"Now I come to look back on it," he said reflectively, "I believe that Edermont must have supplied most of the funds for my education. I understood they came from moneys left by my dead father; but from this story"--touching the manuscript--"it would appear that he died poor. Certainly Mr. Edermont behaved generously in inviting2 me to settle in Canterbury when I qualified3 for a doctor, and in helping4 me with a loan. I am afraid I acted badly to him on that day," added Allen, in a penitent5 tone, "but I was not myself; the news of my father's terrible death maddened me."
"And he was my father, after all!" sighed Dora. "Poor soul! I never cared over-much for him, as I did not like his personality. And, as I thought I was living on my own money, I did not realize his generosity6. I am glad to know that I am not the daughter of Carew."
"It is strange that Mrs. Tice did not know Edermont was your father," said Allen, after a pause, "for you must have been born shortly before the Dargills returned to Christchurch. Ah, here is Mrs. Tice," he added, as the housekeeper7 entered. "Come here, nurse; we have good news for you."
"Dora and I intend to fulfil our engagement, and marry."
The face of Mrs. Tice grew stern with dismay and disapproval9.
"Impossible, Mr. Allen! How can you marry the daughter of your father's murderer?"
"That is just it, nurse; Dora is not the daughter of Carew, but of Julian Dargill."
"Oh, she was adopted by Mr. Dargill, I know," said Mrs. Tice, still unconvinced, "and was called by his name in Christchurch. Why he changed her name to Carew I do not know, though, to be sure, she was his ward10, and not his daughter, and Carew was her real name."
"So we all thought," said Dora impetuously; "but we have just discovered that I am really and truly the daughter of Mr. Dargill and his wife Laura. Listen, Mrs. Tice, and I'll tell you the story."
The narrative11 greatly surprised Mrs. Tice, who was forced to sit down and lift up her hands in her surprise. She was forced to believe that Dora was Dargill's daughter by Laura Carew's second marriage, and--as Mrs. Tice mentally noted--illegitimate, owing to Carew still being alive after her birth. But the housekeeper was too wise and kind-hearted to touch upon so delicate a point.
"Deary, deary me!" she ejaculated. "And no one knew it in Christchurch! I never saw you myself, Miss Dora, or I should have known that so young a child could not have been the daughter of a man dead over a year. I am surprised no one else guessed it. How blind we all are!"
"Oh, you may be sure Lady Burville told some story to account for the appearance and size of the child," said Allen cynically12. "She is an adept13 at trickery. But I cannot understand, Dora, why she did not tell you the name of your real father."
"She did not wish to inculpate14 herself more than was necessary," said Dora, in a bitter tone. "She told me she was my mother only because she believed I would denounce her as guilty of the crime. And you know those letters Pallant wanted, Allen? Well, I have no doubt that those were the letters she wrote to Edermont--I can hardly bring myself to call him father--giving him permission to take me to live with him. Probably he paid her for doing so."
"After all, she is your mother, Miss Dora," said Mrs. Tice reprovingly.
"She has not acted a mother's part," retorted Dora. "She deserted15 me, she deceived me, she lied to me; I never wish to set eyes on her again."
"I think that will be rather a relief to her than otherwise," said Allen. "She is determined16 to keep her position as Sir John's wife, and will refuse to make any explanation likely to endanger it. However, it does not matter to us, my dear. The bar to our marriage is removed; indeed, I wonder your father did not tell me the truth."
"The poor soul was a coward, Allen. He admits as much in his confession17. Few men would have behaved as he did, especially in the face of the fact that Captain Carew was in danger of arrest for the murder of your father. All Mr. Edermont's elaborate precautions were dictated18 solely19 by his lifelong dread20. I can see no other reason why he should have passed me off as his ward. However, now that we know the truth, I can marry you."
"We will marry as soon as you like, dearest. And I am glad for your sake, Dora, that you will inherit the fifty thousand pounds left by your father."
"But how is that, Mr. Allen?" cried Mrs. Tice in amazement21. "That money was only left to the person who discovered the murderer."
"Well, nurse, Dora has done so. Joad is the culprit."
"You don't say so! Well, I always did think he was a bad man. And he had the boldness to say you were guilty of his own wickedness!" cried Mrs. Tice indignantly. "I am glad he has fallen into his own trap. But why did he kill Mr. Dargill?"
"Ah," said Allen, "that is just what I should like to know. No motive22 is assigned in the manuscript. It is a mystery at present."
"Mr. Carver may force him to confess his reason," suggested Dora, "or perhaps he may guess it."
"What! Mr. Carver?"
"Yes, Mrs. Tice. I believe Mr. Carver knows a great deal more about my unhappy father than he chooses to confess. From the reference in the manuscript to my father's family lawyers, I am inclined to think that Mr. Carver knows who they are. If he does, he knows also that Mr. Edermont's real name was Julian Dargill."
"I don't see what there is to know about him," replied Dora carelessly; "the man did his work well, and inveigled24 Carew to America. When he returned my father recompensed him, as he says in his confession. I dare say John Mallison is settled somewhere in England, happy and content. Why do you ask, Allen?"
"I was thinking that failing Joad's confession Mallison might know his motive. Depend upon it, Dora, the reason is mixed up somehow with that dark story of the past."
"Well, well," said Dora with a sigh, "we shall know all when Mr. Carver comes. In the meantime, let us enjoy our present happiness."
Mrs. Tice approved of this sentiment, and brought in tea. The two lovers, with confidence restored between them, lingered over their simple meal, and made plans for the future. It was after six before they awoke to the fact that twilight25 was waning26; and as Dora had to return to the Red House on her bicycle, Allen suggested that she should start at once. She demurred27 to this, as she was anxious to hear the lawyer's report of his interview with Joad, and while they were arguing the matter Mr. Carver arrived.
For so unemotional a man, he seemed greatly excited, and shook hands heartily28 with Dora, although he had seen her but a few hours before. Mr. Carver explained the meaning of that second salute29.
"I congratulate you, young lady," he said heartily. "Through your cleverness and tact30 we have found out the truth. You are a heroine, Miss Carew."
"Not Miss Carew," interposed Allen brightly, "but Miss Dargill."
"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Carver in a stiff manner. "I am aware that Mr. Edermont's real name was Dargill, as you have no doubt learnt from the manuscript. But this young lady----"
"Is the daughter of your late client," interrupted Dora. "Captain Carew was not my father, Mr. Carver. I am the child of Julian Edermont--or rather, Dargill."
"In that case I congratulate you again, Miss Dora," said Carver, compromising the matter by calling her by her Christian31 name; "you can now marry Dr. Scott, since your father did not kill his father."
"Do you know that story?" asked Allen with a start.
"Oh dear, yes! I was told it by my late client. But he did not inform me that this young lady was his daughter. I was always under the impression that she was the child of Captain Carew, and the ward of the late Mr. Dargill. Strange he should have kept that from me," mused32 the lawyer; "but I never yet knew a client to tell the whole truth."
"But this is all very well," broke in Dora. "What has Joad done--fled to London?"
"No. He has been with me for the last two hours; and by this time"--Mr. Carver glanced at his watch--"he is no doubt back in his cottage."
"Back in his cottage?" echoed the doctor. "Did he not make a confession?"
"Certainly. It was written out and signed in my presence, with two witnesses--myself and one of my clerks--to testify to the signature."
"Then he confesses the murder?"
"Oh dear me, no!" said Carver dryly; "he does nothing of the sort; but he confesses as to who committed the murder."
"Didn't he do it himself?"
"No, Miss Dora, he did not. Our friend Joad is innocent; although," added the lawyer with an afterthought, "he may be described as an accessory after the fact."
"Then who killed my father?" cried Dora in blank amazement.
"Aha! that is a long, long story," replied Carver with a nod. "All in good time, my dear young lady. You tell me briefly33 what is contained in the manuscript, and I shall supply the sequel. Thus," added Mr. Carver, rubbing his dry hands, "we shall arrive at a clear and logical understanding of the whole complicated matter."
Both lovers protested against this proposal, but Carver firmly refused to speak a word until the gist34 of the manuscript was communicated to him. In the end they were reluctantly compelled to give way to the lawyer's obstinacy35, and postpone36 the satisfaction of their own curiosity. Assisted by Allen, the young girl communicated all the details, but succeeded little in moving the emotions of Mr. Carver. Perhaps the sequel he referred to was more exciting than what they told him. But on this point the pair had a speedy opportunity of judging.
"It's a queer story," said Carver reflectively, "but I've heard queerer. It is the sequel that is the odd thing about this. Here is a man who for twenty years goes in dread of his life, and takes all manner of precautions to look after it. Yet, a few days after he has learnt that his enemy is dead and his life is safe, he is foully37 murdered. I am not a superstitious38 man, Miss Dora, but I see the finger of Fate in this. Your father was doomed39 to die a violent death, and his lifelong fears were justified40 by the result."
"But he was not killed by the man whom he expected to be his murderer."
"Quite true, Dr. Scott. He was killed by the man whom he did not expect to be his murderer."
"What do you mean?" cried Dora, rising. "Did my father know this man?"
"Intimately. He was the man who at one time saved Mr. Edermont from being caught by Captain Carew."
"You don't mean John Mallison?" shouted Allen in wide-eyed surprise. Mr. Carver nodded.
"That's the man. He killed Edermont. You must admit that there is something ironical41 in the fact?"
"I don't understand it at all," said Dora helplessly. "Will you be so kind as to tell us how and why the crime was committed?"
"Willingly," replied Carver, and commenced forthwith. "My late client, as you know, went for years in fear of his life," he said in his dry way; "but shortly before the murder his fears were ended by a communication from a Mr. Pallant. This gentleman told him that Captain Carew had died in San Francisco, and as a reward for his intelligence asked Mr. Edermont for a packet of letters written by Lady Burville to her second husband. Mr. Edermont was unwilling42 to give them up, as he saw that Pallant wanted to blackmail43 the unfortunate woman--your mother, Miss Dora. He refused to comply with Mr. Pallant's request, and wrote to Lady Burville at Hernwood Hall, asking her to come to his study in the Red House on the night of the second of August between eleven and twelve o'clock, when he undertook to give her up the letters."
"But why did he choose so late an hour?"
"Because he did not wish to compromise Lady Burville's position; nor did he wish Pallant to know. This letter he posted himself. But Joad--who was afraid of losing his home with his patron, and thinking something was wrong--obtained the letter in some way from the village post-office, and made himself master of its contents. Those he communicated to me as I have told them. So you see," continued Mr. Carter, "that Edermont expected a visit from Lady Burville on that night. He also expected a visit from Scott."
"Yes," said Allen eagerly; "he wrote to me, and appointed almost the same hour. But why?"
"I will tell you, doctor. He wished to give Lady Burville the letters, but only conditionally44 that in your presence she admitted that Dora was her child."
"No; but he repented letting you remain under the impression that Dora was the child of your father's murderer. That, as he knew, was a bar to your marriage, and to do away with it he asked you to meet Lady Burville."
"But I did not meet her!"
"No; because you were late, and she would not wait. But let us continue. Edermont also wrote a letter to Mallison, telling him that now Carew was dead, and his fears at an end, he would no longer pay him the pension he had hitherto allowed him. That letter was the cause of his death."
"But how?" asked Dora and Allen together.
"You shall hear. Joad, learning, as I have said, about the appointment with Lady Burville, made up his mind to overhear the conversation. He knew by the letter he had opened that the postern-gate and the glass-door were to be left ajar, so about eleven o'clock he got into the house that way."
"Without being seen by Mr. Edermont?"
"Yes. Mr. Edermont at that moment was in his bedroom, so Joad slipped through the study and hid in the darkness of the hall. Here he altered the clock by putting it on an hour."
"But why did he do that?"
"In case Edermont should suspect him the next day," explained Carver; "then he could prove an alibi46 by saying he was in his cottage. He did this with success to clear himself of the murder, but primarily it was to make himself safe in the eyes of Edermont."
"Well, we know that he altered the clock. What happened then?"
"Lady Burville arrived, and Edermont, returning to the study, gave her the letters. Joad, hidden behind the door, saw and heard all. Edermont showed her the manuscript, which he took out of the bureau, and told her he was going to burn it and alter his will. Afterwards, when Dr. Scott did not come, she refused to wait, and went off. Edermont saw her to the glass-door at the end of the deserted drawing-room. He left the manuscript on the desk; and, seeing a way to get a hold over Edermont, Joad stepped into the room during his absence and secured it."
"The scoundrel!" cried Dora excitedly. "Go on, Mr. Carver."
"Hardly had Joad hidden himself again when Edermont came back in a state of terror, with Mallison at his heels. Mallison reproached him for cutting off his income, and swore he would obtain the manuscript, which he knew was in the bureau, and reveal the whole story. He began to pull out the drawers, smash the desk, and toss the papers all out. Edermont raved47 and implored48 and threatened. Ultimately he took out a pistol to shoot Mallison, in the extremity49 of his terror. Mallison, to defend himself, caught the knobkerrie from the wall. The first barrel of the revolver proved empty, and before Edermont could fire again, Mallison killed him by smashing in his head with the club."
"Horrible! And Joad?"
"When he saw the murder he rushed in, and tried to raise an alarm. Mallison caught him by the throat, and swore he would kill him also if he did not hold his tongue. Joad, in terror, promised to do so. Then the clock struck one. Mallison looked at his watch and found it was only twelve. Seeing a chance of proving an alibi for them both, he dragged Joad out of the house into his cottage; and so he was safe. It was shortly after they entered the cottage that Dr. Scott came down the road. He entered, saw the evidence of the crime, and fled."
"And why did Joad hold his tongue?"
"Because Mallison found out he had the manuscript, which Joad hid and would not give up. He swore he would say that Joad had committed the crime if he did not keep quiet. You can see for yourself the position in which Joad was placed. Of two evils he chose the least, and held his peace. But when he found that the manuscript was gone, he thought Mallison had taken it, and, fearful for his life lest Mallison should denounce him to gain the fifty thousand pounds, he came in to-day and confided50 all to me."
"I understand all," said Dora--"all but one point. Who is John Mallison?"
"Why," said Carver quietly, "none other than your polite friend, Mr. Pride."
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1
indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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penitent
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| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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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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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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cynically
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| adv.爱嘲笑地，冷笑地 | |
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adept
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| adj.老练的，精通的 | |
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inculpate
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| v.使负罪；控告；使连累 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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solely
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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abruptly
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inveigled
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| v.诱骗，引诱( inveigle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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demurred
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| v.表示异议，反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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gist
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| n.要旨；梗概 | |
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obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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foully
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| ad.卑鄙地 | |
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superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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conditionally
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| adv. 有条件地 | |
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repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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raved
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| v.胡言乱语( rave的过去式和过去分词 )；愤怒地说；咆哮；痴心地说 | |
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48
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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50
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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