I wonder, Raife exclaimed, speaking to himself softly, scarce above a whisper. I wonder if there was a recognition? The words of the poor guvnor almost tell me that, in that critical moment, the pair, bound together in one common secret, met. They hated each other and they killed each other! Why did the guvnor admit that he had been a fool? Why did he wish to warn me of a trap? What trap? Surely at my age Im not likely to fall into any trap. No, he added, with a bitter smile, I fancy Im a bit too wary to do that.
He paced up and down the long, silent, book-lined chamber, much puzzled.
As he did so, the sweet, pale, refined face of Gilda Tempest again arose before him. He had only met her casually, a few hours ago, yet, somehow why he could not explain, they had seemed to have already become old friends and, amid all his trouble, anxiety and bewilderment, he found himself wondering how she fared, and whether the dear little black pom, Snookie, was guarding his dainty little mistress.
True, a black shadow had fallen upon his home, a tragic event which had rendered him a baronet, and in a few months he would be possessor of great estates, nevertheless that thought had not yet occurred to him. His only concern had been for his bereaved mother, to whom he was so devoted, and from whom his father had hidden his strange secret. Through that dark cloud of mourning, which had so suddenly enveloped him, arose the beautiful countenance of the girl into whose society chance had so suddenly thrown him, and he felt he must see her again, that he must stroll at her side once again, at all hazards.
As his fathers only son, he had a right to investigate the contents of the open safe, for he knew that one executor was away at Dinard, while the other, an uncle, lived in Perthshire. At present, his fathers lawyer had not been communicated with, therefore he crossed again to the safe and methodically removed paper after paper to examine it.
Most of them were securities, mortgages, bonds, and other such documents, which, at that moment, did not possess much interest for him.
One bundle of old and faded letters which he untied were in a handwriting he at once recognised the letters of his mother before she had become Lady Remington. Another a batch written forty years ago were the letters from his grandfather, while his father was at Oxford. With these were other letters from dead friends and relatives; but, though he spent an hour in searching through them, Raife discovered no clue to the strange secret which Sir Henry had died without divulging.
Then he afterwards replaced the papers, closed the safe and re-locked it with the false key which still remained in it.
His mother was still too prostrated to speak with him, therefore he again went across to the cottage where the police were with the dead assassin.
As he entered, one of the detectives was carefully applying printers ink to the tips of the cold, stiff fingers, and afterwards taking impressions of them upon pieces of paper.
The secret of the dead thiefs identity would, they declared among themselves, very soon be known.
Chapter Four
Reveals Certain Confidences
Tell him to be careful to be wary of the trap?
Those dying words of Sir Henrys rang ever in his sons ears.
That afternoon, as Raife stood bowed in silence before the body of his beloved father, his mind was full of strange wonderings.
What was the nature of the dead mans secret? Who was the woman to whom he had referred a few moments before he expired?
The young fellow gazed upon the grey shrunken face he had loved so well, and his eyes became dimmed by tears. Only a week before they had been in London together, and he had dined with his father at the Carlton Club, and they had afterwards gone to a theatre.
The baronet was then in the best of health and spirits. A keen sportsman, and an ardent golfer, he had been essentially an out-door man. Yet he now lay there still and dead, killed by an assassins bullet. Raifes mother was inconsolable and he had decided that it was best for him to keep apart from her for the present.
To his friend, Mutimer, he had sent a wire announcing the tragic news, and had, by telephone, also informed Mr Kellaway, the family lawyer, whose offices were in Bedford Row, London. On hearing the astounding truth, Mr Kellaway to whom Raife had spoken personally had announced his intention of coming at once to Tunbridge Wells.
At six oclock he arrived in the car which Raife had sent for him a tall, elderly, clean-shaven man in respectful black.
Now, Mr Kellaway, said Raife, when they were alone together in the library, and the young baronet had explained what had occurred. You have been my fathers very intimate friend, as well as his solicitor for many years. I want to ask you a simple question. Are you aware that my father held a secret some secret of the past?
Not to my knowledge, Mr Raife or Sir Raife, as I suppose I ought to call you now, was the sombre, and rather sad, mans reply.
Well, he had a secret, exclaimed Raife, looking at him, searchingly.
How do you know?
He told Edgson, the butler, before he died.
Told his servant his secret! echoed the lawyer, knitting his brows.
No. He told him something not all.
What did he tell him? asked Mr Kellaway, in quick eagerness.
My father said he wished that he had been frank with me, and revealed the truth.
Of what?
Of his secret. He left me a message, urging me to beware of the trap. Of what nature is the pitfall? asked the young man. You, his friend, must know.
I regret, but I know absolutely nothing, declared the solicitor, frankly. This is all news to me. What do you think was the nature of the secret? Is it concerning money matters?
No. I believe it mainly concerns a woman, the young man replied. My father had no financial worries. He was, as you know, a rich man. Evidently he was anxious on my behalf, or he would not have given Edgson that message. Ah! If his lips could only speak again poor, dear guvnor.
And the young man sighed.
Perhaps Edgson knows something? the solicitor suggested.
He knows nothing. He only suspects that there is a lady concerned in it, for my father, before his death, referred to her.
Your respected father was my client and friend through many years, said Mr Kellaway. As far as I know, he had no secrets from me.
Raife looked him straight in the face for a few moments without speaking. Like all undergraduates he had no great liking for lawyers.
Look here, Kellaway, he said slowly. Are you speaking the truth?
The absolute truth, was the others grave reply.
Then you know of no secret of my fathers. None eh?
Ah, that is quite a different question, the solicitor said. During the many years I have acted for your late father I have been entrusted with many of his secrets secrets of his private affairs and suchlike matters with which a man naturally trusts his lawyer. But there was nothing out of the common concerning any of them.
Nothing concerning any lady?
Nothing I assure you.
Then what do you surmise regarding the trap, about which my father left me this inexplicable message?
Edgson may be romancing, the lawyer suggested. In every case of a sudden and tragic death, the servant, male or female, always has some curious theory concerning the affair, some gossip or some scandal concerning their employer.