Eileen Cressage watched the old man eagerly stretch out his hand and
take the armlet from Westenhanger’s fingers.
“What do you mean, Conway?” she exclaimed. “The _real_ Talisman? Why,
you saw the real Talisman put into that safe over yonder not three
days ago by Mr. Dangerfield himself. How do you come to have it here?”
For once, Rollo Dangerfield was so moved as to forget his courtesy.
“Is it the real thing?” he asked Westenhanger, with anxiety obvious in
his tone.
The engineer reassured him.
“I don’t profess to be an expert; but I can tell the difference
between paste and the genuine article. These diamonds are the real
thing.”
Rollo carried the armlet across to the window and examined it
minutely. Eileen followed him, still mystified by the turn of events,
though the explanation was beginning to shape itself in her mind.
“The end of the Dangerfield Secret, isn’t it?” asked Westenhanger,
joining them. “I was pretty sure of my ground when I told you that the
Secret had ceased to be of any importance now.”
Rollo Dangerfield’s lapse into unintentional brusqueness had been only
a momentary one, under the stress of strong emotion. Already he had
recovered his balance.
“You can perhaps understand something of what this means to me, Mr.
Westenhanger, even if you don’t guess the whole story. It’s sometimes
difficult to find words for what one has to say. I wish to thank
you—and you also, Miss Cressage—for this. You can have no idea of the
load which you have taken off my shoulders. You have cleared away the
shams, and I can look people in the face again, unashamed. It’s
useless to put these things into words. I can’t do it as I would like
to do. But at least I can tell you, Miss Cressage, something of the
Dangerfield story which will give you an idea of what this has meant
to us.”
He made a gesture inviting them to sit down again. Eileen seated
herself, but Westenhanger paused for a moment.
“I think we’d better shut this thing up before we go any further.”
He indicated the still open drawer in the panelling.
“Just wait a moment until I empty it completely.”
He put his hand into the recess and withdrew several other pieces of
jewellery which he added to the shining heap on the table. Then he
closed the drawer, dropped the arras, and came back to the
Chess-board.
“You remember you told us that after the Corinthian’s death they found
the pieces on this board in the position shown on the document? It’s
pretty obvious what was in his mind. He knew that he might be killed
in a few minutes. Probably he mistrusted his servants and was afraid
to leave family jewellery at their mercy. So he opened the secret
recess, tumbled the jewels into it—the Talisman was in it already—and
then he closed his combination lock . . . thus.”
Westenhanger walked on to the Chessboard and lifted the white knight
from Queen’s Seventh.
“One reverses the four moves, so, bringing the knight back to its
starting-point on the knight’s square.”
He suited the action to the word, carrying out the four operations in
the reverse order.
“Now the drawer is locked,” he explained. “That’s what the Corinthian
did, just before he went out to his duel. And that’s why they found
the Chess-board in this state. Probably he hadn’t time enough to put
the pieces away in the cupboard, so he left them standing as they
were. They gave nothing away.”
He picked up the document, the wrinkled leather disc, and his own
“sucker”; and handed them across the table.
“That finishes our part, Mr. Dangerfield. Now, perhaps, you’ll tell us
what you wish us to hear.”
Rollo Dangerfield’s face had regained its accustomed serenity. The
tinge of suspicion had vanished completely and was replaced by a
trustful expression, as he looked at his two guests. He turned first
to Eileen.
“I am sorry you have been kept waiting for an answer to your question,
Miss Cressage. It was my fault. You will forgive an old man’s
impatience when I tell you that you and Mr. Westenhanger have cleared
up something which has hung over fifty years of my life. And there are
other reasons, too, as you will hear.”
Eileen had no need to say anything. Her face told Rollo that she had
not been offended.
“You startled me not long ago, Mr. Westenhanger,” their host went on,
“by asking me if the Dangerfield Secret was not just three generations
old. If that was a mere guess it was a very good one. Actually, what
has been called the Dangerfield Secret originated in my father’s day;
and since it has been passed on to Eric it has lasted through three
generations. And now it passes away, thanks to you young people.”
He paused for a moment before speaking again.
“You must bear in mind that some of this is conjecture, and that I am
trying to fit it together so as to take in the facts which have come
to light this afternoon. Before I came into this room I had not the
key to the problem; and I have hardly had time to fit the new links
into the chain neatly. But it seems evident to me that even in my
grandfather’s day, there was a Talisman and a replica; and that the
replica was kept under the tinted bell to conceal the fact that the
stones were false. From your inferences, Mr. Westenhanger, it seems
clear that he devised this particular hiding-place for the real
Talisman.
“Now take the state of affairs on the morning of my grandfather’s
death. He knew the risk he ran—his opponent was a noted duellist; and
he had no one at hand whom he could trust. Probably, as you suggested,
he collected the more valuable family jewels and placed them with the
real Talisman for safety’s sake. We did him an injustice when we
assumed that he had already sold them to pay his gambling debts.
“I don’t care to speculate on his mental condition at that moment.
Quite probably, after a night’s carousing he was not clear-headed. He
jotted down the memory-help he used himself as a clue to the hiding
place, and very probably he failed to realise that it was no real help
to anyone but himself. Then he went out—and that was the end.”
With quite unconscious dramatic effect the old man paused in his
narrative and sat for some instants in silence. When he spoke again it
was in a lighter tone.
“And now I come to a fresh character. I never knew him, but I have
been trying to reconstruct him in my mind from many things which were
told to me about him. He was the solicitor for the Dangerfield estate
at the time my Corinthian grandfather died.
“Imagine his position, Miss Cressage. He takes over the administration
of the estate—you remember that my father was a mere child then—and he
finds it terribly encumbered with the debts which had accumulated in
my grandfather’s day, a load of liabilities which even a generation
failed to clear away. Credit was essential if the ship was to be kept
afloat at all. And the biggest asset of the estate was the Dangerfield
Talisman. So long as that remained, no one could suppose that things
were seriously involved, and with care, he could just pilot us
through. Without that palladium, the creditors would have come down at
once and the game would have been up. Friocksheim would have come to
the hammer. Everything would have gone down in the crash. And in the
midst of all his anxiety he learned that the Talisman was a sham of
gilded lead and spurious stones!”
Rollo broke off his narrative, leaving time for them to appreciate the
position.
“I have seen the document in his own handwriting,” he continued,
“which gives an account of the affair. He had taken the Talisman from
under the bell and asked a jeweller what it would cost to make a
replica. He thought the thing should be put in safety; and it seems
that he, too, had hit on the idea of substituting a counterfeit for
the real thing, the notion of a stalking-horse which I explained to
you once before, Mr. Westenhanger. And you can guess his consternation
when he learned from the jeweller that the thing was worth no more
than a few pounds. The whole mainstay of his scheme for keeping the
Dangerfield credit secure, now turned out to be worthless. There was
no other easily-vended article—all the valuable jewellery had
vanished, sold to pay the Corinthian’s debts, as we have wrongly
believed until to-day.
“He had to come to a decision. Rightly or wrongly, he chose his
course. He started the Dangerfield Secret as we have known it. He
quieted any suspicions of the jeweller by ordering ‘a second replica.’
And he embarked on a career of concealment. It was safe enough. The
Corinthian had had the armlet valued out of curiosity. Everyone knew
it was worth £50,000. No one had any reason to suppose that it had
gone astray. And with that sham asset behind him to strengthen
confidence, he pulled the estate out of its immediate difficulties. I
have no right to criticise him. He worked according to his lights,
with the sole purpose of handing over Friocksheim to my father when he
came of age.”
It was plain enough from the old man’s tone that he himself might have
chosen the same course had the alternatives been offered.
“We have paid dearly enough for his decision,” Rollo went on. “He
involved us all in his machinations, even those of us who were born
long after he died. When my father came of age, the old solicitor laid
the whole case before him. The estate was still in a shaky state, and
an involuntary liquidation would have left us insolvent. More, in a
forced sale we could not have hoped to pay our creditors in full. We’d
have been defaulters and real losses would have been incurred by
innocent people. On the other side, by keeping up the estate’s credit,
we gained time enough to pay in full, eventually—to be honest, in
fact—provided that the Talisman deception could be kept in being. It
was merely a choice, you see, between two forms of dishonesty; but the
one alternative would hurt other people, whilst the second course laid
a burden on ourselves alone. My father chose the second path. I cannot
say that in his position, I would have done otherwise myself.”
His face took on a bitter cast.
“That was the beginning of the Dangerfield Secret—the trickery of the
spurious Talisman. Can you wonder that I described it to you, once, as
a memorial of lying and deceit? How do you suppose I felt, being
driven to lie to my own guests in my own house every time I was asked
to show it to anyone? The famous Dangerfield Talisman!”
He moved in his chair, almost as though he wished to free himself from
some physical contamination.
“And all the time, we were in the toils which that old man had wrapped
around us a century ago. How could we shake free from that web of
deception? We still need the asset—at least we needed it yesterday.
And to let the thing leak out would be to put a black mark on my
father’s name. You know what people would say about the part we have
played. There was no getting clear. We had to go on as we had begun.”
He glanced at his two guests as though he feared that he had wearied
them by a long story; but their expressions encouraged him to continue
to the end.
“People often wonder why we do not insure a thing of such immense
value. How could we insure it? It would need to be valued—and the game
would be up! So we have been forced into that second series of
deceptions—the return of the Talisman after it has been stolen. We
have to keep a series of replicas; and put out a fresh one every time
there is a theft. We have to play that silly game of pretending we
believe in an old legend—another lie—because we dare not call in the
police if the thing vanishes, and because we dare not admit that we
have lost it.”
Rollo’s voice became gloomier still.
“And in front of us, always, there was the risk of an inevitable
exposure. We had to avoid the Government valuers in the matter of
Death Duties. We could do that only by transferring the Talisman from
hand to hand. My father made it over to me when I was twenty-one; I
gave it to Eric when he came of age. It has never been subject to
Death Duties yet. But there is always the chance of accident. If Eric
died before me the whole thing would have been exposed when they came
to value his estate. That possible Nemesis has been imminent for the
holders of the Talisman.”
He seemed to brood for a time on his retrospect. When he spoke again,
both his voice and manner had altered. It was as if at last he had
emerged from the shadows.
“And now, after a century of deceit, we’ve come out into the light
again, thanks to you both! And to think that the Talisman was here all
the time, within the walls of Friocksheim. Of course we had puzzled
over the Corinthian’s cypher; but we’d never taken it seriously,
because we believed all along that he had sold the armlet and the
jewellery. It never occurred to any of us that the thing was within
our grasp, under our very roof. Even his own man of affairs believed
that, and it never crossed our minds that anything else could have
happened.”
“I think it was very natural,” said Eileen.
Westenhanger made no comment. He had been touched, like the girl, by
the story of the Dangerfield Secret as it was now revealed. By his
candid narrative old Rollo had enlisted their sympathy without having
directly besought it from them; and they could understand the feelings
which his position had stirred in him through fifty long years.
“No wonder he often looked as if he’d grown sick of life,” was the
younger man’s unspoken comment.
“Well, it’s all right now, isn’t it?” he said aloud. “The Talisman’s
come back for the last time.”
Eileen broke in, before the old man could reply.
“You’ve no idea how glad I am that we are able to help, Mr.
Dangerfield. Less than a week ago, I felt that Friocksheim was a place
I’d never want to visit again; it had such miserable associations in
my mind, in more ways than one. But now, somehow, it’s all different.
We can all be happy here; there’s nothing hanging over any of us any
more. You understand, don’t you?”
Rollo Dangerfield looked at her with something like affection showing
in his eyes.
“Who could understand better than I do? It’s like waking out of a
nightmare to find the sun shining in through the window. And we owe
our awakening to you and Mr. Westenhanger. You don’t imagine I
under-rate that, surely? I dare say you think you understand what this
means for me; perhaps you have some faint conception. But unless you
had actually gone through it yourselves you couldn’t come near the
real thing. It’s lasted fifty years, and that’s only a few years less
than your two lives put together. And now—daylight! I shall be glad to
have a year or two of decent life at the end of it all.”
Westenhanger saw something in the old man’s eyes which made him
interpose with a fresh subject.
“And what about the Talisman now, Mr. Dangerfield? Will you use the
Corinthian’s safe deposit still? It’s lain there safely enough all
these years. That’s why I locked the door—so that no one should
blunder in and notice the hiding-place when it was open. I thought you
might want it again.”
“The Talisman?” repeated Rollo. “Do you know, I could almost find it
in my heart to sell the Talisman—give Wraxall his desire, after all.
If I had a decent excuse for doing it, I think I would. I’ve hated it
for years. But I suppose we must keep it, now that it’s come into our
hands again. I want no more possible regrets, and one might regret
having let it go, after these centuries. We don’t need to sell it;
there are other things to sell.”
He bent over the table and examined the jewellery which had come from
the Corinthian’s hiding-place. After a careful scrutiny he picked up
the diamond pendant and turned to Eileen.
“You talked about your memories of Friocksheim, Miss Cressage, and,
believe me, I was touched by what you said. Now I should like you to
have something which will always remind you of the old place in that
aspect.”
He offered her the glittering gems, and, when she made a gesture of
refusal, he continued as though he had not noticed it.
“I know you don’t wear jewellery, so in its present form it would
hardly serve. But this central stone would set well in a ring. Get it
taken out; and do as you please with the rest—sell them, if you
choose. There’s no sentiment in the matter; for I intend to sell the
rest of the things here and use the money to clear our feet at last.
So you are free to follow that good example if you please.”
He saw her expression and tried a different argument.
“If you refuse, I shall feel that you think I have been trying to pay
you for your help—and that you flung the payment back. Nobody could
find a real payment for what you and Mr. Westenhanger have done. This
isn’t payment, Miss Cressage. It’s a thank-offering, if you care to
put it in that way. I still hope you won’t refuse.”
Eileen saw the pain in the old man’s eyes.
“I ought to refuse,” she said, hesitatingly.
Then, after another look at Rollo’s face, she added:
“But I can understand how you feel. I’ll take your gift, though it’s
far too valuable. And I’ll do with it just as you wish. We needn’t
pretend to misunderstand each other, need we? I’ll sell some of the
stones and clear my own feet, just as you’re going to clear yours. And
I’ll wear the ring to remind me of Friocksheim, though I won’t need it
for that.”
She took the pendant and examined it, thoughtfully.
“It’s a lovely thing . . . I feel rather tongue-tied, Mr.
Dangerfield,” she confessed with a smile.
“I’m glad to hear that,” he smiled in response. “You’ll understand
better now, how I felt myself not many minutes ago.”
And with that he brushed her thanks aside.
“There’s one thing you can do, Miss Cressage. Come back often to
Friocksheim. I shall look forward to your coming. You’re one of us,
now, and not merely a visitor; for you know more about our affairs
than some of our family ever knew. You, too, Westenhanger. We’re
going to need young people about the place, since we shall be losing
Helga. . . .”
Suddenly his face changed. A smile came over it, the first really
care-free smile that had crossed it in fifty years. The touch of
wistfulness had vanished—it was the natural Rollo coming out at last
after the long suppression.
“Helga’s birthday falls next week. She will be twenty-five—the age
when our girls are told the Dangerfield Secret. What a disappointment
for her when she learns that now there is no Secret at all!”
The End
Transcriber’s Notes
This transcription follows the text of the edition published by
Little, Brown, and Company in February, 1927. However, the following
alterations have been made to correct what are believed to be
unambiguous errors in the text:
* “semed” has been changed to “seemed” (Chapter VII);
* “Westerhanger” has been changed to “Westenhanger” (Chapter X);
* “generaations” has been changed to “generations” (Chapter XIV).
All other seeming errors have been allowed to stand. (Note in
particular that the name of the jewellery firm has not been
regularized, as it is rendered variously as Starbeck, Starbeck’s, and
Starbecks, with no clear preference of one use over another.)