I observed a change in him. Something of his inner life was reflected
in his face, the expression upon which was stern and moody. It
softened a little when he shook me by the hand. I asked him if he was
well, and he answered yes, but troubled by a strange presentiment of
evil. He remarked that he was on the eve of momentous circumstances in
his life which boded ill. I did not encourage him to indulge in this
vein, but proceeded to relate as much of my interview with Mrs.
Fortress as I deemed it wise and necessary to impart. He listened to
me patiently and reflectively, and when I had finished, said:
"You have given me food for reflection. I have in you a confidence so
perfect that I place myself unreservedly in your hands. I will be
guided completely by your counsels; my confidence in myself is much
shaken. What do you advise?"
"This is the study," I said, "which your father used to occupy?"
"It is," he replied; "and no person was allowed to enter it without
his permission."
"After his death you searched in it for his private papers?"
"I did, and found very little to satisfy me. I hoped to discover
something which would throw light upon the strange habits of our life
and home. I was disappointed."
At my request he showed me the method by which the safe was opened,
and the ingenuity of the device caused me to wonder that he had found
nothing of importance within its walls. I was, however, convinced that
there was in the study some clue to the mystery of Carew's boyhood's
home--although I could not help admitting to myself that it needed but
faith in Mrs. Fortress's statement to arrive at a correct solution.
But I required further evidence, and I resolved to search for it.
"As you have placed yourself in my hands," I said, "you will not
object to comply with two or three slight requests."
"There is little you can ask," was his response, "that I am not ready
to accede to."
"Invite me to remain here as your guest for a few days."
"I do."
"Allow me to occupy this room alone until I retire to bed."
"Willingly."
"And promise me that you will not leave the house without first
acquainting me of your intention."
"I promise."
A little while afterwards he left me to myself, saying that if I
wished to see him I should find him with his wife. When he revealed to
me the secret method by which the safe was worked, he did not close
the panel; it remained open for my inspection, and I now made an
examination of the interior without finding so much as a scrap of
paper. This was as I expected; if Gabriel Carew's father left
documents behind him, they must be searched for elsewhere. A careful
study of the room led me to the conclusion that the massive
writing-table was the most likely depository. The working of the safe
was a process much too tedious for a man who wished for easy access to
his papers; the writing-table offered the means of this, and I turned
my attention to it. I do not wish to be prolix, and I therefore omit a
description of the painfully careful examination of every point in
this massive piece of furniture. Suffice it that, after at least an
hour's search, my endeavours were rewarded. In one of the legs of the
table on the inner side, quite undiscoverable without a light, I felt
a depression just large enough to receive the ball of my thumb. I
pressed hard, and although there was no immediate result, I fancied I
detected a slight yielding, such as might occur when pressing upon a
firm spring which had been disused for many years. I pressed harder,
with all my strength, and I suddenly heard a sharp click. I found that
this proceeded from the skirting of oak immediately above the leg I
was manipulating. I had carefully examined the skirting all round the
table without being able to discover any signs of a drawer. Now,
however, one had started forward, and I had no difficulty in pulling
it open. My heart beat more quickly as I drew from it a manuscript
book and a few loose sheets of foolscap paper. The writing was large
and plain; ink of such a quality had been used that the lapse of years
had had but a slight effect upon it. In less than a minute I satisfied
myself that the handwriting was that of Gabriel Carew's father.
The book first. I read it attentively through. It was a record of the
circumstances of the married life of Gabriel Carew's parents, and such
of it as bore upon Mrs. Fortress's statement confirmed its truth in
every particular. Before I came to the end of this record I heard
Gabriel Carew calling to me outside. I hastily concealed the book and
papers, and went to the door.
"I would not come upon you unawares," he said, "but it has occurred to
me that to leave you even partially in the dark would not be
ingenuous, and might frustrate the end we both have in view. Before I
was married I wrote what may be regarded as a history of my life up to
that period. There are in it no reservations or concealments of any
kind whatever. Not alone my outer but my inner life is laid bare
therein; it is an absolutely faithful and truthful record. Since I
wrote the last words of this personal history I have not glanced at
it. I hand it now to you with one stipulation. So long as I am alive
you will not reveal what I have written. Should I die before you I
leave it to your discretion to deal with it as you please. Another
thing. I ought to more frankly explain why I put you in possession of
secrets which no man, unless under unusual and extraordinary
circumstances, would impart to another. I have been all my life
animated by a strong spirit of justice to others as well as to myself.
By this inclusion of myself I mean that I should be as ready to
condemn myself and to mete out to myself a penalty I may consciously
or unconsciously have incurred as I would to any ordinary person. I am
also animated by a sincere and devoted love for my wife and child.
Were I asked to express the dearest wish of my heart I should answer,
the wish for their happiness. But even this must not be purchased at
the expense of a possible wrong to another human being. There exists
between your son and my daughter an affection which has been allowed
to ripen into love. Whether we have been wise time will prove. You
have, equally with myself, the welfare of your child at heart. You
have doubts; let them be fully resolved. I need say no more than that
I am convinced that these feeble words of mine--which to strangers
would be inexplicable--will help us to understand each other."
He left me alone once more, not waiting for me to speak, and I felt
for him as deep a sentiment of pity and admiration as had ever been
excited within me. He had also magnetised me into sharing his belief
that momentous circumstances were about to occur in his life which
would affect mine and my son's. It could not be otherwise in the light
of the love which Reginald bore for Mildred.
I did not resume the perusal of the record made by Carew's father; I
held my curiosity in check both as regards that and what was written
on the two sheets of foolscap paper. Commencing to read the personal
history which Gabriel Carew had composed, I became so fascinated by it
that I could not leave it. Mrs. Carew sent to ask me to join them at
dinner, but I begged to be excused, and wine and food were brought to
me in the study. I remained there undisturbed, engrossed in Gabriel
Carew's narrative, and it was late in the night when I reached the
end. Then with feelings which it is impossible for me to describe, I
turned to the record made by Carew's father, and finished it. No
opinions were therein expressed; there was no indulgence in theory or
speculation; it was a simple statement of fact. The conclusions
arrived at by Carew's father were set down on the sheets of foolscap,
which next claimed my attention. They ran as follows:--