"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."
"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 condemnation4, 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 consolation5. Your father's crime has parted us, and we must suffer vicariously for his guilt2."
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 exclamations6 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 alleges7, but in the study. Oh, the villain8! 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 confession9 of Julian Dargill, alias10 Edermont. Some parts of the narrative11 were concisely12 told, others expanded beyond all due bounds; and as a literary attempt the story was a failure. But for style or elegance13 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 abruptly14. "'I was born at Christchurch, in Hants, where my family lived for many generations. My parents died whilst I was at Oxford15, 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 vivacity16. 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 fanatics17 of peculiarly rigid19 principles, and they disapproved20 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 widower21, 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 flirting22 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 brutal24 sailor, with a vindictive25 spirit and an unusually violent temper. Everybody yielded to his imperious spirit, and he rode rough-shod over any opposition26 that might be made to his wishes. He fell in love with Laura, and determined27 to marry her. At my pretensions28 and those of Scott he laughed scornfully, and warned both that he would permit neither of us to interfere29 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 fanatic18 than the Trehernes themselves. Laura was carried away by the violence of his wooing; her parents were delighted with his pretended conversion30; 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 Cape31 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. Alas33! 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 insolent34 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 honeymoon35. 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 sufficiently36 tiresome37. She wished for distraction38, 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 devoted39 ourselves to her amusement. Then came the news that the Silver Arrow had been wrecked40 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 manly41 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 interval42, to avert43 suspicion, I followed, and we were married shortly afterwards by special license44 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."
"Read on," said Allen. "You may discover the reason."
"'We took up our abode45 at my mansion46 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 pretence47 to do so. Indeed, I believe she despised me for my weakness of body and amiability48 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 flirt23 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, vowing49 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 captivity50 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 corrupting51 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 bent52 on doing so, notwithstanding my innocence53 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 killing54 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 avowed55 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 lodgings56 and went into hiding. What else could I do? I am a weak and puny57 man, and, morally speaking, I am a coward. It is not my fault. I was born so. I dared not face this brute58 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!"
"Mean!" cried Allen, taking her in his arms--"that your father did not kill mine--and we can marry!"
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1
concise
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| adj.简洁的，简明的 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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alibi
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| n.某人当时不在犯罪现场的申辩或证明；借口 | |
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condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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7
alleges
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| 断言，宣称，辩解( allege的第三人称单数 ) | |
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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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10
alias
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| n.化名；别名；adv.又名 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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12
concisely
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| adv.简明地 | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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15
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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16
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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17
fanatics
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| 狂热者，入迷者( fanatic的名词复数 ) | |
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fanatic
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| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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19
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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disapproved
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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24
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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30
conversion
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| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
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31
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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32
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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33
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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34
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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35
honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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36
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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39
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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40
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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41
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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42
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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43
avert
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| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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44
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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45
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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46
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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47
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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48
amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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49
vowing
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的现在分词形式） | |
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50
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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51
corrupting
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的现在分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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52
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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53
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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54
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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55
avowed
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| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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56
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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57
puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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58
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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59
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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