"James Russell! I thought so," said Gilbert, tingling with excitement.
"Is this of importance to you?" the Deputy asked Gilbert.
"Of the utmost importance."
The Deputy smiled, and showed he was well pleased; but he asked no more
questions, save one only.
"Is there anything else about which you wish to interrogate Ucelli?" he
inquired.
"Yes. I should like to know if he is aware where Silwood, _alias_
Russell, went to in England?"
"London," said the Syndic; "but he intended going to America
eventually."
"That is all, I think, at present," said Gilbert to Signor Vinci.
"Should some other point occur to you later," suggested the Deputy, "you
will have an opportunity of putting it to him in Rome, whither we must
proceed with all speed."
"I had thought of setting out for London at once," said Gilbert. "The
information I have obtained should be acted on without delay. Besides,
my father is very ill."
"If you could spare one day! You are a witness to the confession of
Ucelli, and I desire you to make a deposition with respect to it before
the Minister of Justice himself."
"I certainly owe you as much as that," acquiesced Gilbert.
Thereafter, the Deputy, leaving the bound man in Gilbert's charge, went
out of the Syndic's house, to return in a short time with a couple of
civil officers, who took Ucelli to prison. The Deputy now informed
Gilbert that he had given orders to open up the reputed grave of
Silwood, and late that evening they heard a coffin had been taken up and
found to be filled with stones.
Next day the Deputy and Gilbert were in Rome, recounting to the Minister
of Justice what had taken place. A deposition was drawn up and signed by
Gilbert; at the same time, he acknowledged very heartily his great
obligations to the Minister and the Deputy.
"Not at all," said the Minister; "you have really conferred a great
favour on us. But there is one thing I should like to ask you, if it is
not indiscreet."
"And that is, signor?"
"We know why Ucelli entered into this conspiracy with Silwood; it was
because of the fifty thousand liras Silwood gave him. But we do not know
what induced or compelled Silwood to act as he did. I can see, of
course, that in all probability he is a great criminal. For that matter,
the conspiracy itself was a crime of the gravest character. If I could
arrest this Silwood, he would receive a heavy sentence, you may be
sure."
While his superior was speaking, the Deputy had a little smile on his
grim face. He had wished to ask Gilbert the question now put to him by
the Minister, but, feeling tolerably certain of the truth, had
refrained. Still, he listened eagerly to Gilbert's reply.
"Silwood is an absconder and a forger," said Gilbert. "To conceal his
crimes, to cover up his tracks, he planned and carried out, with
Ucelli's help, this infamous plot. There, that is all."
"And more than enough!" exclaimed the Minister. "You will, as soon as
you return to England, proceed to have this man hunted down?"
"It will be the one object of my life until it is accomplished," said
Gilbert, emphatically.
On his way back to London, Gilbert pondered what he should next do, and
reflected on the occurrences of the last two or three days. The whole
scheme of Silwood was now tolerably plain. To begin with, it was evident
Silwood had long been leading a double life. There were the wife and
child and the house at Stepney on the one hand; and, on the other, the
private chambers in Lincoln's Inn. In the latter he was Cooper Silwood,
solicitor; in Stepney he was James Russell, workman. And now Gilbert
recalled very vividly the story told by the waster, the poor human wreck
who spoke like a gentleman, the story of the workman seen issuing in the
dead of night from the iron gate of the Stone Buildings' end of Chancery
Lane.
"Of course, it was Silwood," argued Gilbert; "it must have been he. The
waster said the workman was flurried, went away hurriedly, but returned
in half an hour. What does that mean, taken in connection with the fact
that next morning Silwood left London? It must have been no light thing
which made _him_ flurried. He intended going to Stepney, started, and
then changed his mind. Not like _him_ either, to change his mind in
that way. Something must have happened."
Then the thought came leaping into his mind which explained everything.
"It must have been because Morris Thornton was lying dead in Silwood's
room--that accounts for his agitation and indecision."
After that he asked himself the inevitable question--
"Had Silwood said or done anything to cause such a shock to Thornton as
killed him? If so, what?"
But this was a question he could not answer now. The key to the mystery
lay with Silwood, and it was possible, even probable, he had made good
his escape to America, if it was to America he was gone. America was a
wide word, Gilbert mused, but the arm of Justice was long. Yet the
search all over America--was that not like looking for a needle in a
haystack? And the time which would almost certainly be occupied in the
quest--what might not happen in the interim?
With these questions, and such as these, Gilbert was distracted during
his journey, and the news which met him on his arrival in London made
his heart heavy as lead.
His brother Ernest was at the station when his train steamed in. Gilbert
observed he looked pale and sad.
"How is father?" were Gilbert's first words.
"Oh, it is terrible!" exclaimed Ernest.
"Is he worse?"
"Yes, he is worse. He will never be himself again, I fear. He is out of
his mind."
"Out of his mind!" cried Gilbert, but in his heart he was saying it was
no wonder that his father had become insane, considering all he had
borne during the past two months.
"Isn't it dreadful?"
"It may be only temporary," Gilbert suggested.
"The doctors who have seen him do not give us much hope."
"You have had specialists called in?"
"Certainly."
"What form does his trouble take?"
"He is not at all violent; indeed, he is gentleness itself. But his
memory seems a blank, and he does not speak except to say one sentence,
and it breaks one's heart to hear him say it."
"What does he say?"
"He asks, 'What o'clock is it?' but he does not know what he says. If
you tell him the time, he does not comprehend you. That was how mother
found his trouble out. One night he had a sort of fit in bed; when it
passed he asked, 'What o'clock is it?' and mother told him. He asked
again, 'What o'clock is it?' and mother again told him. But he
immediately inquired once more, 'What o'clock is it?' and then she began
to surmise something was very wrong with him."
"Poor mother!" exclaimed Gilbert. "How is she?"
"She is a brave woman, and is bearing up wonderfully. Well, she waited
till morning, and then sent me for a doctor, who, after seeing father,
said his brain was affected. I got the best specialists to see him, and
they declared his mind had given way, so far as they could judge, from
overstrain. It seems that the gentle kind of melancholy madness which
afflicts him is incurable. Isn't it sad?"
"Very sad; but doctors are sometimes wrong, and we must hope for the
best. Is he at Ivydene?"
"Yes; with a nurse. The doctors thought it was prudent to have a nurse,
though, really, he does not require one. He is just like a child. I have
not allowed news of his trouble to get about."
The brothers now got into a hansom, and drove to Gilbert's chambers in
the Temple. Gilbert could see that Ernest had more to tell him, and half
guessed what it was. In the circumstances, too, Gilbert thought Ernest
must now be told the true position of the firm of Eversleigh, Silwood
and Eversleigh.
"When your letter to father came," continued Ernest, "he was already in
the condition he now is, so I opened and read it. As I wired you, I was
completely bewildered by what you wrote, but tried to puzzle out your
meaning. Without the key, however, I could not succeed."
"I'll disclose everything to you, Ernie," said Gilbert.
"And, Gilbert, there is something more. The doctors said father's
trouble came from his brain having been overstrained. I believe they are
right, and I'll tell you why. I had to make out the position of our firm
with respect to the securities of one of our clients, Mr. Archibald
Johnstone, and, so far as I can see, we have not got these securities;
at any rate, I cannot lay my hands on them anywhere in the office. I
went to Archer Martin, the accountant, hoping he might throw some light
on the subject; but he said I had better ask you, as you would know.
Gilbert, Gilbert, I don't know what to think, but it looks to me as if
there's something very serious in this business."
"Yes, Ernie, there is," said Gilbert; "it is as serious as it can be.
It is so serious that I can almost feel glad father is not in his right
mind."
"Gilbert!"
"It is true. Now let me tell you all I know. The main thing is that
Cooper Silwood robbed the firm of a large sum of money. He absconded to
Camajore, in Italy, where, in collusion with the Syndic of the place he
gave out that he was dead."
Ernest stared at his brother wildly.
"What are you saying?" he cried. "Silwood robbed the firm! absconded to
Italy! pretended he was dead!"
"Exactly. But I must begin at the beginning, and tell you the whole
story in detail."
When he had heard it all, Ernest was thunderstruck.
"This Silwood must be a devil!" he cried.
"Ay, a devil in cleverness, in ingenuity, in resource, in cunning, and
we have to encounter and defeat these qualities in him. He must be
found."
"The police?"
"Can we afford to let them know our affairs?"
"No; I suppose not. Would you employ private detectives?"
"Yes; there are very excellent private detective agencies in America,
such as Pinkerton's. As I have already told you, I have a man in England
following up the trail of Silwood, whom he knows only as James Russell.
He may have something to report."
There were several letters lying on Gilbert's table. Owing to the
urgency of his talk with Ernest, he had not looked at them; he now did
so, hoping that one of them was from the detective, and this hope proved
well-founded.
The detective wrote that he had discovered in the list of steerage
passengers, kept by one of the Liverpool shipping firms, an entry of
"James Russell, wife, and child." From inquiries he had made, he had
learned that the child was a cripple; this fact, together with the name,
James Russell, and the numbers in the party, agreed with what he had
been told of the Russells who had lived in No. 99, Douglas Street,
Stepney, so that he had very little doubt that he was on the right
trail. He went on to state that the Russells had sailed for New York and
had arrived there, as he had ascertained from his correspondent in that
city. On landing, Russell had declared he was an immigrant, and having
been informed that by American law it was necessary to show he was
possessed of a certain stipulated sum of money, had produced it, and was
allowed to enter the country. Russell had also declared his intention to
go West, mentioning St. Paul in the State of Minnesota as his probable
destination. These facts, the detective added, were communicated to him
by cable, and he asked for further instructions.
Gilbert handed the letter to Ernest, remarking here was some good news.
"Oh, if we can only catch Silwood soon!" cried Ernest, after perusing
the letter.