A TRUCE AND A PROMISE
"Then you know my father?" asked Laurence, after the pause that followed the doctor's laconic remark.
"That I cannot say," responded Meadows, "but it seems like it, does it not?"
"You astonish me by confessing to a former acquaintance with Squire Carrington. Were you not on the point of taking your oath that you knew nothing about my father?"
"No, I was not going so far as that, I am only prepared to swear that I have had no hand in these attempts on your father's life, for I will tell frankly that I was almost confident I had met your father long before you told me that I was right in my description of his appearance. Life is indeed strange. A moment ago you were doubting my word—you may feel inclined to do so now, little thinking that probably I alone could throw any light on the mystery. You know this, for I think you have already told me as much, that Ma—Squire Carrington is keeping some deep secret from the world—even from you, his son. What if I, and I alone, am able to reveal that secret?"
"You speak in riddles," replied Laurence. "You appear to know my father, yet last time we referred to the subject you told me deliberately that you had not 'the pleasure of his acquaintance.' What am I to believe? Now you deny all connection with these murderous attacks on his life, and yet you profess to be in a position to reveal the cause of them, and to throw light upon the Squire's well-guarded secret."
"As I have said," explained Doctor Meadows, "fate plays strange tricks with us mortals. I am speaking the truth when I say that I think I know more about your father's secret than any living creature, except the Squire himself, and his assailant. Tell me, though, what do you know of Mr. Carrington's past?"
"Very little," replied Laurence; "if I knew more I might be able myself to shed some light on the darkness. This alone I have been told by my father, who is one of those men who keep their private affairs a sealed book to the rest of the world—that my mother, who was of high birth, died when I was born, twenty-two years ago; that my father never followed any profession or trade, and that I am an only child."
"Ah," murmured Meadows, "that is all you know, is it?" He sat gazing steadily at the fireplace, his brow knit up as though he was wrapped in thought. For a short space of time there was silence in the Oriental room.
"Well, do you agree," the doctor said at last, "to my proposal that I should play the detective and solve the mystery encircling your father's life?"
"I have already obtained the assistance of an investigator," replied Laurence, somewhat coldly.
"Ah, and is he quite satisfactory?"
Lena smiled at the question.
"No," she responded, "he is hardly all that one can desire. He comes from Burton's Private Assistance Bureau." She turned to Laurence. "You must not be ungracious," she said gently. "Doctor Meadows—I call him by that name for want of a better, though I am certain it is a disguised one—Doctor Meadows is most kind in making this suggestion. We have really no call upon his generosity at all. If he thinks he is in a position to assist us in our investigation, why not permit him to do so? Since he gives us his word as a gentleman that neither he nor his servant has any connection with the plot to murder the Squire, why, he is at liberty to have as many secrets of his own as he likes without being annoyed by suspicious young people like us. Under the circumstances I am sure Doctor Meadows will not expect you to ask him to the house to pursue his inquiry, but please do let him help us as best he can from here. I am sure his forehead shows him to be an adept at detective work. It's quite as good a one as Sherlock Holmes had!"
Laurence meditated. He naturally could not refuse Lena such a small thing, and because she asked it he changed his behaviour towards the doctor, and became more polite to the old gentleman, who received the alteration with undisguised pleasure.
"If I could only tell you why this house is the house of strange secrets that you believe it to be, I would do so with all my heart. Alas! that is impossible. As you have discovered, I have a secret—one which I must keep at all costs. I beg you not to refer to it again. As you have cleverly discovered, madam, my name, too—the one you know—is a pseudonym. One day, perhaps, you will know why I have had to take such precautions. Then you will find that it is by no fault of mine that I am compelled to play the part I do. I thank you, both of you, for your kindness. I am in your hands. If you do not believe my word of honour, you can point out this house to the police and have it searched. By so doing you will ruin me. You will cause such a sensation in the world—yes, I am not exaggerating—as has not been for years. And it will not do you the slightest good. Believe me, were you to do as you once suggested, Mr. Carrington, you would, rather than win any praise or honour, as you might if you exposed a gang of coiners or a murder-house, place yourself in a most unenviable position. But not for this reason do I ask you to refrain from taking active measures against me, but on the ground of humanity, and because I alone can explain the terrible secret that has blasted your poor father's life."
"Doctor Meadows, the more I get to know you, the greater enigma you become to me," said Laurence. "You must yourself agree with me when I say that such words as you have spoken are most remarkable. I cannot wonder at this, for you are the most remarkable man I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. As you say, perhaps one day I shall know your history and the cause of all that has raised my suspicions. Then, no doubt, I shall see you in your true light, but, until then, understand this: I shall take no steps whatever to unravel the mystery that surrounds you, and shall respect all that you have told me, never alluding to what is evidently a painful subject for discussion to you, without your permission. And here is my hand on it. When I speak as I do, I think I speak both for myself and for this lady, who has done me the honour of promising to become my wife."
"Oh, you story-teller!" broke in Lena, in tones of mock displeasure; "I have not yet given my answer. If you aren't careful it shall be 'no.' At present I am the person to answer for myself, and I second all that Mr. Carrington has said," she added, turning to Meadows.
"Thank you," replied the old gentleman, "thank you, both of you. You will not regret the course you have adopted. But this detective whom you have engaged—can you prevent him from making things unpleasant for me?"
"I will do my best," replied Laurence briskly. "But," he proceeded, "you should really be more careful in your selection of a servant, doctor. One of my causes of suspicion was his very peculiar conduct in refusing to show me out of the front door, after our last interview, without my bribing him. That is hardly what one expects from a gentleman's servant, is it?"
"No, indeed," answered Meadows, with a sickly smile. "I must apologise for his misconduct. He is not the most desirable servant one could have, but he is very necessary to me. This time I will show you out myself, and I shall not trouble you for a 'pour-boire.'"