Though Bennet had said to Kitty Thornton that the sight of her was
torture to him, yet, when she had departed, her pleading face remained
present for a short time in his thoughts and temporarily softened him.
But this frame of mind quickly passed, leaving him a prey to hatred,
malignity, and the darkest passions.
His devilish humour now prompted him to an act of hideous malice. The
idea came to him that if he had Gilbert Eversleigh as his counsel at the
forthcoming trial, he would inflict on Gilbert, as well as on Kitty, the
most exquisite pain. It was the idea of a fiend rather than of a human
being, and showed, as perhaps nothing else could have done, how Bennet's
whole nature had been warped to the side of evil. He gloated over this
monstrous idea, telling himself that in this way, whatever happened, he
would glut his desire for revenge. He knew that, in ordinary
circumstances, Gilbert would never consent to appear for him if he could
avoid doing so; but a threat to expose Francis Eversleigh would be
enough, Bennet believed, to settle the matter. Whether Gilbert would or
would not be a good counsel counted for little with him in comparison
with the gratification he expected and promised himself, from seeing
the man he had always hated placed in this position.
It was much the same thing as if Bennet had said to Gilbert--
"If you succeed in getting me off from the capital charge, I shall not
release Kitty from her engagement, but will marry her after my term of
imprisonment has expired. Though I shall be a convict, I shall compel
her to marry me, for the same reason that made her engage herself to me.
"Or, if you don't succeed, and I am sentenced to death, and there is no
Kitty for me, then you shall not have her; for I will not quit this
world without exposing your father and bringing disgrace on you, in
which case you will not seek to marry her."
No matter the result of the trial, Bennet assured himself, with
diabolical satisfaction, that he would cause Gilbert's heart to suffer
the most horrible agony.
He at once took the necessary steps by instructing the local solicitor,
Deakin, to have Gilbert Eversleigh retained for his defence. He gave a
certain plausibility to this, when discussing it with the lawyer, by
representing that Gilbert was well known to him, being the son of the
head of the London firm of solicitors who transacted his legal business,
as well as that of his father before him. When Deakin, in reply,
suggested it might be better, in view of the seriousness of the charge,
to employ a more eminent barrister, Bennet peremptorily declined to do
so, saying his mind was made up.
Deakin, therefore, put himself in communication with Gilbert, and he
naturally did so in this particular case through Eversleigh, Silwood and
Eversleigh, though they were not his own London agents.
When Francis Eversleigh received his letter, he instantly perceived the
malice and hatred that inspired Bennet's proposal; it was a fresh and
bitter blow to himself, but he understood its ingenuity of cruelty was
specially aimed at his son. As for himself, he was helpless; all he
could do was to send for Gilbert, and lay the letter before him.
Gilbert at first was dumbfounded. He could hardly believe that Bennet at
such a time could make such a proposition seriously; but he, too, soon
perceived what lay behind it.
"It is infamous!" he cried; "or the man must be out of his head. To
select me of all people!"
Then he looked at his father, whose weakness and loss of power were more
and more evident every day.
"What am I to do?" he asked. "How can I defend this man?"
"He holds me in the hollow of his hand," observed Francis Eversleigh,
with a pathetic shake in his voice.
"I know, I know," said Gilbert. "And I suppose I must appear for him.
But the thing is an outrage----"
Gilbert was interrupted by a loud knocking at the door of his father's
room--it was no ordinary knocking, but a knocking that spoke of some
strong emotion on the part of the person who knocked.
Gilbert strode to the door and opened it. The clerk who had replaced
Williamson was standing there, and on his face was a terrified
expression.
"I must speak to Mr. Eversleigh immediately," he said hurriedly.
"What is it, Mr. Whittaker?" asked Eversleigh, with a quick agitation.
"I should like, begging Mr. Gilbert's pardon, to see you in private,
sir," returned Whittaker, confusedly. "Please come into Mr. Silwood's
room; there is no need for Mr. Gilbert to go from here. It is something
I must show you personally in Mr. Silwood's room."
"But of what nature is it?"
"That I can scarcely tell, but you may be able to do so."
Francis Eversleigh said no more, but went with Whittaker into Silwood's
room. In a few moments he came back alone, looking so shattered that as
soon as his son saw him he rushed forward to assist him. When Gilbert
offered him his arm, he took it at once, and Gilbert could feel how his
father shook and trembled.
"What has happened?" he asked, after helping his father into a chair.
"Yes, in a minute," stammered the other; "I am horribly upset, and I can
stand so little now! In a minute I'll tell you all."
He lay back in his chair with his eyes closed--the mere wreck of the
handsome man he once had been.
"A very strange thing has taken place, Gilbert," he said after a
while--"a very strange thing indeed!"
Eversleigh stopped, and Gilbert patiently waited till his father spoke
again, his heart full of compassion and sorrow. For the moment, he
forgot Bennet, and could think of nothing save the pitiable state of his
father.
At length Francis Eversleigh recovered himself sufficiently to stand up.
"Come with me," he said to Gilbert, "to Mr. Silwood's room--that will be
the simplest way of making you acquainted with what has happened."
And Gilbert, with mingled feelings of curiosity and alarm, followed his
father to the next floor. Halfway down the stairs, Eversleigh halted.
"Whittaker thinks it's a burglary," he whispered mysteriously in
Gilbert's ear.
"A burglary! In the office!" said Gilbert, incredulously in a low voice.
"Wait," cautioned Eversleigh. "Wait until you see."
And now they were in Silwood's room, which was still known as Silwood's,
though it knew Silwood no more. It was changed, however, but little
since he had sat in it and worked his wicked will.
"Close the door, Gilbert," said Eversleigh.
The son obeyed, and then glanced about him. He could see no sign of
disturbance, nothing that indicated specially the burglary of which his
father had given a suggestion on the stairs. There were in the room, as
of yore, the same table, chair, book-cases, deed-boxes; all were
arranged in the way that was familiar enough to him. The large japanned
box stood by itself in the usual corner. There appeared to be absolutely
no hint of anything out of the ordinary. This rapid scrutiny over,
Gilbert looked at his father inquiringly.
"You don't notice anything particularly?" asked Eversleigh.
"No; that is, at a superficial glance."
"I wish you to examine the bottom of that box," said Eversleigh,
pointing to the large japanned box in the corner. "You and Mr. Archer
Martin have recently had constant access to it for the purpose of going
over Mr. Silwood's books and papers; you therefore know it well. Now you
will see something I am sure you know nothing of. I did not know of it
myself--not until Whittaker showed me it."
While Eversleigh was speaking, his son was looking at the foot of the
box, from which he saw there protruded a narrow strip of metal.
"What do you make of _that_?" asked the father, huskily.
"I should say it was a sort of secret chamber--you can't exactly call it
a drawer," Gilbert replied, after a study of the box. "I knew nothing of
it; you are right there. How has it been discovered? What was found in
it?" he inquired eagerly, while other questions came thronging into his
mind. "When was this discovery made?" he went on.
"It was made this morning," replied Eversleigh. "Whittaker tells me he
had occasion to come into the room a few minutes ago to get a paper
which he thought he'd find here. He could not lay his hand on it
quickly, and had to hunt for it. Quite by accident, as he was searching,
he happened to observe a strip of metal at the foot of the box sticking
out. Naturally, he went and examined the box, and then saw the secret
chamber, which he declares was empty, and I don't doubt it. Now he is
positive that when he saw the box yesterday this secret chamber was
closed."
"Positive! In what way?"
"It seems that he and one of the other clerks required to move the box
yesterday. And he maintains that one or other of them, or both, must
have seen the secret chamber if it had been open then. He concludes, of
course, that it has been opened since he saw it last. His theory is that
it was opened last night by a burglar. I don't know whether he really
believes that; it appears preposterous and beyond possibility that any
ordinary burglar would be acquainted with this secret chamber."
Gilbert nodded his agreement. He had listened carefully to his father,
but at the same time had been trying to understand how the mechanism was
worked by which the chamber was opened and closed. It baffled him,
however, and he desisted from the attempt.
"What do you make of it?" asked the father.
"Do you believe Whittaker right in thinking the chamber was opened last
night?" inquired Gilbert.
"I do."
"But that he was wrong in putting it down to a burglar?"
"Yes. Do burglars break into lawyer's rooms? I don't mean to say that
such a thing is impossible, for valuable documents have been stolen--you
can imagine that."
"Of course. But if the secret chamber was not opened by a burglar, then
by whom was it opened?"
"That is the question," said Eversleigh, gazing earnestly at his son.
"Whoever opened the secret chamber knew of its existence," Gilbert went
on, thinking the matter out aloud.
"Undoubtedly. He knew of its existence, and he also had the means of
opening it."
Gilbert suddenly started, for an extraordinary notion had come into his
mind. His father saw the start, and thought he knew its meaning. The two
men looked at each other strangely.
"Only two men in the world, I feel certain, knew of that chamber,"
Eversleigh resumed. "One was the mechanic who devised and made it, the
other was----"
"Cooper Silwood!" exclaimed Gilbert.
"Yes, Cooper Silwood."
"But Silwood is dead, so you would say that it was the other? That seems
absurd."
"It is absurd. What would the mechanic who made the box care about
taking anything out of the secret chamber? Once his job of making the
thing was finished, he would be finished with it altogether. No, it was
not the mechanic."
Gilbert was silent.
"Don't you see?" asked Eversleigh.
"Silwood!"
"Precisely."
"But that is impossible. Dead men do not open secret chambers," said
Gilbert, but there was something curious and suggestive in the manner of
his saying it.
"No. Dead men do not open secret chambers, but living ones do. Silwood
is not dead! He is alive!"
Eversleigh's voice rose into a shout and then cracked.
"It seems inconceivable."
"Yet there is no other conclusion. The maker of the box being out of the
question, it follows that it must have been Silwood. I believe he was
here last night and removed from the secret chamber something of
particular value to him."
"Silwood might have told some one of it," objected Gilbert.
"Is it likely? You know he was the least communicative of men."
"What about Williamson?"
"I feel confident he knew nothing of it either. Don't you see this
secret chamber was a receptacle in which Silwood hid papers or other
things he had an object in concealing? You may be certain he told no one
of it. If he had told any one, would he not have told me? No, Gilbert;
from the moment I knew of Whittaker's discovery I suspected the truth."
"But the certificate of his death?"
"It was a false certificate."
"Strange I had not thought of that before, once I knew the kind of man
he was!"
"Silwood is alive," Eversleigh once more, but with less vigour,
declared, after a pause of some duration.
All through the conversation up to this point he had carried himself,
supported by excitement, with some degree of his former buoyancy, but
now he seemed to sink rapidly into a state of apathy, while Gilbert
regarded him anxiously.
"I don't know what's to be done next," murmured Eversleigh, feebly.
"Some one must go to Italy," said Gilbert, emphatically, "and find out
the truth--that's what must be done!"
"Then," said his father, "you must go!"