The Ashiel mystery: A Detective Story, Mrs. Charles Bryce [red queen free ebook .txt] 📗

I needn't tell you all the conversation that followed between us. He told me that you know the whole story, that you are the one person in the world in whom he had confided; so it is unnecessary for me to repeat what he said of his marriage to my mother, of her death, and of his resolve never willingly to look upon me, the baby who had taken her from him. He told me also of the years that had intervened between that day when he had shuffled off his responsibilities on to Mrs. Meredith, and the day, not long ago, when he at last decided to hunt out his daughter.

"He told me of his fears that she should prove to be none other than Julia Romaninov, and of how, in desperation, he had applied to you for help, and of how you had discovered my existence.

"He said he had never really doubted from the moment he first set eyes on me that I was Juliana's child. But he dared not hint such a thing to me till he was certain, and anxious though he was to see a likeness between me and her, or himself, he had not been able to tell himself, truthfully, that he could really see one, until that day. It was when I was brought home that afternoon, so white and faint, so changed by my pallor from what he chose to describe as my usual gay brilliance, that the resemblance suddenly showed itself. He hardly knew that it was I; it might have been Juliana that they were carrying. He said there could be no doubt that I was her daughter; that he for one, required no further proof; though we should probably get it now it was no longer wanted. Sir Arthur Byrne might be able to suggest some way of tracing things. Not that it mattered, for he could not in any case leave me his title, and, on the other hand, he had full control of his money, which would be mine before very long.

"I cried out at that, that he must not say so; that it was not money I wanted, but a father, affection, friendship. He repeated that all the same I should have it in course of time. That it was all settled already. Even before he was certain that I was his own child, he liked me well enough to make up his mind about that. He asked me if I remembered that he had stayed at home the other day while the rest of us were on the hill? He said he had made his will that day, and I was the principal legatee, though he had not alluded to me in it by my own name. But he worded it carefully, so that that should make no difference; and though he believed it was quite clear as it was, he would make it over again, as soon as he could obtain legal proof of my birth.

"I supposed I murmured some sort of thanks for his care of my future, and he went on again, saying that he only wished the title could come to me too, when he died; but that it would go to Mark, since the little boy his second wife had given him was dead, and I was a girl.

"He said he was afraid that Mark might be a little disappointed, for, if he hadn't found me, Mark and David would have shared his fortune between them; but they would soon get over it, for they were good lads, especially Mark; and David would have plenty of money through this very satisfactory marriage of his. I couldn't help interrupting that money wasn't everything. I am telling you all these trivial things, Mr. Gimblet, because you said I was to try and remember everything, however unimportant."

"Yes," said Gimblet, "that is what I want. Pray go on."

"He only smiled when I said that," Juliet resumed, "and said that different opinions were held on that subject by different people. Then he went on talking about my future life, and said again how glad he would always be that he had consulted you, and how grateful he was for what you had done for him, and that if any trouble cropped up, I was to be sure and send for you at once. He looked to you to protect my interests, and, if necessary, to avenge his death.

"I couldn't think what he meant, and said so; but he only smiled again and said he hoped there would be no need for it. He said he had some papers he must send to you to take care of, some papers that were rather dangerous to their owner, he was afraid, though at the same time they were a safeguard to him. But he shouldn't like me to have anything to do with them, or the boys either, and he must get them away from Inverashiel as soon as he could. In the meantime they were in a safe place where no one would find them, and he would write to you that night and tell you how to look for them, just on the chance that something should happen before he could send them off. His will was with them, too, for the present, but he would send that up to Findlay & Ince. He wouldn't tell me where the papers were; he didn't want me to have anything to do with these tiresome things.

"He said all this with hesitation; with long pauses between the sentences. It seemed to me that he would have liked to tell me more, and I didn't know what to say. Indeed, he seemed to be talking rather to himself than to me, and I am not sure if he heard me when I said that if he had any anxiety I should like to share it, if it were possible. Presently he seemed to take a sudden resolution. He said that there was no reason, at all events, why he should not explain to me how to find the papers. He had written directions in cipher once before and given you the key, but you had lost it, and might do so again. It would be just as well that I should know about it too, in any case. He had had to think out a new method, and at present it was known to no one except himself, which was perhaps not very wise. However, he would send it to you that night, and would explain it to me at once. But first I must promise him, very faithfully, never to mention it to anyone, whatever happened, not to let anyone, except you, ever guess that there was such a thing in existence.

"I promised solemnly; still he hardly seemed satisfied, and looked at me very searchingly, while he said he wondered if I were old enough to understand the importance of this, and if I realized that I was promising not to tell my nearest or dearest; not my adopted father, Sir Arthur Byrne, nor my lover, if I had one. That it was a matter of life and death, that his life was in danger then, and that I would inherit the risk unless I did as he said.

"Rather indignant, though completely mystified, I promised again. He seemed satisfied, and said he would write the whole thing down for me. He moved from the hearth, where we had been sitting, to the writing-table, which stands in the middle of the room, in front of the window. He sat down at it, and I stood a little behind him, looking on as he took a sheet of notepaper and turned over the pens in the tray in search of a pencil. The room was very hot; the tufts of peat smouldering in the grate, and the two lamps, combined with the fumes of Lord Ashiel's cigar to render the atmosphere oppressive to a person with a violent headache. I glanced longingly towards the window. It was not entirely hidden by the heavy curtains which were drawn across it, for they did not quite meet in the middle, and I could see perfectly well that the window was shut. For a moment I hesitated, torn between the desire for fresh air and the fear that my father might feel too cold. He was terribly chilly. I decided to ask him, and turned to him again as he took up the pencil and examined the point critically.

"'Would you mind,' I was beginning; but at that instant a loud report sounded just outside the window. Lord Ashiel fell forward on to the table with a low cry, his hand clasped to his ribs. 'Oh, what is it?' I cried, bending over him; 'you are hurt; you are shot! Oh, what shall I do!' He was making a great effort to speak, I could see that plainly enough; but no words would come, and he seemed to be choking. At last he managed to get out a few words. 'Gimblet,' he gasped, 'the clock—eleven—steps—' and then with a groan his hand dropped from his side, his head rolled back upon the table, and a silence followed, more horrible to me than anything that had gone before.

"I saw now that his shirt was already soaked with blood; and, as in terror I called again upon his name, the dreadful truth was borne in upon me, and I knew that he was dead."

Juliet's voice failed her; she spoke the last few words in a quavering whisper, and if Gimblet had looked at her at that moment he would have beheld a countenance drawn and distorted by horror.

But he was very much occupied, and did not look up. With a notebook open on his knee, he was busily writing down what she had said.

"You are sure of the words?" he asked, as his pencil sped across the page. "'Gimblet—the clock—eleven—step,' is that it?"

His matter-of-fact voice soothed and reassured her. This little grey-haired man, sitting at her side, was somehow a very comfortable companion to one whose nerves were badly overwrought. Juliet pulled herself together.

"Steps," she corrected, and her voice sounded almost natural again.
"Not step."

"Do you suppose," asked the detective, "that he meant the English word, steps, or the Russian, steppes?"

"I don't know," said Juliet, surprised. "I never thought of it. But, Mr. Gimblet, I have not told anyone but you that he spoke after he was hit. I thought perhaps that he might have wished those last words of his to be kept private."

"Quite right," said Gimblet approvingly. "He did right to trust your discretion. And now, please, go on," he added, putting down his pencil; "what happened next?"

And Juliet answered him in a tone as calm as his own:

"I think I must have fainted."

CHAPTER IX

"The next thing I remember, was finding myself lying on the floor, and, when I tried to get up, seeing everything in the room swinging about me like the swinging boats at a fair. I don't know how long I had been unconscious, but when, at last, I managed to stand up, and clinging, faint and giddy, to the back of a chair, looked again at the motionless figure that sprawled across the writing-table, there was a great pool of blood on the polished oak of the floor beneath it, which grew slowly broader, as drop after drop dripped down to swell it. With a great effort I conquered my faintness, and staggered out of the room and down the long passage.

"In the billiard-room Mr. McConachan was still practising his game. He must have been making a break, for I remember hearing him speak, as I opened the door. 'Twenty-seven,' he said aloud. My voice wouldn't come, and I stood holding on to the doorpost, while he, with his back to me, went on potting the red.

"'That you, Miss Byrne?' he said, without looking round. Then, as I didn't answer, he glanced up and saw by my face, I suppose, that something was very wrong. He came quickly to me, his cue in his hand. 'What's the matter?' he said. 'Do you feel ill?' 'Lord Ashiel is dead,' I said; 'in the library. Some one shot him. Didn't you hear?' 'Dead?' he cried; 'Uncle Douglas shot! Do you know what you're saying! I heard a shot, it is true, five minutes ago, but surely that was the keeper shooting an owl or something.'

"I shook my head. 'He is dead,' I repeated dully. He looked at me, still incredulous, and then darted forward and caught me by the arm. 'Here, sit down,' he