CAPTAIN MARVEN'S SURPRISE PACKET
When in response to the official summons Captain Marven returned to
town he was more perturbed than he would have cared to confess, at the
disastrous ending to Meriel's love affair. The intimacy of everyday
life had only confirmed the favourable impression Guy had produced
upon him, and he had looked forward with pleasure to welcoming him as
a member of his family. But altogether apart from the question of his
own gratification, he was deeply pained that a cloud should have cast
its shadow on the girl's happiness, and he be able to do nothing to
dissipate it. He was in that condition of mind when trifles are apt to
irritate the best conditioned of men, and he was consequently as nearly
discourteous as it was possible for him to be when Mr. Hildebrand
Flurscheim thrust himself into the same compartment of the railway
train. As a travelling companion Flurscheim was the last person in the
world he would have chosen, and he strove to ignore his presence by
burying himself in a newspaper.
But Flurscheim was not accustomed to be ignored. He took no notice
of Marven's coolness, but chattered away incessantly, and at last he
succeeded in capturing the Captain's attention.
"There seems to have been some trouble between the young people," he
had remarked.
"Really, I cannot conceive that if there is it can be any
business of yours, Mr. Flurscheim," replied Marven frigidly.
The Jew had taken no notice of the snub.
"I'm not so sure of that," he had answered. "I am not so sure but that
I may not be successful in putting matters straight between them."
"What on earth are you driving at?" asked the Captain.
Flurscheim smiled. "It's not a matter I can talk about," he answered,
"without the permission of others, but I've seen how interested you
are in Mr. Guy Hora, and I've put my own construction on your looking
a bit down in the mouth this morning. I hope you'll excuse me speaking
straight what's in my mind, and if I'm mistaken, I apologise for my
interference. That's my impression, anyway," he continued, as Captain
Marven did not reply, "so I thought that I would tell you that I think
I know what is troubling Mr. Hora, and that I also think it is in my
power to clear up the trouble. Of course, I may be mistaken, but I hope
I am not, for I owe your young friend a debt I can never hope fully to
repay."
He spoke so earnestly that Marven's reserve and irritation melted away,
and the two men parted at the London terminus on the best of terms with
each other.
But although Marven had not learned anything as to the
nature of Flurscheim's intended action he felt easier in
his mind, for he realised that the Jew was very much in
earnest, and he drove off to his town house to make his
preparations for his anticipated journey with a far lighter
heart than he had possessed when leaving Whitsea.
These preparations were soon completed, and he was sitting down to a
hastily prepared luncheon when Lynton Hora had knocked at his door.
Hora had not anticipated finding Captain Marven in town, but had merely
called in order to ascertain with certainty where the letter he had
written would find him. Then finding that Marven was in the house, he
had left the packet with instructions that it was to be immediately
delivered.
The package Hora had left was a bulky one. Marven merely glanced at it
when the servant brought it to him. Not until he had finished lunch did
he cut the string. When the wrapper was unfolded and he had shaken out
the contents his face paled, and he gasped for breath. There seemed but
little reason for his agitation; the parcel contained nothing but a
child's pinafore and a letter. Yet the sight of the pinafore was quite
sufficient to blur his vision and set his hands shaking. He recognised
it. He knew it instantly, without the necessity for turning to the
corner where the letters G. M. were embroidered by his wife's own hand.
He sprang to his feet and rang the bell violently.
"Where is the man who brought this parcel?" he demanded directly the
servant who had waited on him made her appearance. His anxiety was so
great that the woman was terrified, and some minutes elapsed before
he could obtain from her a connected account of Hora's call. She
seemed to think she must have been in some way to blame for receiving
the package. Marven succeeded ultimately in reassuring her, and
sent her out hastily to see if the messenger still lingered in the
neighbourhood. He followed to the door and was grievously
disappointed when she declared that he was nowhere to be seen.
Bethinking himself of the unopened letter he returned to the room where
he had left it. The envelope was similar to many which had reached
him previously, on the anniversary of his child's disappearance,
but when he opened it he saw that it contained much more than the
three-lined typed message telling him that his child was alive. There
were many sheets of note paper covered in a bold handwriting which
seemed familiar to him. His hand shook more than ever as he smoothed
out the sheets, and his eyes grew dim again. Was his son at last to be
restored to him? He laid down the letter deliberately, and not until he
had succeeded in mastering his emotion did he attempt to make himself
acquainted with the contents. The opening sentence made his heart leap
with joy. The epistle opened baldly, without any of the customary
methods of address.
"The time has arrived when I am compelled to restore your son to you. I
hope you will be proud of him. He is known to the world as Guy Hora."
Then his instinct had been right. Guy was his son. He wanted to read
no more. That was quite enough. He would hasten to make himself known
to his son. He rang the bell and ordered the servant to summon a cab
immediately. He would send a wire to his wife informing her of the good
news. He picked up the pinafore, folded it carefully and placed it in
his pocket. The letter he could read on his way to Guy's chambers. But
first he would see if his correspondent revealed himself. He turned to
the last page. Yes, there was a signature, "Hartley Ruthven, now known
as Lynton Hora."
He remembered his brother officer and unsuccessful rival
perfectly. He had thought, like all the rest of the world, Ruthven had
been dead years since. The reason for his child's disappearance ceased
to be a mystery any longer. Yet why should Ruthven now desire to return
to life? A sudden dread seized upon Marven as he remembered his old
comrade's cold, revengeful nature, the nature which had been the real
reason for his unpopularity in the regiment, instead of the possession
of narrow means, to which Hora had always ascribed it. Perhaps this
letter was only a part of Ruthven's revenge upon the successful rival.
Perhaps he had better read it to the end before starting in search of
Guy. He passed through the entire gamut of the emotions before he had
come to the end of the epistle. Hora had deliberately set himself to
describe Guy's history in plain, matter-of-fact terms. He gave details
of the manner of the kidnapping of the child and particulars concerning
him which left no doubt that he was writing the truth. Then he went on
to relate how from the first he had trained Guy to a criminal career.
Captain Marven's heart was eaten out with rage, and he swore to himself
that the sun should not set before he exacted a reckoning from his
enemy.
Hora wrote of Guy's university career, and as he read Marven's heart
expanded again with joy. His boy had apparently been uninjured by
his earlier education. He thanked God for that. Then came two pages
in which Hora related the episodes of the Flurscheim robbery and of
the despoiling of himself of the despatches entrusted to him. "The
latter was an unpremeditated link in my chain of revenge," wrote Hora.
"Fortune does not always favour the virtuous." The paper became blank
to Marven's eyes. The servant who came to announce that the cab was
waiting at the door had to speak twice before she could make her master
comprehend.
The cabman must wait until he had finished the letter. He read on.
"You will naturally ask why I am telling these facts now. I have two
reasons. Fortune has deserted me at last. I had intended to reveal
Guy's parentage when he stood in the dock so deeply stained with crime
that part of the odium he incurred would necessarily fall upon you.
More recently I determined that I would refrain from putting that
coping stone on the edifice of my revenge. Not out of any misplaced
tenderness for you. Do not think that. My reason was a purely selfish
one. My adopted son had somehow endeared himself to me. I foresaw in
him an ornament to my own profession. I became sentimental and so,
foolish. I thought he should always remain my son. I forgot that he
had your blood in his veins and I let him fall under your influence.
I forgot too that a girl can shatter the most complete philosophy
with a glance of her eyes. The young fool has fallen in love with
Meriel Challys, and the consequence is that he has got into his head
a ridiculous idea that he must deliver himself up to justice in
order to make amends for his legitimate spoiling of the Egyptians,
Flurscheim and yourself. He is proposing to do so within the next
forty-eight hours, so you may have time to prevent his voluntary
martyrdom--a martyrdom he will certainly regret, judging from my
own experience. Do not think, however, that I am only animated by
Guy's interests. I am still keenly alive to my own safety. I have
had quite enough of prison life, and am well prepared with
means of escape, though I do not desire to end my existence just yet.
Of course, if you care to sacrifice your son in order that I shall not
escape, that is your affair. Guy knows nothing of his parentage, though
I have taken steps to inform him of it should you fail to do so. I
shall not leave him entirely in your hands."
Captain Marven laid the letter down, and, dropping his face in his
hands, he groaned aloud. His heart was sick with anguish. His long lost
son was returned to him, but in what guise? By training, by profession,
he was a thief. Guy Marven, his son, a thief! The horror of it was
almost too great to be borne! It was the bitterest blow of his life,
far more bitter even than the blow which had fallen when his baby boy
had been stolen from him. If Lynton Hora could have watched the effect
produced by his communication, even his thirst for revenge would have
been satisfied. But more bitter even than the knowledge of what his
son had become was the realisation of the burden of duty which the
revelation thrust upon him. As he realised his duty in the matter,
Captain Marven's face was grey with anguish. He had found his son only
to lose him again--to lose him amongst the yellow-garbed denizens of
the convict prison. More, it was he who must, with his own hand, send
him to that outer darkness. God grant that his son would be a man! God
grant it! That was Captain Marven's earnest prayer.
Then his wife and Meriel? What if they were to learn of Guy's
relationship. Captain Marven could only dimly conceive the effect upon
them.
The servant came again to announce that the cab was awaiting him.
Marven rose, but it was as a man ten years older than the one who had
opened Hora's letter ten minutes before. His face was lined, and his
hand tremulous, but his lips were set firmly. He saw his duty plainly
before him. There was only one path he could tread, even though every
step on that path gave him a fresh pang. But he must see Guy first,
before he took that step.
He entered the cab and was driven to the Albany. He was more master
of himself by the time he arrived. He wondered what he should do if
Guy should be absent from home, for the time at his command was short.
Within an hour he was due at the Foreign Office.
Guy opened the door, and started with amazement at sight of his
visitor's face.
"Captain Marven!" he exclaimed. Then a great fear took possession of
him. "Meriel?" he gasped.
Marven grasped the intention of the query.
"Meriel was all right when I left her this morning," he replied.
Guy's relief was obvious. "Are you ill? Is anything the matter?" he
asked, as he closed the door behind the Captain, and followed him into
his sitting-room.
Marven was at a loss for words. Hora's letter was in his hand. He held
it out to Guy, and said huskily, "Read this."
"But----" interrupted Guy.
"No, read this," repeated Marven.
Guy took the letter. He recognised the handwriting, and he wondered.
His wonder gave place to amazement as he read. Amazement was succeeded
by horror, and, when he had finished reading, the paper dropped from
his hands, and he turned his face away from the man who
had brought it, in a vain endeavour to conceal his emotion. He was
hardly aware that a hand was laid on his arm, until a voice, tremulous
with emotion, said, "Guy, my son."
He disdained concealment then. He wheeled round and clutched blindly at
the two hands outstretched to meet his own.
"Father, forgive! forgive!" he muttered brokenly.