A BOMBSHELL
After this followed a series of events, startling, almost unbelievable
and utterly unexpected, such as only take place in real life. Had this
story been the outcome of my own imagination, I should never dare to
relate them; but because I have undertaken the task of writing what
actually took place I can do no other.
This was how they happened:
We were sitting together after dinner that night in the most
commonplace fashion imaginable. Lord and Lady Carbis had announced
their intention to leave early on the following morning, and their son
had promised to go with them. George St. Mabyn and Springfield were
there, having accepted Lady Bolivick's invitation to spend the evening
with them. Norah Blackwater, who had been a guest at the house for
some days, was also there.
'I think as I am leaving to-morrow,' and Jack only slightly raised his
voice, 'that I ought to tell you all something, something--important.'
Instantly there was a deathly silence, and with a quick movement every
one turned to the speaker.
'I imagine my motives may be questioned,' he went on. 'I am sure, too,
that what I say will be denied; but that doesn't matter.'
He hesitated a second as if doubtful how he had best continue, but the
tone of his voice and the purport of his words had done their work.
Even Lady Bolivick dropped her knitting, and looked quite disturbed.
'This is what I have to tell you,' he said. 'Maurice St. Mabyn is
alive; at least he was in July, 1914, months after he was announced to
be dead.'
I saw George St. Mabyn start to his feet, his lips livid, while Norah
Blackwater gave a cry which was not far removed from a scream.
'Perhaps I ought to have told this in a different way,' went on my
friend. 'Perhaps, directly my memory came back to me, and the events
of the past became clear again, I ought to have sought out George St.
Mabyn, and especially Colonel Springfield, and told them privately what
I know. However, I have thought a good deal before speaking, and--and
as this is a family party, I have adopted this method.'
'Why should you tell Colonel Springfield?' and George St. Mabyn seemed
to be speaking against his will.
'Because he is most deeply implicated, and because he will have most to
explain.'
I heard Springfield laugh at this, a laugh half of derision, half of
anger.
'I am afraid,' he said quietly, 'that although we have all
congratulated Lord and Lady Carbis on the return of their son, that his
loss of memory has disturbed his mental equilibrium in other ways.'
'Oh, no,' said Jack quietly, 'I am quite sane. No doubt it would
simplify your course of action very much if I were not, but as a matter
of fact my mind was never clearer. My father and mother will tell you
that I was never given to hysterics, and I am no great hand at
imagination.'
'But--but if you have--have proof of this,'--it was George St. Mabyn
who spoke, and his voice was hoarse and unnatural,--'why--why'----? by
heaven, it's monstrous!'
Springfield laughed like one amused.
'I do not wish to wound any one's feelings,' he said, 'but I suppose
many madmen think they are sane. Of course we sympathize with Lord and
Lady Carbis, but I am afraid there is only one conclusion that we can
come to. Only on the night when his father and mother came here,
before this marvellous change in his memory took place, he said
something similar to this, and--and of course we can only regard it as
the hallucination of an unbalanced mind. Let us hope after a few
months' quiet, things will be normal again.'
'Of course I knew you would take this attitude, Colonel Springfield,'
replied Jack quietly. 'You have reason to.'
'What reason?' he snarled.
'Are you sure you wish me to tell?'
'Yes, tell anything, everything you can! Only be sure it's the truth.
Else by----!' he remembered himself suddenly and then went on: 'But
this is madness, pure madness!'
'I'll not deal with motives,' went on my friend, still speaking
quietly; 'they will doubtless come out in good time. For that matter I
would rather say no more at present. I have only said what I have to
give you a chance--of--of clearing out.'
Springfield gave me a quick glance, and then for a moment lost control
of himself.
'Oh, I see,' he said. 'This is a plot. Luscombe is in it. He has
been discussing things with this--this lunatic, and this hatched-up
absurdity is the result.'
I think Springfield felt he had made a false move the moment he had
spoken. Directly my name was mentioned, it became evident that the
plea of my friend's madness broke down.
'At any rate,' he went on, 'I am not to be intimidated, and I will not
listen to any hysterical slanderings.'
'Pardon me,' said Jack quietly, 'but Luscombe knew nothing whatever of
my intentions. You are sure you want me to go on?' he added quietly.
'Go on by all means. Doubtless you will be amusing. But mind,' and
Springfield's voice became threatening, 'I am a dangerous man to trifle
with.'
'I have grave reasons for knowing that,' was Jack's reply; 'but let
that pass. About three years ago news arrived in England that Maurice
St. Mabyn was dead--killed in a skirmish in Egypt. Some time
afterwards Colonel or Captain Springfield as he was then, came to
Devonshire, and gave a detailed account of his death. He said he was
with him during his last moments, together with--other interesting
things. From the account given Maurice St. Mabyn died in April, 1914,
and Colonel Springfield came, I think, in September, or October. By
this time George St. Mabyn had not only taken possession of his
brother's estates, but had also become the suitor for the hand of his
brother's fiancée.'
'Surely,' cried Springfield, as if in protest, 'there is no need to
distress us all by probing the wounds made three years ago. Personally
I think it is cruel.'
'It would be cruel but for what I am going to say,' replied Jack
Carbis. 'As it happens, Maurice St. Mabyn was not dead at the time. I
saw him,--spoke with him in Bizna in the July of that year.'
'You saw Maurice in July, although he was reported dead in April!'
cried Sir Thomas. 'Why--why----; but it can't be true! That is--are
you sure? I say, George, wasn't the news definite--concise? Yes, I
remember it was. I saw the Egyptian newspaper account.'
'I suppose you don't expect any one here to believe in this
cock-and-bull story,' and Springfield laughed uneasily. 'But may one
ask,' he continued, 'why we are regaled with this--this romance?'
'Yes,' replied Jack, 'you may ask; but if I were you I wouldn't. I'd
make myself scarce.'
I saw Springfield's eyes contract, and his whole attitude reminded me
of an angry dog.
'You must tell us all what you mean by that,' he snarled. 'I'm sorry,
Lady Bolivick, that such a scene as this should take place in your
house, but I must defend myself.'
'Against whom? Against what? What charges have been made?' and Jack
Carbis still spoke quietly and naturally.
Again Springfield lost control of himself. 'Oh, I know,' he cried,
'that you and Luscombe have been plotting against me for years. I know
that you would poison the mind of----; that is--why should I deny it?
I love Miss Bolivick. I have loved her from the first hour I saw her.
I have sought her honourably. I would give my immortal soul to win
her, such is my love for her. I know, too, that you, Edgecumbe, or
Carbis, or whatever you may call yourself, are jealous of me, because
you are madly in love with her yourself. By unproved, unprovable
because they are lying, statements, you are trying to poison the mind
of the women I love against me. You are suggesting that I sent home
and brought home false accounts of Maurice St. Mabyn's death for some
sinister purpose. You are hinting at all sorts of horrible things.
Great God, haven't you done enough to thwart me? Oh, yes--I'll admit
it, I expected to be Lord Carbis's heir. I had reason. But for you
I--I----but there, seeing you have robbed me of what I thought was my
legitimate fortune, don't try to rob me of my good name. It's--it's
all I have!'
At that moment I looked at Lorna Bolivick, and I thought I saw
admiration in her eyes; I felt that never was Springfield's hold upon
her stronger than now.
'Tell us plainly what you want to say,' continued Springfield;
'formulate your charges. Tell me of what I am guilty. But by the God
who made us, you shall prove your words. I will not be thrust into a
hopeless hell by lying innuendos and unproved charges.'
For the first time I thought my friend looked confused and frightened.
It might be that the personality of the other had mastered him, and
that although he had gone several steps forward in his attack, he now
desired to turn back. He seemed about to speak, then hesitated and was
silent.
'Why force me to tell the truth?' he said lamely. 'I do not wish to
say more. Take my advice, and leave while you may.'
'I am a soldier,' cried Springfield, 'and I am not one to run
away--especially from vague threats. Nay, more,' and he turned to
Lorna Bolivick, 'Miss Bolivick--Lorna, to prove how I scorn these vague
threats, I ask you here and now, although I am only a poor man, and
have nothing to offer you but the love of a poor soldier, to give me
the happiness I have so longed and prayed for.'