OBTAIN AN EXPLANATION FROM EMILIA.
It was now between five and six o'clock, and we did not wait for the
night to pass before we commenced the task of hunting Dr. Peterssen
down. The immediate result, however, was unsatisfactory. Indefatigable
as we were we learnt nothing, and Crawley proved to be rather in our
way than otherwise. Dr. Peterssen's movements must have been cunningly
made indeed to so baffle us. We went to the railway station, but the
station-master was positive that three such men as we described had
not taken tickets for any place during the day. He could have
identified Dr. Peterssen; of Peterssen's patient or of M. Felix he had
no knowledge.
"There isn't much traffic here," he said, "and we know pretty well who
comes and goes."
"But strangers sometimes pass through," I observed.
"That goes without saying," he responded.
"They might have travelled separately," suggested Bob.
"They might," said the station-master.
"It is hardly likely," I said aside to Bob, "that this would be the
case. If Peterssen and M. Felix have come together again, Peterssen
would not lose sight of his villainous partner; and neither of them
would lose sight of the gentleman they have wronged."
I consulted the time-table. There was no other direct train to London
that night, but a train passed through, without stopping, at 11.40. I
inquired of the station-master whether it was possible for the train
to stop a few seconds to take me up to London, and he answered that it
could be managed. Having arranged the matter with him I left the
station, accompanied by Bob and Sophy. Crawley lingered behind; he had
a flask with him, out of which he took frequent drinks. I had already
arrived at the conclusion that he would be of little assistance in
tracking Dr. Peterssen, but as his evidence might be valuable in the
event of our hunting Peterssen down I thought it advisable to keep him
about us.
"What is your idea?" asked Bob, as we walked from the station to the
inn.
"If I do not receive a satisfactory letter or telegram from London
before eleven o'clock," I replied, "I shall go on to London to see
Emilia."
"For what purpose?"
"To gain some information of M. Bordier. Something may come of it--I
cannot say what; but to remain inactive would be fatal to our
chances."
"Peterssen has a good start of us," said Bob. "He has given us check."
"But not checkmate, Bob. I have hopes that it remains with us to score
the game."
Neither telegram nor letter had arrived for me at the inn, and a
little after eleven I was at the station, awaiting the train. It was
punctual to time, and stopped just long enough to enable me to jump
in. Then we whirled on to London, which we reached at three o'clock in
the morning. At such an hour a visit to Emilia was out of the
question, and I had perforce to bide till morning. The delay gave me
opportunity for a few hours' sleep, and at nine o'clock I was in the
presence of Emilia. Although she received me with signs of
perturbation I observed a change in her. Her eyes were brighter, and
there was a certain joyousness in her manner which I was glad to see.
"You have had good news," I said.
"I have," she replied, "the best of good news. But what brings you
again to London so unexpectedly, dear friend?"
I thought of the secret in my possession which identified Dr.
Peterssen's patient, Number One, as Gerald Paget, whom she had mourned
as dead for nineteen years. But I did not dare to whisper it to her
lest I should inspire delusive hopes. The proof had yet to be
established, and until that was done it would be best and most
merciful to preserve silence.
"I come entirely upon your business," I said, "and I wish to get back
at once."
"How good you are to me!" she murmured. "Never, never can I repay you
for all your kindness."
"We will not speak of that. But you can give me some return now. I
think I may truly say that I deserve your confidence."
"Indeed, indeed you do."
"I sent you a telegram yesterday."
"Yes, I received it."
"I expected one from you."
"I am sorry," she said, "but I had nothing to communicate, and M.
Bordier desired me neither to write nor telegraph to anyone till he
saw me. I was bound to obey him with so much at stake."
"Yes, I understand all that. He is aware that I am a reporter on a
newspaper, and he fears I shall make improper use of information. I
cannot blame him, but he is mistaken. Did not M. Bordier return to
London yesterday?"
"No."
"He gave you instructions, then, by letter."
"By letter and telegrams."
She took from her pocket a letter, and two telegrams in their familiar
buff-colored envelopes, and, after a little hesitation, handed me the
latter.
"I cannot think I am doing wrong in letting you see them," she said.
The first telegram ran: "I have good news, the best of news. Keep a
good heart. Julian unites with me in love to you and Constance."
"His son is with him?" I asked.
"Yes," she replied. "Poor Julian!"
In my last interview with her, two days since, she had referred to
Julian Bordier in the same pitying tone. I had not then asked for an
explanation, and I had not time now. The moments were too precious to
waste in questions which did not bear immediately upon the matter in
hand. I read the second telegram: "We may be absent a day or two.
Meanwhile send no letters or telegrams to any person whatsoever. I
particularly desire to avoid publicity of any kind. To Mr. Agnold, who
has so generously and kindly befriended you, I will give a full
explanation when we meet. Our united love."
For a moment or two I was nettled, but I very soon got over the small
feeling. Had I been present when M. Bordier surprised Bob Tucker in
the inn and found the document in the secret drawer of the desk, he
would doubtless have taken me into his confidence. It was natural that
he should look upon Bob in a different light, for the probable reason
that he supposed him to be a professional detective.
"M. Bordier," said Emilia, "repeats the injunction in his letter. I
could not but obey him."
She read from the letter words to the same effect as the second
telegram.
"You infer," I said, "from these communications that M. Bordier places
no obstacles in the way of your daughter's union with his son."
"Yes," she replied; "it is my happy belief. My heart is lighter than
it has been for months. I have endured what seemed to me an eternity
of sorrow, but that has passed, and Heaven's light is shining upon my
life."
She was transfigured. There was indeed a heavenly light in her eyes,
and her manner was as that of one who had been raised from deepest woe
to supreme happiness.
"I rejoice with you," I said, cordially. "Is it a breach of confidence
for me to ask from what part of the country M. Bordier has written to
you?"
"His letter bears no address," she said.
"Does he give you no information of what he has done and is about to
do?"
"None."
"Nor of any discovery that has been made?"
"No."
She looked at me wistfully; I took her hand. As to certain matters
there was on my part no motive for secrecy. Why should I withhold from
her even for an hour that which would strengthen the new-born hopes
which animated her? To a heart so sorely bruised as hers had been, to
one who had borne suffering so sweetly and patiently, it would be
cruel to keep back the least word of comfort, and I narrated to her
all that had taken place between M. Bordier and Bob. She was greatly
excited when I told her of the recovery of the desk, of M. Bordier's
search for the secret drawer, and of his subsequent discovery of the
hidden document.
"It is the copy of the marriage certificate," she cried.
"That is my impression, and now I can relieve your mind of another
discovery. It is our firm belief that the man who assumed the name of
M. Felix lives."
I gave her our reasons for this belief, and made her acquainted with
Bob's theory of the seizure which threw M. Felix into a state of
unconsciousness and insensibility, and which was simply pronounced to
be death. She was profoundly agitated, and the grateful tears flowed
down her face.
"I have been distracted by a horrible fear," she said, "that I was the
indirect cause of his death. Surely Heaven sent you to my aid on the
night we first met. Without you I should not have dared to move, and
indeed whatever steps I might have taken must have proved futile.
Through you and your friends, Dr. Peterssen is unmasked, and my honor
established. How I long to embrace that brave girl, Sophy! No reward
can be too great for her, and M. Bordier, I am sure will do all in his
power to advance her. Dear friend, dear friend! My words are weak--my
heart is full."
She pressed my hand and kissed it, and she promised to let me know
everything upon M. Bordier's return. I did not tell her why I was
anxious to return to the village with as little delay as possible, but
I incidentally showed her the photograph which I had found in M.
Felix's rooms. Her tears bedewed it, she kissed it again and again.
"It is my dear husband's portrait," she sobbed. "His name is in his
own handwriting. Dear Gerald! They would have had me believe you
false. Heaven forgive them for their treachery to you, to me!"
She begged me to leave the picture with her, but I was compelled to
refuse; I needed it to track Dr. Peterssen and his patient. Of course
I kept my reasons to myself, and I promised her that I would only
retain the portrait a short time, and that it should soon be hers.
"I do not exactly know," I said, "where I shall be during the next few
days; I may be travelling from place to place, but I shall continue to
telegraph to you wherever I am; in order that you may communicate with
me."
"But why do you go away again?" she asked; "you have discovered what
you wished; nothing more remains to be done."
If she but knew, I thought, how different would be her desire--how she
would urge me to fly, how she would implore, entreat, and urge me on!
"Much remains to be done," I said, "Dr. Peterssen must be found; he
must not be allowed to escape."
"Leave him to Heaven's justice," she said.
"That will overtake him; but man's justice shall also be meted out to
him. Would you leave Leonard Paget also in peace?"
"I would," she replied.
"He has squandered your fortune, but there may be some small portion
left. It must be recovered; it will serve as your daughter's dowry."
"She needs none. M. Bordier and Julian will be content to take her as
she is; and for me--has not happiness shone upon me in the darkest
hour of my life? Let both those men go their way."
"No," I said, firmly, "my mission is not yet ended, and you, if you
knew all, would not seek to restrain me."
She looked at me questioningly, and I accounted for my rash remark by
saying, "There are public as well as private duties, my dear madam,
and I should be false to my trust if I neglected the one for the
other. I should like to shake hands with your daughter before I go."
She went from the room and returned with Constance, who received me
cordially. As they stood side by side, their lovely countenances
irradiated by thoughts of the bright future in store for them, I was
glad to know that I had had some small share in their better fortune.
"It is something to have done," I said to myself as I hastened to the
station, "to have assisted to bring joy to the hearts of two good
women; this in itself is ample reward. Then, old fellow, you have
gained two earnest and sincere friends. One of these fine days you
shall go to Switzerland, and be witness of the happiness to which you
have contributed. And if you can restore to the one a husband, to the
other a father----"
I rubbed my hands and stepped on gaily. The mystery of M. Felix had
engaged and engrossed me for a considerable time, but I was never more
interested in it than I was at the present moment. "I will not
desist," thought I, "till the end is reached. A bitter ending for the
snarers, a sweet ending for the snared."