THE STOLEN MANUSCRIPT.
Allen looked on the manuscript thus suddenly produced in mute wonder.
With a swift glance he questioned Dora as to what it was--for he could
not yet bring himself to believe that it was the lost paper--and how
she had come by it. The girl afforded him at once a concise
explanation.
"It is the paper containing an account of the early life of Mr.
Edermont," said she, with a nod; "the manuscript stolen from the
bureau, on account of which we believe the murder to have been
perpetrated. I found it in the cottage of Joad."
"In the cottage of Joad?" echoed Allen slowly. "How did he come by
it?"
"By robbery and murder. He is the guilty person."
"Dora--are you sure? He proved an alibi, you know."
"I am aware of that, and I am aware also how he prepared such alibi.
It is a long story, Allen. I shall tell it to you, and then we will
read the manuscript together."
"I am all attention," cried Allen, settling himself on the sofa. "Go
on, you most wonderful girl."
"I am a most unfortunate girl," said Dora sadly. "By my discovery I
have saved you from arrest, and perhaps condemnation, and myself from
a marriage which revolted me. But what is left after all, my dear?
Nothing, nothing. We can never be anything but friends to one another,
for our lives have been ruined by the sins of other people. It is
cruelly hard."
"You speak only too truly, Dora," said Allen, taking her hand. "And I
can give you no comfort; I can give myself no consolation. Your
father's crime has parted us, and we must suffer vicariously for his
guilt."
For a moment or so they remained silent, thinking over the
hopelessness of their position. But matters were too important and
pressing to admit of much time being wasted in useless lamentations.
Dora was the first to recover her speech, and forthwith related the
events of the day, from the conversation of Meg Gance down to the
visit to Carver. Allen interrupted her frequently with exclamations of
surprise.
"You are right, Dora!" he cried when she had ended. "How wonderfully
you have worked out the matter! Without doubt Joad was hidden in the
house while Lady Burville saw Edermont. After she left, he must have
killed his friend, and secured the manuscript. No doubt he hid again
when he heard me coming, and saw me, not in the road, as he alleges,
but in the study. Oh, the villain! and he would have saved his neck at
the expense of mine!"
"He had not even that excuse, Allen; for, owing to his manipulation of
the hall clock, there was absolutely no suspicion that he was guilty.
He accused you to gain me, but now I have caught him in his own trap,
and no doubt Mr. Carver will have him arrested this night."
"I hope so," said Dr. Scott angrily; "he is a wicked old ruffian! But
I cannot understand why he killed Mr. Edermont."
"The manuscript may inform us," said Dora, taking it up. "Let us read
it at once."
Allen consented eagerly, and Dora, smoothing the pages, began to read
what may be termed the confession of Julian Dargill, alias Edermont.
Some parts of the narrative were concisely told, others expanded
beyond all due bounds; and as a literary attempt the story was a
failure. But for style or elegance of language the young couple cared
little. They wished to learn the truth, and they found it in the
handwriting of the dead man.
"'My name is Julian Dargill,'" began the manuscript abruptly. "'I was
born at Christchurch, in Hants, where my family lived for many
generations. My parents died whilst I was at Oxford, and at the age of
twenty I found myself my own master. For ten years I travelled in the
company of a young man whom I had met at the University. He was not a
gentleman, but he had a clever brain, and was an amusing companion, so
I paid his expenses for the pleasure of his conversation and company.
When I returned home, I left Mallison--for such was his name, John
Mallison--in my London rooms, and came down to my house at
Christchurch. Here I took up my residence, and here I fell in love
with Laura Burville. She was a charming blonde, delicate and tiny as a
fairy, full of life and vivacity. Her face was singularly beautiful,
her figure perfection, and she had the gift of bringing sunshine
wherever she went. Needless to say, I fell deeply in love with her,
and would have made her my wife but for the foolish behaviour of
her parents. These were religious fanatics of peculiarly rigid
principles, and they disapproved of my tendency to a gay life. How
they came to have so charming a daughter I could never understand.
Miss Treherne--or shall I call her by the fonder name of Laura?--had
three suitors--myself, Dr. Scott, a widower, and Captain George Carew,
of the merchant service. Scott was a handsome and clever man, but
poor, and reckless in his way of life. His wife had died when his son
Allen was born, and Scott left the child to be brought up by the nurse
while he went flirting with all the pretty girls in the country. Mr.
and Mrs. Treherne disapproved of him also on account of this
behaviour. So far as I saw, neither Dr. Scott nor myself had any
chance of marrying Laura, for her parents favoured the suit of her
third admirer, George Carew. I hated and feared that man. He was a
brutal sailor, with a vindictive spirit and an unusually violent
temper. Everybody yielded to his imperious spirit, and he rode
rough-shod over any opposition that might be made to his wishes. He
fell in love with Laura, and determined to marry her. At my
pretensions and those of Scott he laughed scornfully, and warned both
that he would permit neither of us to interfere with his design. He
was cunning enough to ingratiate himself with the parents of Laura by
pretending to be religious, and ostensibly became more of a fanatic
than the Trehernes themselves. Laura was carried away by the violence
of his wooing; her parents were delighted with his pretended
conversion; and against their support and Laura's timidity--I can call
her yielding by no other name--Scott and myself could do nothing.
Carew married her. I omitted to state that Carew was not rich. He was
part owner in a ship called the _Silver Arrow_, which traded to the
Cape of Good Hope, and sometimes went as far as Zanzibar. When the
marriage took place Carew was forced to take command of his ship for a
voyage to the Cape. He wished Laura to go also, but this she refused
to do, and by offering a dogged resistance to his violent temper she
managed to get her own way for once. This I learnt from her
afterwards. Alas! had she only been as determined over refusing
marriage with Carew, all this sorrow might not have come upon us. But
she was quite infatuated with the insolent sailor, and while he was
with her I believe she loved him after a fashion. Nevertheless, I do
not think her passion either for Carew or for myself was very strong.
Leaving then for his voyage, Carew established his wife in a cottage
near my house, and went away almost immediately after the honeymoon.
Her parents had left Christchurch shortly before to take possession of
some property in Antrim, Ireland, which had been left to them. Laura
was quite alone, and found her state of grass-widowhood sufficiently
tiresome. She wished for distraction, and encouraged myself and Dr.
Scott to call upon her. As we were still in love with her, we accepted
her invitation only too gladly, and for six months we devoted
ourselves to her amusement. Then came the news that the _Silver Arrow_
had been wrecked on the coast of Guinea. The information was brought
by the first mate, who had been picked up in an open boat by a passing
ship. His companions were dead of hardship and suffering, and it was
only with the greatest difficulty that he was brought round again.
"'On his return to England he told his tale to the owners of the ship,
and then communicated the news to Mrs. Carew. Without doubt her
husband was drowned, and so after six months of married life she found
herself a widow, but ill-provided with money. As part owner of the
_Silver Arrow_, the dead Carew had some claim to a portion of the
insurance; but, owing to some commercial and legal trickery, no money
was obtainable from this source. Laura had barely sufficient to live
on. It may be guessed what effect poverty had upon her refined and
pleasure-loving nature. She refused to go to her parents in Ireland,
as their gloomy religious views were alien to her more æsthetic
leanings; yet she could not remain in Christchurch with hardly
sufficient to sustain life. Dr. Scott offered to marry her, but he was
too poor to give her the luxuries of life, and she refused to become
his wife or step-mother to his little boy. Then I offered myself, and
was accepted. I was not so handsome as Scott, or so manly and daring
as her first husband; but I was rich, and while pretending to love me
but little, she married me for my fortune. I was content to take her
even on such terms, and we arranged to become husband and wife. Owing
to the recent death of Carew, we could not marry openly in
Christchurch; and as Laura had never truly loved the sailor, she did
not care to pay a tribute to his hated memory by a year of mourning.
Rather was she anxious to marry me at once, and for this purpose she
went up to London. After a decent interval, to avert suspicion, I
followed, and we were married shortly afterwards by special license in
the church of St. Pancras. John Mallison was the best man, and
arranged all the details for me. These things happened some months
after Carew's supposed death. Then we travelled for a year, and at the
end of it came back with our child Dora to Christchurch, where----"
"_Our_ child?" said Dora, interrupting her reading. "What does that
mean, Allen?"
"No doubt that Dargill adopted you as his child after the death of
Carew."
"But I was his ward here; why does he not call me his ward in this
manuscript?"
"Read on," said Allen. "You may discover the reason."
"'We took up our abode at my mansion in Christchurch,'" read Dora
swiftly, "'and for a time we were fairly happy. But I was not
altogether pleased with my wife. She did not love me, nor did she make
any pretence to do so. Indeed, I believe she despised me for my
weakness of body and amiability of temper. Dr. Scott began to call
again, and Laura encouraged his visits. I forbade him the house, but
my wife and himself defied me, and I was powerless to control their
behaviour. One evening, after a scene with Laura, I left the house.
Scott was in the habit of crossing the lawn at dusk and entering the
drawing-room, to flirt with my wife while I was reading in the
library. I also came the same way at times in preference to going
round by the door; and one evening, entering thus, I chanced upon
them. The discovery resulted in a violent scene; and next morning I
left for London, vowing never to return until my wife dismissed Scott
from her thoughts. The departure saved my life.
"'While I was away, Carew returned to Christchurch. He had been saved
by some negroes on the Guinea Coast, and had been detained in
captivity by them for over a year. Finally he escaped, managed to get
to England, and came to claim his wife. When he heard of our marriage
he went mad with rage. He accused me of corrupting his wife, of
spreading a false report of his death, and finally swore that he would
not rest until he had killed me. I verily believe that he was bent on
doing so, notwithstanding my innocence in the matter; and had I not
been absent in London, he would have shot me without mercy. As it was,
he committed a murder in the hope of killing me.
"'My wife--as I must still call her--had no opportunity of warning me,
as Carew kept such a close watch on her. He expected me to return, and
took up his quarters in the house with the avowed intention of killing
me. Laura sent for Scott to see how she could save me--rather for her
own sake than for mine--and he came to see her one evening by stealth.
Carew had heard from one of the servants that I was in the habit of
crossing the lawn and entering the drawing-room. When he saw Scott
approaching in the same direction he thought it was me; and, being
provided with a pistol, which he always carried, he shot the man
through the heart. When he found out whom he had killed, he fled, to
escape being arrested; but his last words to Laura were that he would
hunt me down and kill me.
"'All this came out at the inquest, which was reported in the _Morning
Planet_ under the heading of "A Romantic Tragedy." On hearing how my
life was sought by Carew--still at large--I left my lodgings and went
into hiding. What else could I do? I am a weak and puny man, and,
morally speaking, I am a coward. It is not my fault. I was born so. I
dared not face this brute in his ungoverned rage, and so I hid. Then
John Mallison came to my rescue. He was rather like me, and he
proposed to adopt my name and go to America, letting Carew know in
some way how he had fled. Mallison was a brave man, and I knew that he
could hold his own better than I against Carew. He assumed my name,
and I supplied him with funds. Carew saw him by chance in Regent
Street, and in the distance took him for me. Mallison, to encourage
this false recognition, fled to America, and Carew followed. Then I
prepared for my own safety.
"'I took the name of Julian Edermont, and transferred my property in
the funds to that name. I bought, through Carver, the Red House, near
Canterbury, and I made it secure against robbers and my enemy Carew.
Then I went to live there. I was afraid to go back to Laura--for whom
I provided amply--lest Carew should hear of it. And I wrote to her
about our child. Laura was not a good mother, and I was afraid she
would neglect Dora. Some letters passed between us--while I was in
London, for I did not give her my new address or name--and she
ultimately sent Dora to me. Since then Dora has lived with me as my
ward, for I was afraid to say that she was my daughter, lest Carew
should find out.'"
"His adopted daughter, of course," interrupted Allen. "He was afraid
your father might kill him, and take you away."
"'Later on I found my old college companion, Joad, starving in London,
and took him to live with me,'" Dora went on. "'Mallison came back
from America, and I provided for him likewise. So far I felt safe; but
all these years I have had a belief that Carew would find me out, in
spite of all my precautions, and kill me. If I am found murdered,
George Carew will be the culprit, as no one else has any reason to
wish for my death. I am at peace with all men. To punish him I leave
by will the bulk of my fortune to him or her who finds out and
punishes George Carew for his villainy. I hope my daughter Dora may be
so fortunate. She need have no compunction in doing so, for Carew is
not her father. She is my child, born of my marriage with Laura, and I
only called her Carew, and my ward, to do away with any possible
discovery by Carew. The certificate of her birth is with my family
lawyer in Lincoln's Inn Fields.'"
"Dora!" cried Allen, starting up, "you are not Carew's daughter--not
the daughter of the man who killed my father!"
"Edermont--Dargill--my father!" stammered Dora. "What does it mean?"
"Mean!" cried Allen, taking her in his arms--"that your father did not
kill mine--and we can marry!"