned, and Helen looked about her
in a dazed fashion, as if she could not realise where she was.
"Do you feel well enough to tell what has taken place, dear?" Jim asked,
when she had so far recovered as to be able to sit up. "What has brought
you here bareheaded at this time of night?"
"My grandfather has turned me out of his house," she answered
falteringly.
"Turned you out of the house?" repeated both Jim and Alice together.
Then Alice added: "Surely not? He ought to be turned out himself."
"You must not be angry with him," said Helen. "I really don't think he
knows what he is doing."
"But this is an unheard-of thing," Jim said angrily. "He must have taken
leave of his senses."
"He accused me of being in league with you to poison him, and bade me
come to an instant decision as to whether I would give you up or leave
the house."
"And my noble girl refused to give me up?" said James, kissing her hand.
"Helen acted nobly," said Alice. "Never mind, dear, you know where your
real friends are, don't you?"
"But whatever shall I do?" the girl put in. "He bade me leave the house
and never come back again."
"We will arrange all that to-morrow," Jim replied. "For to-night, Alice
will take care of you. Do not worry, dear heart, all will come right in
the end."
Then he proceeded to inform her of Dr. Weston's visit that afternoon,
and of the report that gentleman had given of the old gentleman's mental
condition.
"I cannot tell why," she said, "but I had some sort of suspicion that he
came for that purpose. Poor grandfather, how sad it is to think of his
being like this. Since he does not know what he is doing, we should not
be angry with him for acting as he did."
At this juncture Alice departed to make arrangements for her friend's
comfort for the night.
"Oh, Jim dear, what do you think will become of me?" Helen asked. "Think
for me, for I cannot think for myself."
"I think I can hazard a very good guess what your fate will be," said
Jim. "To-morrow morning I shall go up to London to obtain a special
license, and the day after you shall become my wife."