RETROSPECTION.
Most of the lights in the houses in Park Lane were out when Walter
reached his uncle's residence. But as he entered the hall he could see
that the studio was still ablaze. The door was closed, but a thin
shaft of light penetrated from beneath. As Walter tried the door he
found to his surprise that it was locked. With some feeling of
apprehension he called to his uncle, and a moment later Ravenspur
turned the key. His face was pale. There was in his eyes a look which
spoke of some vague fear.
"I hope I am not disturbing you," Walter said.
"My dear boy, I am only too pleased to have a companion," Ravenspur
said eagerly. "Upon my word, my nerves are so much shaken by these
terrible happenings that I am almost afraid to be alone. Sit down and
have a cigarette."
Walter took a cigarette from the silver box on a little table, nor did
he fail to note the presence of a stand of spirits, which was a thing
in which his uncle rarely, or never, indulged.
"I really needed a stimulant tonight," Ravenspur said, half
apologetically. "Where have you been all the evening?"
"I have been out making discoveries," Walter said, as he threw himself
down into a comfortable armchair, "and one of my discoveries has been
really remarkable. To be perfectly candid, Venables and myself have
been doing a little private detective business together. Venables was
by no means satisfied that that fellow Stevens had told all he knew at
the inquest on poor Delahay, so we hunted Mr. Stevens up, and finally
ran him to earth in his dingy lodgings."
"And did he give you any valuable information?" Ravenspur asked
eagerly. "Was it worth your while?"
"Indeed, it was, as you will see for yourself, sir. As soon as ever we
got into the room I was struck by a picture there. One does not
usually find great works of art in a bed-sitting room at five
shillings a week. And when you see a picture like that, worth a couple
of thousand pounds at least, it naturally arouses your curiosity. And
when, on the top of that, the picture is perfectly familiar to you,
why, my dear uncle----"
"You mean you had seen the picture before? Where?"
"In this very studio; you painted it here, sir. It is one of the three
pictures which were stolen from you some time ago. Oh, you need not
shake your head, uncle. I assure you that I have not made the
slightest mistake. I leave you to guess which of the three pictures it
was that I saw in that dreary bed-sitting room."
"I think I can tell you," Ravenspur groaned. "It was the fancy
portrait. Some instinct tells me so."
"You are quite right, sir," Walter went on. "It was the portrait,
surely enough. But it did not belong to Stevens, as you will probably
have guessed by this time. It had been left in his care by an Italian
friend, who gave a very plausible reason for being in possession of so
valuable a work. I understand that this Italian's name was Luigi
Silva. Have you heard of him?"
Lord Ravenspur rose from his chair, and walked agitatedly up and down
the studio. It was some little time before he spoke, and then his
words came slowly and painfully.
"I see you know more than I had expected," he said. "For instance, you
have formed the conclusion that this Luigi Silva stole that picture.
In fact, that he came here on purpose to get possession of it, and
that he took two other canvases at the same time to prevent us finding
out his real motive. Till tonight I had not the remotest idea why
this Luigi Silva wanted that portrait, because the loss of the other
pictures utterly deceived me, as it was intended to do. Now I know
better."
"But you did not answer my question, sir," Lance suggested.
"Oh, yes; you wanted to know if I was personally acquainted with this
man. As a matter of fact, I am not, though I have heard far too much
about him for my peace of mind. But tell me, how did you manage to
ascertain the fellow's proper name?"
"That, of course, we got from Stevens," Walter explained. "Silva is in
England ostensibly as a music hall artist; in other words, he is
Valdo, the flying man that I told you about a little time ago. But
don't you think we are getting rather from the point, uncle? I want to
know the history of this man."
Once more Ravenspur commenced his walk up and down the room. He seemed
to be hovering between two minds.
"Perhaps it would be wiser if I were to tell you everything," he said.
"I did not intend to do so, but to a certain extent you have forced my
hand, and it would be much more prudent for you to know where you
stand. You asked me just now what I knew of this man Silva. Eighteen
years ago he was in the employ of a great friend of mine, Count Boris
Flavio. My unfortunate friend is forgotten now, but at the time of
which I am speaking he enjoyed almost a European reputation. To begin
with, he was an exceedingly rich man. He had one of the most beautiful
places on the Continent, situated not far from Florence. Had he been
poor, Flavio would have shone in any line he chose to take up. He was
a fine artist, a notable sculptor, and one or two of his books
attracted great attention. In addition to this, he had few rivals as
an all-round sportsman. His conversation was brilliant, his appearance
and manners left nothing to be desired. Out of the scores of notable
men I have met in my time, there is not one of them to whom I was so
deeply attached as I was to Boris Flavio. His views, his sympathies,
his extraordinary grasp of character all appealed strongly to me. So
far as I know, he had no secrets from me, and it came almost as a
shock one day when I had a letter from him saying that he was about to
be married. Naturally one expected such a man to make a brilliant
match, but, on the contrary, Flavio chose a wife from people of whom
one had hardly heard. On the score of family, Carlotta Descarti had
nothing with which to reproach herself. And here comes in the strange
part of the affair. The Descartis and the Flavios had estates which
touched one another, and between the two families there had been a
feud for centuries. It was a veritable Montague and Capulet business,
and I daresay it was this factor in the case that so strongly appealed
to my friend Flavio. Mind you, I did not learn these facts till long
after, and it so happened that circumstances prevented my attending
Flavio's wedding, and I never saw his wife. Two years later I received
an urgent and mysterious message from Flavio to go and see him
secretly, and meet him in the grounds of his estate without letting a
soul know that I was there. . . . I never saw a man so changed as my
unhappy friend. It appeared that he had married a woman who was a
perfect fiend. She had made more than one attempt upon his life, and
he felt certain that the end was not far off. When I asked him why he
tolerated such a state of things, he told me it was for the sake of
his little girl, to whom he was passionately attached. And then he
bound me to an extraordinary promise. Mind you, I would not have made
that rash promise to any other friend, but such was the charm and
magnetism of the man that I never even hesitated. And this is what I
had to do. If anything happened to my friend, if he died mysteriously,
I was to go to Italy at once, and, by fair means or foul, get the
child away from the baneful influence of her mother. Oh, you may look
at me with astonishment, Walter, but stranger things happen every day.
"I went away fully intending to keep my promise if occasion arose, and
I was not surprised to hear a few months later that poor Flavio had
been found dead in his room. It was proved that he had been poisoned,
and suspicion immediately fell upon his wife. On and off, the case
lasted three or four years, and caused a tremendous sensation
throughout Europe. Beyond all question the wife was guilty enough, but
she managed to prove an extraordinary _alibi_, which so puzzled the
jury that they disagreed no fewer than five times. After that the
authorities recognised the futility of further proceedings, and the
countess was released. What became of her I don't know, for she
disappeared, and, as far as I can tell, has never been seen from that
day to this. But most assuredly she would have been convicted had it
not been for the devotion of a servant of hers whom she had brought
from her old home with her. This servant's name was Luigi Silva. It
was he who saved his mistress. I am firmly convinced it was he who
engineered that marvellous _alibi_, and coached his witnesses so
cleverly that there was no flaw in their evidence. I was not present
at any of the trials, because I could not manage to get away, but I
read enough to convince me that this Luigi Silva had talents and
courage far above the common."
"And the child?" Walter asked, with pardonable curiosity.
"Oh, I had almost forgotten the main part of my story," Ravenspur
proceeded. "The more I read of that case, the more convinced I was
that I should be doing right in carrying out my promise to my dead
friend. It was not a difficult matter. It only meant a journey to
Italy and back, and the little one was in my safe custody. I leave you
to guess what that child is called now."
"Vera Rayne, of course," Walter said.
"Quite so. From that day to this she has been with me always. But,
mind you, I was not blind to the risk I was taking. If ever the truth
came out, my life was not worth much. I knew that I should be tracked
and followed, and finally lose my life, even if the search took twenty
years. But, gradually, as the time wore on, I became easy in my mind.
I had taken the utmost precautions to blind my trail, and the only
accomplice I had was my old nurse, who has been dead for some years.
Besides, Vera was growing up, and it seemed to me impossible to
identify her with the baby not quite two years old. She is not in the
least like her father, either, and that is why I made a mistake. I had
quite forgotten that she might be very like her mother, and she I have
never seen."