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MR. MARX'S SECRET
by
E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
Author of "Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo," "The Double Traitor,"
"The Illustrious Prince," etc.
With frontispiece by F. Vaux Wilson
Boston
Little, Brown, and Company
1916
Published, January, 1916
Reprinted, January, 1916 (twice)
February, 1916
Printers
S. J. Parkhill & Co., Boston, U.S.A.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--News from the Pacific 11
II.--Mr. Francis 15
III.--The Murder at the Slate-Pits 18
IV.--My Mother's Warning 23
V.--Ravenor of Ravenor 27
VI.--A Doubtful Visitor 39
VII.--A Meeting and a Metamorphosis 43
VIII.--An Abode of Mystery 49
IX.--Mr. Marx 58
X.--Lady Silchester 65
XI.--The Cry in the Avenue 70
XII.--A Dark Corner in the Avenue 76
XIII.--The Cloud Between Us 81
XIV.--A Meeting in the Coffee-Room 85
XV.--A Tete-a-tete Dinner 89
XVI.--Miss Mabel Fay 93
XVII.--Behind the Scenes at the Torchester Theatre 98
XVIII.--At Midnight on the Moor 103
XIX.--A Strange Attack 111
XX.--The Monastery Among the Hills 115
XXI.--A Message from the Dead 124
XXII.--For Life 127
XXIII.--My Guardian 135
XXIV.--My First Dinner Party 138
XXV.--Mr. Marx's Warning 144
XXVI.--A Lost Photograph 148
XXVII.--Leonard de Cartienne 157
XXVIII.--"As Rome Does" 164
XXIX.--A Dinner Party Sub-rosa 169
XXX.--Ecarte with Mr. Fothergill 174
XXXI.--A Startling Discovery 182
XXXII.--Forestalled 190
XXXIII.--A Gleam of Light 195
XXXIV.--Dr. Schofield's Opinion 199
XXXV.--An Invitation 204
XXXVI.--A Metamorphosis 209
XXXVII.--Mr. Marx is Wanted 218
XXXVIII.--I Accept a Mission 223
XXXIX.--My Ride 225
XL.--My Mission 229
XLI.--The Count de Cartienne 232
XLII.--News of Mr. Marx 240
XLIII.--About Town 246
XLIV.--A Midnight Excursion to the Suburbs 252
XLV.--A Mysterious Commission 258
XLVI.--A Brush with the Police 261
XLVII.--Light at Last 264
XLVIII.--A Page of History 269
XLIX.--I will Go Alone 278
L.--I Meet my Father 280
LI.--Dawn 284
LII.--Where is Mr. Marx? 287
LIII.--Messrs. Higgenson and Co. 293
LIV.--A Raid 299
LV.--The Mystery of Mr. Marx 304
LVI.--The End of It 308
MR. MARX'S SECRET
CHAPTER I.
NEWS FROM THE PACIFIC.
My home was a quaint, three-storeyed, ivy-clad farmhouse in a Midland
county. It lay in a hollow, nestled close up against Rothland Wood, the
dark, close-growing trees of which formed a picturesque background to the
worn greystone whereof it was fashioned.
In front, just across the road, was the boundary-wall of Ravenor Park,
with its black fir spinneys, huge masses of lichen-covered rock, clear
fish-ponds, and breezy hills, from the summits of which were visible the
sombre grey towers of Ravenor Castle, standing out with grim, rugged
boldness against the sky.
Forbidden ground though it was, there was not a yard of the park up to
the inner boundary fence which I did not know; not a spinney where I had
not searched for birds' nests or raided in quest of the first primrose;
not a hill on which I had not spent some part of a summer afternoon.
I was a trespasser, of course; but I was the son of Farmer Morton, an old
tenant on the estate, and much in favour with the keepers, by reason of a
famous brew which he was ever ready to offer a thirsty man, or to drink
himself. So "Morton's young 'un" was unmolested; and, save for an
occasional good-humoured warning from Crooks, the head-gamekeeper, during
breeding-time, I had the run of the place.
Moreover, the great estates of which Ravenor Park was the centre knew at
that time no other master than a lawyer of non-sporting proclivities, so
the preserves were only looked after as a matter of form.
I was eight years old, and an unusually hot summer was at its height. It
was past midday, and I had just come out from the house, with the
intention of settling down for an afternoon's reading in a shady corner
of the orchard. I had reached the stack-yard gate when I stopped short,
my hand upon the fastening.
A most unusual sound was floating across the meadows, through the
breathless air. The church-bells of Rothland, the village on the other
side of the wood, had suddenly burst out into a wild, clashing peal of
joy.
In a country district everybody knows everyone else's business; and,
child though I was, I knew that no marriage was taking place anywhere
near.
I stood listening in wonderment, for I had never heard such a thing
before; and, while I was lingering, the bells from Annerley, a village a
little farther away, and the grand, mellow-sounding chimes from the
chapel at Ravenor Castle, breaking the silence of many years, took up the
peal, and the lazy summer day seemed all of a sudden to wake up into a
state of unaccountable delight.
I ran back towards the house and met my mother standing in the cool stone
porch. The men about the farm were all grouped together, wondering. No
one had the least idea of what had happened.
And then Jim Harrison, the waggoner, who had just come in from the home
meadow, called out quickly, pointing with his finger; and far away, along
the white, dusty road, we could see the figure of a man on horseback
riding towards us at a furious gallop.
"It be the master!" he cried, excitedly. "It be the master, for sure!
There bean't no mistaking Brown Bess's gallop. Lord-a-mercy! how 'e be
a-riding her!"
We all trooped out on to the road to meet my father, eager to hear the
news. In a few moments he reached us, and brought Brown Bess to a
standstill, bathed in sweat and dust, and quivering in every limb.
"Hurrah, lads!" he shouted, waving his whip above his head. "Hurrah!
There never was such a bit o' news as I've got for you! All Mellborough
be gone crazy about it!"
"What is it, George? Why don't you tell us?" my mother asked quickly.
And, to my surprise, her hand, in which mine was resting, was as cold as
ice, notwithstanding the August heat.
He raised himself in his stirrups and shouted so that all might hear:
"Squire Ravenor be come to life again! They 'a' found him on an island in
the Pacific, close against the coral reef where his yacht went down six
years ago! He's on his way home again, lads. Think of that! Sal, lass,
bring us up a gallon of ale and another after it. We'll drink to his
homecoming, lads!"
There was a burst of applause and many exclamations of wonder. My
mother's hand had moved, as though unconsciously, to my shoulder, and she
was leaning heavily upon me.
"Where did you hear this, George?" she asked, in a subdued tone.
"Why, it be in all the London papers this morning," he answered, taking
off his hat and wiping his forehead. "The steamer that's bringing him
home 'a' sent a message from some foreign port, and Lawyer Cox he's got
one, and it's all written up large on the walls of the Corn Exchange. I
reckon it'll make those deuced lawyers sit up!" chuckled my father, as he
slowly dismounted.
"Lord-a-mercy! Only to think on it! Six year on a little bit o' an
island, and not a living soul to speak a word to! And now he's on his way
home again. It beats all story-telling I ever heerd on. Why, Alice, lass,
it 'a' quite upset you," he added, looking anxiously at my mother.
"You're all white and scared-like. Dost feel badly?"
She was standing with her back to us and when she turned round it seemed
to me that a change had crept into her face.
"It is the heat and excitement," she said quietly. "This is strange news.
I think that I will go in and rest."
"All right, lass! Get thee indoors and lie down for a bit. Now, then,
lads. Hurrah for the squire and long life to him! Pour it out, Jim--pour
it out! Don't be afraid on it. Such news as this don't coom every day."
And, with the vision of my stalwart yeoman father, the centre of a little
group of farm-labourers, holding his foaming glass high above his head,
and his honest face ruddy with heat and excitement, my memories of this
scene grow dim and fade away.