CONCLUSION
I have done what I needed to do for my own satisfaction by putting in
the form of a consecutive narrative the peculiar and perhaps sometimes
unseemly transactions which have now been recorded.
I had only a fragmentary diary, occasional notes of conversations
written while the spoken words were still fresh and vibrant in my
memory, and my own recollection of events.
I dreaded lest the latter might fade as I grew older, and that loose
leaves of manuscript might be lost or destroyed before I had even
in my own mind a clear perspective of happenings that were often so
bewildering to me while I dwelt in the midst of them.
I desire especially that Edmund’s children may some day have an
opportunity of appraising the truth about their father’s youth, if
it should happen that any aspersions should ever be cast upon his
character. For I do believe in children knowing the truth about their
parents. Filial love, without any opportunity for comparison and just
criticism, seems to me but a hollow tradition, liable to collapse at
the first whiff of truth.
I think no child of Edmund’s need ever be ashamed of his father. His
experience, his peculiar faculties and personality, have enabled him to
render very signal and special services to his country in developing
the waterways of Africa. In all his letters to me he apologises for
the reputation he has gained, which he says is entirely due to the
practical sagacity and knowledge of detail with which Welfare supplies
him. Edmund has already been presented with a C.M.G., but Welfare’s
name is unknown.
Yet I happen to know that Welfare is an exceedingly contented man. In a
recent letter he tells me, “I am able to save a third of my pay, and if
I don’t marry at the finish I shall have a few hundreds to leave where
I shall die happy in leaving it. I have the work I am suited with,
under the finest chief a man ever served. I have been baptised into the
Church out here, but not until I was able to send a decent present to
my father’s and my old chapel. They tell me they have cut my name on
one of the stones in the wall ‘laid by Josiah Welfare.’ Well, fancy!”
I reflected that I had never known Welfare’s christian name before. But
I was glad it was engraved on the old dry-salter’s place of worship.
I have had a visit from Brogden, while he was on leave. He told me that
Jakoub’s disappearance from my house had become one of the mysteries
not only of Egypt but of Scotland Yard. I had hard work to resist the
desire to confess, but since that was impossible, I compounded by
installing a motor-car on my premises during Brogden’s stay. When he
had gone I sold the atrocious thing at a heavy loss. But Brogden had
enjoyed himself, and the financial loss was not enough to salve my
conscience completely.
On the other hand, Bates resented the temporary chauffeur, and Mrs.
Rattray disliked him. Between them they inflicted on me a penance which
I think straightens my moral account with Brogden.
The penance might have been excessive only that Edmund’s fiancée is
the daughter of a fairly near neighbour, an ex-commissioner under
whom Edmund had served. She is now constantly here awaiting Edmund’s
return. Bates and Mrs. Rattray are completely subjugated by her. She
settled the matter of the chauffeur and got rid of him with a minimum
of friction.
She makes me desperately jealous of Edmund, but I endeavour to realise
that I belong to a bygone generation, that I am become, in fact, a
“dear old thing.”
Jakoub’s bones are unlikely now to be disturbed. They are honoured by
having a vault as well as a grave for their repose. For the smuggler’s
passage has been sealed up by solid masonry at either end. It will
never be opened again in my lifetime, and I hope it is now closed for
ever.
The bishop spent an evening with me recently, and I showed him parts of
this manuscript.
“As far as I know the story,” he said, “you have been very accurate.
When I look back upon what has happened, especially on my own part
in the affair, I am reminded of a phrase of yours--‘I can look my
conscience in the face.’ What a waste it would have been if your
brother had become a mere hanger-on to your charity, after undergoing
‘prison discipline.’ Whenever I think of him and of what might have
happened to him, I think of those words of the psalmist, ‘Though ye
have lien among the pots, yet shall ye be as the wings of a dove, whose
wings are covered with silver, and her feathers like gold.’”
THE END.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized or underlined text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.
New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the
public domain.