THE THIRD FINGER
Vera ought to have experienced a feeling of deepest surprise; but she was
long post any emotion of that kind. On the contrary, it seemed quite
natural that Evors should be there telling her this extraordinary thing.
The sounds of strife and tumult in the house had now died away;
apparently the men in the billiard-room had patched up their quarrel, for
nothing more could be heard save a sudden pop which sounded like the
withdrawal of a cork. With a gesture of contempt, Evors pointed to the
billiard-room window.
"I don't think you need worry about them," he said. "As far as I can
judge, they were bound to come to some truce."
"But do you know what they were doing?" Vera asked.
"I haven't the remotest idea," Evors replied. "Some rascality, beyond
question. There always is rascality where Fenwick is concerned. Is it not
a strange thing that I should come down here and find that fellow settled
in the home of my ancestors?"
"Then you did not come down on purpose to see him?"
"No, I came here entirely on my own responsibility. If you have
half-an-hour to spare, and you think it quite safe, I will tell you
everything. But there is one thing first, one assurance you must give me,
or I am bound to remain silent. The death of your poor father in that
mysterious fashion--"
"Stop," Vera said gently. "I know exactly what you are going to say. You
want me to believe that you had no hand whatever in my father's murder.
My dear Charles, I know it perfectly well. The only thing that puzzles
me is why you acted in that strange weak fashion after the discovery of
the crime."
"That is exactly what I am going to tell you," Evors went on. "It is a
strange story, and one which, if you read it in the pages of a book, you
would be inclined to discredit entirely. And yet stranger and more
remarkable things happen every day."
Evors led the way to a secluded path beside the terrace.
"You need not worry about getting to the house," he said. "I can show you
how to manage that at any time of the day or night without disturbing
anybody. I am afraid that on many occasions I put my intimate knowledge
of the premises to an improper use, and that was the beginning of my
downfall. What will you say to me when I confess to you that when I came
out to Mexico I was driven out of the old country, more or less, like a
criminal?"
"I understood you to be a little wild," Vera said.
"A little wild!" Evors echoed bitterly. "I behaved in a perfectly
disgraceful fashion. I degraded the old name, I made it a byword in the
district. As sure as I am standing here at the present moment, I am more
or less answerable for my mother's death. It is a strange thing with us
Evors that all the men begin in this way. I suppose it is some taint in
our blood. Up to the age of five-and-twenty, we have always been more
like devils than men, and then, for the most part, we have settled down
to wipe out the past and become respectable members of society. I think
my father recognised that, though he was exceedingly hard and stern with
me. Finally, after one more unusually disgraceful episode, he turned me
out of the house, and said he hoped never to look upon my face again. I
was deeply in debt, I had not a penny that I could call my own, and,
finally, I drifted out to Mexico with the assistance of a boon
companion. On the way out I took a solemn oath that I would do my best
to redeem the past. I felt heartily ashamed of my evil ways; and for six
months no one could possibly have led a purer and better life than
myself. It was about this time that I became acquainted with your father
and your sister Beth."
Evors paused a moment and paced up and down the avenue with Vera by his
side. She saw that he was disturbed about something, so that she deemed
it best not to interrupt him.
"It was like getting back to a better world again," Evors went on. "I
believed that I had conquered myself; I felt pretty sure of it, or I
would have never encouraged the friendship with your sister, which she
offered me from the first. I don't know how it was or why it was that I
did not see much of you about that time, but you were not in the
mountains with the others."
"I was down in the city," Vera explained. "There was a friend of mine who
had had a long serious illness, and I was engaged in nursing her. That is
the reason."
"But it doesn't much matter," Evors went on. "You were not there to watch
my friendship for Beth ripening into a warmer and deeper feeling. Mind
you, she had not the remotest idea who I really was, nor had your father.
They were quite content to take me on trust, they had no vulgar curiosity
as to my past. And then the time came when Beth discovered what my
feelings were, and I knew that she had given her heart to me. I had not
intended to speak, I had sternly schooled myself to hold my tongue until
I had completed my probation; but one never knows how these things come
about. It was all so spontaneous, so unexpected--and before I knew what
had really happened, we were engaged. It was the happiest time of my
life. I had rid myself of all my bad habits. I was in the full flush and
vigor of my manhood. I did not say anything to Beth about the past,
because I felt that she would not understand, but I told your father
pretty nearly everything except who I really was, for I had made up my
mind not to take the old name again until I had really earned the right
to do so. Of course, the name of Evors conveyed no impression to anybody.
It did not imply that I was heir to Lord Merton. Your father was
intensely friendly and sympathetic, he seemed to understand exactly. We
became more than friends, and this is how it came about that I
accompanied him finally on one of his secret visits to the Four Finger
Mine. Your father's regular journeys to the mine had resulted in his
becoming a rich man, and, as you know, he always kept the secret to
himself, taking nobody with him as a rule, with the exception of Felix
Zary. I will speak of Zary again presently. You know how faithful he was
to your father, and how he would have laid down his life for him."
"Zary was an incomprehensible character," Vera said. "He was one of the
surviving, or, rather, the only surviving member of the tribe who placed
the Four Finger Mine in my father's hands. That was done solely out of
gratitude, and Zary steadfastly declined to benefit one penny from the
gold of the mine. He had a curious contempt for money, and he always
said that the gold from the Four Finger Mine had brought a curse on his
tribe. I really never got to the bottom of it, and I don't suppose I ever
shall; but I am interrupting you, Charles. Will you please go on with
your story."
"Where was I?" Evors asked. "Oh, yes, I was just leading up to the time
when I accompanied your father on his last fatal journey to the mine. At
one time I understand it was his intention to take with him the
Dutchman, Van Fort, or your mother's brother, Mark Fenwick. However,
your father decided against this plan, and I went with him instead. To a
great extent it was my doing so that kept Van Fort and Fenwick out of
it, for I distrusted both those men, and I believed that they would have
been guilty of any crime to learn the secret of the mine. Your father,
always trustful and confiding, laughed at my fears, and we started on
that fateful journey. I don't want to harrow your feelings
unnecessarily, or describe in detail how your father died; but he was
foully murdered, and, as sure as I am in the presence of my Maker, the
murder was accomplished either by the Dutchman or Fenwick, or between
the two of them. Zary mysteriously vanished about the same time, and
there was no one to back me up in my story. You may judge of my horror
and surprise a little later when Van Fort and Fenwick entered into a
deliberate conspiracy to prove that I was responsible for your father's
death. They laid their plans with such a diabolical ingenuity that, had
I been placed upon my trial at that time, I should have been hanged to a
certainty. They even went so far as to tell Beth what had happened, with
what result upon her mind you know. At this time Van Fort disappeared,
and was never heard of again. Of the strange weird vengeance which
followed him I will talk another time. I suppose I lost my nerve
utterly, for I became as clay in the hands of Mark Fenwick. Badly as he
was treating me, he professed to be my friend, and assured me he had
found a way by which I could escape from the death which threatened me.
Goodness only knows what he had in his mind; perhaps he wanted to part
Beth and myself and get all your father's money into his hands. I
suppose he reckoned without your brother, though the latter did not
count for much just then, seeing that he was in the hospital at Vera
Cranz, hovering between life and death, as the result of his accident.
For my own part, I never believed it was an accident at all. I believed
that Fenwick engineered the whole business. But that is all by the way.
Like the weak fool that I was, I fell in with Fenwick's suggestion and
allowed myself to become a veritable tool in his hands, but I did not go
till I heard that you had come back again to look after Beth."
Vera recollected the time perfectly well; she was following Evors'
narrative with breathless interest. How well she recollected the day
of her own marriage and the receipt of that dreadful letter, which
parted Gerald and herself on the very steps of the altar, and
transformed her life from one of happiness into one of absolute
self-sacrifice. She was beginning to see daylight now, she was
beginning to discern a way at length, whereby she would be able to defy
Fenwick and part with him for all time.
"It is getting quite plain now," she said. "But please go on. You cannot
think how deeply interested I am in all you are saying. Presently I will
tell you my side of the story. How I came to part with Beth, how I placed
her in my brother's hands, how I elected to remain with Mark Fenwick, and
my reasons for so doing. I may say that one of my principal reasons for
staying with my uncle was to discover the real cause of my father's
death. That you had anything to do with it I never really believed,
though appearances were terribly against you, and you deliberately
elected to make them look worse. But we need not go into that now. What
happened to you after you fled from Mexico?"
"I am very much afraid that I dropped back into the old habits," Evors
said, contritely. "I was reckless and desperate, and cared nothing for
anybody. I had honestly done my best to atone for the past, and it seemed
to me that Fate was dealing with me with a cruelty which I did not
deserve. One or two of Fenwick's parasites accompanied me everywhere;
there seemed to be no lack of money, and I had pretty well all I wanted.
There were times, of course, when I tried to break the spell, but they
used to drug me then, until my mind began to give way under the strain.
Sometimes we were in Paris, sometimes we were in London, but I have not
the slightest recollection of how I got from one place to another. I was
like a man who is constantly on the verge of delirium. How long this had
been going on I can't tell you, but finally I came to my senses in the
house in London, and there for two days I was practically all right. All
through this time I had the deepest horror of the drink with which they
plied me, and on this occasion the horror had grown no less. For some
reason or another, no doubt it was an oversight, they neglected me for
two days, and I began to get rapidly better. Then, by the purest chance
in the world, I discovered that I was actually under the same roof as
Beth and your brother, and the knowledge was like medicine to me. I
refused everything those men offered me, I demanded to be allowed to go
out on business. They refused, and a strange new strength filled my
veins. I contrived to get the better of the two men, and half an hour
afterward I left the house in company with your brother."
All this was news indeed to Vera, but she asked no questions--she was
quite content to stand there and listen to all that Evors had to say.
"I would not stay with your brother," he went on. "I went off
immediately to an old friend of mine, to whom I told a portion of my
story. He supplied me with money and clothing, and advised me that the
best thing I could do was to go quietly away into the country and give
myself an entire rest. I followed his advice, and I drifted down here, I
suppose, in the same way that an animal finds his way home. I did not
know my father was away, and you can imagine my surprise when I
discovered to whom he had left the house. I feel pretty much myself now;
there is no danger of my showing the white feather again. If you are in
any trouble or distress, a line to the address on this card will bring me
to you at any time. In this house there are certain hiding-places where I
could secrete myself without anybody being the wiser; but we need not go
into that. Now perhaps you had better return to the house, or you may be
missed. Good-night, Vera. You cannot tell how wonderfully helpful your
sympathy has been to me."
He was gone a moment later, and Vera returned slowly and thoughtfully to
the house. The place was perfectly quiet now; the billiard-room door was
open, and Vera could see that the apartment was deserted. Apparently the
household had retired to rest, though it seemed to be nobody's business
to fasten up the doors. Most of the lights were out, for it was getting
very late now, so that there was nothing for it but for Vera to go up
the stairs to her own room. She had hardly reached the landing when a
door halfway down burst open, and Fenwick stood there shouting at the top
of his voice for such of his men as he mentioned by name. He seemed to be
almost beside himself with passion, though at the same time his face was
pallid with a terrible fear. He held a small object in his hand, which he
appeared to regard with disgust and loathing.
"Why don't some of you come out?" he yelled. "You drunken dogs, where
have you all gone to? Let the man come out who has played this trick on
me, and I'll break every bone in his body."
One or two heads emerged, and presently a little group stood around the
enraged and affrighted Fenwick. Standing in a doorway, Vera could hear
every word that passed.
"I locked my door after dinner," Fenwick said. "It is a patent lock, no
key but mine will fit it. When I go to bed I find this thing lying on the
dressing table."
"Another of the fingers," a voice cried. "The third finger. Are you quite
sure that you locked your door?"
"I'll swear it," Fenwick yelled. "And if one of you--but, of course, it
can't be one of you. There is no getting rid of this accursed thing. And
when the last one comes--"
Fenwick stopped as if something choked him.