MR. HILL'S STORY
Allen was so thunderstruck at the sight of his father, who had so
unexpectedly appeared, that he could only stand silently staring.
Mr. Hill gave a nervous titter, and tried to appear at his ease.
But the sight of his pale face and trembling limbs shewed that the
man was possessed by terror. Also he locked the door while Allen
gaped. It was Mask who spoke first.
"You are surprised to find your father as my clerk," he said
smoothly to Allen; "but when he came to me asking to be concealed, I
arranged that Johnstone should take a much-needed holiday at the
sea-side. I believe he is at Brighton," said Mr. Mask deliberately.
"In the meantime, your father, by means of a clever disguise,
adopted Johnstone's name, and personality, and looks. In the dim
light of the office every one thinks he is Johnstone, and to tell
you the truth," said Mr. Mask, smiling, "my clients are so possessed
by their own fears, that they take very little notice of my clerk."
Allen scarcely listened to the half of this explanation. "Father," he
cried, "whatever is the meaning of all this?"
Hill tittered again, and looked about for a seat as his limbs
would hardly support him. As Mr. Mask had one chair, and Allen the
other, it looked as though Hill would have to sink on the floor. But
Allen pushed forward his own chair and made his father sit down.
Then, so white was the man, that he produced his flask, and gave him
a nip of brandy. "I never travel without this," said Allen, alluding
to the flask. "It comes in handy at times," and he spoke this
irrelevantly so as to put Hill at his ease.
The little man, under the grotesque mask of Johnstone, grew braver
after the brandy, with Dutch courage. "You did not expect to find me
here, Allen?" he said, with his nervous titter.
"I certainly did not," said his son bitterly; "and I don't know why
you need disguise yourself in this way. I know you did not murder
Strode."
"But I intended to," cried Hill, suddenly snarling, and showing his
teeth, "the black-hearted villain."
"I thought Strode was your friend, father?"
"He was my enemy--he was my evil genius--he was a tyrant who tried
to crush all the spirit out of me. Oh," Hill beat his fist on the
table in impotent rage, "I'm glad he's dead. But I wish he'd died
by torture--I wish he'd been burnt--sliced to atoms. I wish----"
"Stop," said Mask, seeing Allen turn white and faint, at the sight
of this degrading spectacle, "there's no need to speak like this,
Lawrence. Tell us how you came to be at the Red Deeps."
"How do you know I was at the Red Deeps?" asked Hill, shivering, and
with the sudden rage dying out of him.
"Well, you took your son's revolver, and----"
"You said you didn't believe I fired the shot, Mask," cried the
miserable creature. "I heard you say so, I had my ear to the
keyhole all the time----
"Father--father," said Allen, sick with disgust at the sight of his
parent behaving in this way.
"And why not?" cried Hill, turning fiercely on him. "I am in danger.
Haven't I the right to take all measures I can for my own safety? I
_did_ listen, I tell you, and I overheard all. Had you not proved to
Mask here, that the bullet which caused the death could not have been
fired out of your revolver, I'd not have come in. I should have run
away. But you know I am innocent----"
"Quite so," said Mask, looking searchingly at the speaker, "therefore
the reason for your disguise is at an end."
Hill passed his tongue over his dry lips and crouched again. "No,
it isn't," he said faintly, "there's something else."
"In heaven's name, what is it?" asked Allen.
"Leave me alone," snarled his father, shrinking back in his chair and
looking apprehensively at his tall, white-faced son, "it's got nothing
to do with you."
"It has everything to do with me," said his son with calm firmness,
"for my mother's sake I intend to have an explanation."
"If my wife were here she would never let you treat me in this way,
Allen," whimpered the miserable father. "Sarah"--he did not call his
wife Saccharissa now, the situation being too serious--"Sarah is
always kind to me."
Allen with folded arms leaned against the bookcase and looked at his
father with deep pity in his eyes. Hill was alternately whimpering and
threatening: at one moment he would show a sort of despairing courage,
and the next would wince like a child fearful of a blow. The young man
never loved his father, who, taken up with himself and his whims, had
done nothing to make the boy love him. He had never respected the man,
and only out of regard for his mother had he refrained from taking
strong measures to curb the pronounced eccentricities of Hill. But the
man, miserable coward as he seemed, was still his father, and it
behoved him to deal with him as gently as possible. In his own mind,
Allen decided that his father's troubles--whatever they were--had
driven him insane. But the sight of that cringing, crawling figure
begot a mixture of pity and loathing--loathing that a human creature
should fall so low, and pity that his own father should suddenly
become a 'thing' instead of a man.
"I want to be kind to you, father," he said after a pause; "who will
you trust if not your own son?"
"You were never a son to me," muttered Hill.
"Was that my fault?" asked Allen strongly. "I would have been a son to
you, if you had let me. But you know, father, how you kept me at
arm's length--you know how you ruled the house according to your
whims and fancies, and scorned both my mother and myself. Often you
have spoken to her in such a manner that it was only the knowledge
that you are my father which made me refrain from interfering. My
mother says she owes much to you----"
"So she does--so she does."
"Then why take advantage of her gratitude? She gives everything to
you, father, and you treat her in a way--faugh," Allen swept the air
with his arm, as though to banish the subject. "Let us say no more on
that point. But I have come up here to get to the bottom of this
affair, father, and I don't leave this place till I know all."
Hill tried to straighten himself. "You forget I am your father," he
said, with an attempt at dignity.
"No; I do not forget. Because you are my father I wish to help you
out of this trouble, whatever it is. I can save you from being
accused of Strode's murder, but the other thing----"
"I never said there was anything else," said Hill quickly.
"Yes, you did, Lawrence," said Mask. "I have taken a note of it."
"Oh," whimpered Hill, "if you turn against me too---"
"Neither one of us intend to turn against you," said Allen in deep
disgust, for the man was more like a jelly-fish than ever, and
constantly evaded all attempts to bring him to the point. "For
heaven's sake, father, summon up your manhood and let us know the
worst!"
"I won't be spoken to in this way," stuttered Hill, growing red.
Allen made one stride forward, and looked down from his tall height
at the crouching figure in the chair--the figure in its shameful
disguise, with the white face and wild eyes. "You shall be spoken to
in a perfectly quiet way," he said calmly, although inwardly
agitated, "but you shall do what you are told. I have put up with
this state of things long enough. In future, my mother shall govern
the house, and you shall come back to it to indulge in whatever whims
you like within reason. But master you shall not be."
"Who will prevent me?" said Hill, trying to bluster.
"I shall," said Allen decisively; "you are not fit to manage your
own affairs or to rule a house. If you come back--as you shall--my
mother, who loves you, will do all she can to make you happy. I
also, as your son, will give you all respect due to a father."
"You're doing so now, I think," sneered Hill, very white.
"God help me, what else can I do?" cried Allen, restraining himself
by a violent effort; "if you could see yourself you would know what it
costs me to speak to you like this. But, for your own sake, for my
mother's sake, for my own, I must take the upper hand."
Hill leaped panting from his seat. "You dare!----"
"Sit down," said his son imperiously, and pushed him back in his
chair; "yes, I dare, father. As you are not responsible, I shall
deal with you as I think is for your good. I know how to deal with
men," said Allen, looking very tall and very strong, "and so I shall
deal with you."
"You forget," panted Hill, with dry lips, "I have the money."
"I forget nothing. I shall have a commission of lunacy taken out
against you and the money matters shall be arranged----"
"Oh," Hill burst into tears, and turned to the quiet, observant
Mask, "can you sit and hear all this?"
"I think your son is right, Lawrence."
"I shall go to law," cried Hill fiercely.
"Can a man in hiding go to law?" hinted Mask significantly.
The miserable man sank back in his seat and wept. Sick at heart,
Allen looked at the old lawyer. "You are my father's friend, sir,"
he said gently, "try and bring him to reason. As for me, I must walk
for a time in the outer room to recover myself. I can't bear the
sight of those tears. My father--oh, God help me, my father!" and
Allen, unlocking the door, walked into the outer room sick at
heart. He was not a man given to melodrama, but the sight of his
wretched father made him sick and faint. He sat down in the clerk's
chair to recover himself, and leaned his aching head on his hand.
What passed between Mask and Hill he never knew, but after half an
hour the old lawyer called Allen in. Hill had dried his tears, and
was still sitting hunched up in the chair. But he was calmer, and
took the words which Mask would have spoken out of the lawyer's
mouth. "I am much worried, Allen," said he softly, "so you must
excuse my being somewhat unstrung. If you think it wise, I'll go
back."
"So far as I know, I do think it wise."
"Let us hear the story first," said Mask.
"What story?" asked Allen sharply.
"My miserable story," said Hill; "I'll tell it all. You may be
able to help me. And I need help," he ended piteously.
"You shall have all help, father. Tell me why you went to the Red
Deeps and took my revolver."
Hill did not answer at once. His eyelids drooped, and he looked
cunningly and doubtfully at his son. Apparently he did not trust him
altogether, and was thinking as to what he would say, and what leave
unsaid. The two men did not speak, and after a pause, Hill, now more
composed, began to speak slowly:
"I have known Strode all my life, and he always treated me badly. As a
boy I lived near his father's place at Wargrove, and my father liked
me to associate with him, as he was of better birth than I. We studied
at the same school and the same college, and, when we went into the
world, Strode's influence introduced me into aristocratic circles. But
my own talents aided me also," said Hill, with open vanity, "I can do
everything and amuse any one. When I stopped at Lord Ipsen's----"
"My mother told me of that," said Allen with a gesture of repugnance,
"and I don't want to hear the story again."
"I'm not going to tell it," retorted his father tartly, "my idea was
to explain a popularity you will never attain to, Allen. However, I'll
pass that over. I married your mother, and Strode married Lady Jane
Delham, with whom I also was in love--and I would have made her a much
better husband than Strode," said the little man plaintively.
"Go on, please," said Mask, glancing at his watch. "There isn't much
time. I have to go out to luncheon."
"Always thinking of yourself, Mask," sneered Hill, "you always
did, you know. Well, I saw little of Strode for some time. Then I
lent him money and saw less of him than ever. Then he----"
"You told me all this before," interposed Allen, who began to think
his father was merely playing with him.
"I'll come to the point presently," said Hill with great dignity;
"let me say, Allen, that although I hated Strode, and had good cause
too--yes, very good cause--I liked Eva. When you wished to marry
her, I was pleased. She wrote to her father about the marriage. He
sent her a cablegram saying he was coming home----"
"And when he did arrive at Southampton he told her she was not to
think of the marriage."
"He told me also," said Hill, "and long before. He wrote from the Cape
telling me he would not allow you to marry Eva."
"Allow me!" said Allen indignantly.
"Yes, and told me I was to stop the marriage. I wrote, and urged the
advisability of the match. When Strode reached Southampton, he wrote
again saying he intended Eva to marry Lord Saltars---"
"Did he make any mention of money?"
"No. He simply said that if I did not stop the marriage he would
disgrace me," here Hill changed colour, and looked furtively at both
his listeners.
"How disgrace you?" asked Mask sharply.
"I shan't tell you that," was the dogged reply, "all you need know
is, that Strode could disgrace me. I--I--made a mistake when I was
a young man," said Hill, casting down his eyes, so as not to meet
the honest gaze of his son, "and Strode took advantage of it. He
made me sign a document confessing what I had done----"
"And what in heaven's name had you done?" questioned Allen, much
troubled.
"That's my business. I shan't say--it has nothing to do with you,"
said Hill hurriedly, "but Strode had the document and always carried
it about with him. I wanted to get it and destroy it, so I asked him
when he came to Wargrove to meet me at the Red Deeps, and then I
would tell him how the marriage with you could be prevented. I also
said that I knew something about Lord Saltars----"
"What is that?"
"Nothing," said Hill, this time frankly. "I really knew nothing, but I
wanted Strode to come to the Red Deeps. He made an appointment to meet
me there on Wednesday at nine."
"In that case, why did he wire to Eva he would be down on Thursday?"
"Because he wanted to come down quietly to see me. And," added Hill
hesitating, "he had to see some one else. I don't know who, but he
hinted that he had to see some one."
"When you spoke to him at the Red Deeps?"
"Yes. I went there on Wednesday and he was waiting. It was getting
dark, but we saw plainly enough. I urged him to give up the
document. He refused, and told me that he required more money. I
grew angry and left him."
"Alive?"
"Yes. But I had your revolver with me, Allen. I took it with the
idea of shooting Strode, if he didn't give up the document----"
"Oh," cried Allen, shrinking back. It seemed horrible to hear his
father talk like this. "But you didn't----"
"No. I got behind a bush and fired. My shot touched his arm, for
he clapped his hand to the wound. Then he turned with a volley of
abuse to run after me. At that moment there came another shot from a
clump of trees near me, and Strode fell face downward. I was so afraid
at the idea of any one having been near me, and of having overheard
our conversation----"
"And of seeing your attempt at murder," interpolated Mask.
"Yes--yes--that I dropped Allen's revolver and ran away."
"I found the revolver and took it home," said Allen; "so the way
you acted the next morning when Wasp came was----"
"It was the morning after that," said his father drily, "on
Friday, and Strode was shot on Wednesday. I never went near the
Red Deeps again. I didn't know if Strode was dead, but I knew
that he had been shot. I steeled myself to bear the worst, but
did not make any inquiries out of policy. When Wasp came that
morning at breakfast, I knew what he had to say. Strode was dead.
I dreaded lest Wasp should say that the revolver had been found,
in which case you might have got into trouble, Allen: but I was
thankful nothing was said of it."
The young man was astounded at this cool speech: but he passed it
over, as it was useless to be angry with such a man. "I picked up
the revolver as I said," he replied; "but about the document?"
"I hadn't time to get it. The shot frightened me."
"Did you see who fired the shot?"
"No. I was too afraid. I simply ran away and never looked back."
At this point Mask held up his hand. "I hear some one in the outer
office," he said, and rose to open the door. Hill slipped behind
the table quivering with fear. However, Mask returned to his seat.
"I am wrong," he said, "there's no one there. Go on."
"What else do you want to know?" questioned Hill irritably.
"Why you fainted and left the house, when you got that cross from
Giles Merry?"
Hill stared. "You knew it was Giles?" he stammered; "what do you know
of Giles?"
"Nothing. But Mrs. Merry recognised the direction on the brown
paper as being in her husband's writing. Why did you faint?"
Hill looked down and then looked up defiantly. He was still
standing behind the desk. "I stole the wooden hand!"
"What!" cried Mask and Allen, both rising.
"Yes. I had my reasons for doing so. I took it from the body, when
I was in the death-chamber. I had it in my pocket when I saw you
and Eva, and said it was stolen. And then," went on Mr. Hill very
fast, so that Allen should not give expression to the horror which
was on his face, "I took it home. But I feared lest my wife should
find it and then I would get into trouble. Sarah was always looking
into my private affairs," he whined, "so to stop that, I went and
buried the hand on the common. Some one must have watched me, for I
put that cross to mark the spot. When I opened the parcel and saw
the cross I knew some one must have dug up the wooden hand and that
my secret----"
"What has the wooden hand to do with your secret?"
Hill shuffled, but did not reply to the question. "It was Giles's
writing. I knew he'd got the wooden hand, and my secret--Hark!"
There was certainly the sound of retreating footsteps in the other
room. Allen flung open the door, while his father cowered behind the
desk. The outer door was closing. Allen leaped for it: but the
person had turned the key in the lock. They heard a laugh, and then
retreating footsteps. Mask, who had followed Allen, saw something
white on the floor. He picked it up. It was a letter addressed to
Sebastian Mask. Opening this he returned to the inner office. "Let
us look at this first," said Mask, and recalled Allen: then he read
what was in the envelope. It consisted of one line. "Open the wooden
hand," said the mysterious epistle.
"No," shrieked Hill, dropping on his knees; "my secret will be found
out!"