A FAMILY COUNCIL.
On the following morning Aunt and Uncle Rob and Florence and Reginald
sat at the breakfast table, waiting for Dick, who had not been home
all night. Although they had had no word from him since he left them
on the previous evening, they knew that he would join them at the
earliest possible moment. It had been an anxious night with them, and
they had had but little sleep. There were dark rims round Aunt Rob's
eyes, and signs of unrest were on Uncle Rob's countenance. Singularly
enough, the invalid of the party, Reginald, had gathered strength; his
voice was firmer, his step more confident, and there was an expression
on his face which denoted that he had prepared himself to meet the
worst that fortune had in store for him.
"Florence and I have been considering the straight and honest course
to pursue," he said, "and we have decided. She wished me at first to
be guided by your advice; but she is beginning to find out that she
has married a wilful man."
She gave him a tender smile, and put her hand in his.
"It is not that I don't value your advice; but what would be the use
of asking for it if I hadn't made up my mind to take it?"
"No use, my dear," said Aunt Rob. "What have you decided to do?"
"To offer a reward for the discovery of the murderer of my father."
Aunt Rob nodded her approval, and would have expressed it had she not
observed the grave look on her husband's face. So she held her tongue,
and waited for him to speak.
"It is not a plan we generally approve of," he remarked, after a
pause, "and it seldom meets with success."
"Has it ever?" asked Reginald.
"Yes. A fifty to one chance."
"If it were a thousand to one chance it would be wrong to throw it
away. Much of the evidence that has been given can be so construed as
to cast suspicion upon me. How shall I protect myself except by
showing the world that I court the most searching inquiry? Lady
Wharton's story is true, and some villain, personating my father,
succeeded in imposing upon and robbing her. The offer of a substantial
reward will not only quicken the efforts of the police, but will set a
hundred people on the hunt. God forbid that I should do anyone an
injustice. I cannot conceive that Abel Death is the murderer, and yet
in the eyes of the public it lies between him and me. It would be the
height of folly to ignore that fact. Here in this paper"--he took up a
newspaper, glanced at it, and flung it indignantly aside--"is a veiled
allusion to Abel Death and me as accomplices. No names are mentioned,
but the inference can hardly be missed. On my way home from the
funeral on Tuesday, and yesterday from the Coroner's Court, I saw some
of the newspaper bills with their cruel headlines accusing _me!_ I saw
the silent accusation in the eyes of the people as I passed. Is it in
nature that I should sit idly down under such imputations? They are
enough to drive a man mad, and I shall go mad if I do not do something
quickly to repel them. The wretch who went down to Bournemouth must
have purchased a railway ticket; the clerk who sold it him may have
seen his face; passengers travelling the same way must have seen him:
he must have been seen by other persons in Bournemouth; he may have
taken a carriage there to drive to the Gables; if he went on foot he
may have asked his way to the house; when he left Lady Wharton he
could scarcely have walked about the town till the trains started in
the morning; he must have slept somewhere; a waiter or a chambermaid
may have noticed him; there may have been something in his speech or
manner to attract attention, however slight. There are a thousand
things from which a clue may be obtained and which may be brought to
the recollection by the hope of earning money. The offer of a reward
will stir people's memories, will cause them to come forward with
scraps of information which otherwise would be thought of no
importance. Uncle Rob, Aunt Rob--I dare not, and will not, call you
father and mother till I am cleared of these vile suspicions--do you
not see that I _must_ do this for dear Florence's sake, that it is my
duty to make her less ashamed of the name I gave her?"
The sobs in his throat prevented him from continuing. Trembling in
every limb, shaking with passion and excitement, he turned appealingly
to his wife.
She clasped him in her loving arms, crying, "I am not ashamed of it; I
am proud of it, and of you, my dear, dear husband! If there is a stain
upon our name you shall wipe it away; you shall make it bright and
clean and pure, and men and women shall say, 'The son has atoned for
his father's faults, and stands before the world an honourable
gentleman who has met misfortune bravely, and silenced the slanderers
who dared to breathe a word against him.' Oh, my dear, my dear! I
never loved you as I love you now, I never honoured you as I honour
you now. Mother, father, stand by us--comfort him, strengthen him!"
She glowed with heavenly pity, with indignant pride, with devoted
love. The type of a true, brave, honest English girl, she stood
embracing the man whose heart, whose life, were linked with hers,
ready to defend him, to suffer for him, to fling back the words of
scorn flung at him--if need were, to die for him. It is beneath the
stress of a heavy stroke of misfortune that men and women such as she
show their noblest qualities.
A great peace stole into Reginald's heart; the sobs in his throat died
away.
"I will try to prove myself worthy of you," he said huskily. "I pray
to God that I may live to prove it."
Aunt Rob's heart throbbed with exultation.
"Our daughter, father, that I nursed at my breast," she murmured to
her husband. "God love and preserve her!"
"Amen!" he answered.
So in that humble home those sweet flowers bloomed in the midst of the
darkness, and through the lowering clouds one bright star shone--the
star of love and hope and mutual faith.
When the excitement had subsided, and they were all seated again,
Uncle Rob said,
"Let it be as you have decided, Reginald, my lad. As an inspector of
police I might argue with you; as a man and a father I agree with you.
And in the nick of time, here comes Dick."
To Dick, with his cheerful face and voice, that bore no traces of his
night's anxious vigil, all was explained. He shook hands with
Reginald, and said,
"A good move. I'll go a step farther. Let there be two bills put out
and posted all over England, one offering a reward for the discovery
of the murderer, the other for giving such information of Abel Death
as will lead to his being found. You can tell us, perhaps, Uncle
Rob--would that be against the law?"
"I don't think the law can touch it," he replied. "It might not be
approved of in some quarters, but the law don't apply, so far as I
know anything of it."
"If the law," said Aunt Rob, with fine disdain, "can prevent a son
from offering a reward for the discovery of his father's murderer the
less we have of it the better. Why, instead of one man looking for the
monster, there 'll be a hundred! Dick, you must see to the printing of
the bills, and they should be got out at once."
"I will attend to everything; but before we go into details I've
something to tell you. I should have been here earlier if I hadn't met
little Gracie Death. What a brick that mite is! Just listen to what
she discovered yesterday, Reginald--that there's a way of getting into
your father's house without getting through the front or the back
door. You may well look startled; it nearly took _my_ breath away. Do
you remember that pitiful hoarse voice of hers, uncle, on the night of
the fog, when she said, 'You _will_ find father, won't you, sir?'"
Uncle Rob nodded. "Well, as nobody has been able to find him, she has
made up her mind to find him herself, heaven knows how, but somehow.
She thinks of nothing else, she dreams of nothing else, and she's got
it into that clever little head of hers that he's to be found in
Catchpole Square, the very place, one would imagine, that he'd be
likely to avoid. If faith can move mountains, as they say it can, the
thing is as good as done. There is such magnetism in her little body
that when she speaks she almost makes you believe what she believes.
Now, I'm not going to tell you how she got into the house while Uncle
Rob is here. As inspector of police he would consider it his duty to
make use of the information."
"I certainly should," said Uncle Rob. "I'd best make myself scarce."
"Don't go yet, uncle. I want you to hear something you ought to know.
Gracie, talking to me this morning, tells me of a man she saw Dr.
Vinsen speaking to last night. She hates that doctor--so do I; and
it's because she hates him that she creeps behind them without their
seeing her, and hears Dr. Vinsen say, 'You act up to your
instructions, and I'll keep my promise.' That's all she does hear,
because the doctor, turning his head over his shoulder, sends her
scuttling away; but she's certain he doesn't suspect that he'd been
followed and overheard. There isn't much in that, you'll say; but
listen to what follows. Gracie had just finished telling me this when
a man passes us. 'There,' she says, 'that's the man.' I catch sight of
his face, and who do you think it was?"
"Out with it, Dick," said Uncle Rob.
"It was the juryman that's been putting all those questions at the
inquest about our private affairs, and that's been doing his best to
throw suspicion upon Reginald and me and all of us. Queer start, isn't
it?"