THE LAST TWIST IN THE YARN
"This alarming discovery," proceeded Sir Bromley, "caused an alteration in Mr. Goode's plans.
"The doctor was so horrified at the idea of being compelled to live in the same house with so dangerous a charge that he threw up his remunerative appointment, with a promise of secrecy, leaving Goode to his own devices. This was less than a year ago. The doctor had given his opinion that the child—he was really a boy of sixteen—could not live more than a few months, but the merchant felt his position was not safe, for the young doctor had settled down to practice in the neighbourhood. It was absolutely necessary to leave Scotland, and one day, after nightfall, a special train carried an old gentleman, with a number of large packages, one labelled 'Live dog, with care,' being taken in the carriage to Derby, where sundry moves were made in order to throw a possible pursuer or busybody off the track.
"Shortly after, a Major Jones-Farnell moved into Durley Dene after carefully arranging matters with a house agent. At Derby, a servant had been engaged by Mr. Goode, and this servant reappeared at Northden with Farnell. He had been discovered by mere chance. His name was Horncastle, and he had escaped from Dartmoor a few months before.
"To alter my story from the third to the first person, I had obtained the very creature I required—a strong man, who would be of real assistance to me in the care of the maniac prince, and one who, instead of being able to hold the threat of exposing my secret over my head, would be unable to breathe a word of it, for fear I in my turn should betray his secret—that he was a convict, wanted by the police.
"Unfortunately, the man soon perceived that I was more in his power than he in mine. My secret was one that I would not risk being revealed in order to punish Horncastle by handing him over to the police for his frequent misbehaviour. He compelled me to pay him good wages, and supply him with unlimited quantities of drink. Fortunately, he was never drunk, in spite of what he took. I say fortunately, for had he ever visited the room in which our prisoner was shut up while intoxicated, the cunning maniac would have certainly effected his escape, with dire results—to me, to the Princess H——, in fact, to Great Britain, for he would have at once been recognised, since the boy was the very image of his dead father, whose features were well known to all who had ever opened an illustrated magazine, or inspected photographs in the book-sellers' windows.
"The lunatic was as cunning as he was powerful. I need not refer to the terrible cries he was wont to utter, for I believe at least one of you heard a specimen of his heart-breaking screams. At last it became necessary to drive him into a corner whenever the door of his cell was opened. Accordingly I sent Horncastle out one day for a whip, with which we were able to frighten him off when he attacked us. By the way, I presume I need not explain why the convict disguised himself as a woman. You will have already guessed as much.
"You will know, too, why you were not allowed to expose what you have so fancifully described as the 'House of Strange Secrets.' I think that is all.
"My patient was released from his sufferings last night. He was first taken dangerously ill when you visited me for the second time. He was buried by me at midnight. I have informed the unhappy Princess H—— of the fact, and expect to hear soon from her, and know whether all I have done has been satisfactory. It seems strange to have to bury a Royal child in unconsecrated ground, but what else could I do?
"My duty to my country, for I consider it amounts to that, is accomplished. To-morrow Major Jones-Farnell and likewise Doctor Orlando Meadows will cease to exist, and the world will shortly learn that, by a strange series of circumstances, Sir Bromley Lestrange has returned from the grave. It will appear that he did not die of cholera, but while very unwell was kidnapped by Chinese pirates, by whom he was kept a prisoner for over a dozen years. He recently escaped, after hair-raising adventures, and returns to tell one of the strangest stories it is possible to imagine!
"What about Horncastle, do you say? Oh, I settled that gentleman very easily. Directly after the death of my charge I paid him a month's salary, and despatched him promptly, in his female disguise. He daren't betray my secret. If he did, who would believe him—a criminal and a convict of the worst type? Besides, he could never find the boy's grave. And I know he would not, even in revenge for his dismissal, sacrifice his liberty for some five or six years. No; I don't think we shall hear much more of Mr. Horncastle.
"Now, Miss Scott, I must bid you farewell for the present. If in my new capacity I shall be so fortunate as to receive an opportunity of renewing our slight acquaintance, we must meet as strangers. You must never have met Sir Bromley Lestrange before. And the same applies to you, Carrington; is it not so?
"Well, I see that, now you have got all you want out of me, I am one too many. No? Ah, you are too polite to say so, but I was young once, and——To-morrow you will find the Dene uninhabited, the furniture it contains being left as a present to the next tenant. If you care for any little memento, you are at liberty to adopt Horncastle's profession for the nonce—you will find the door unlocked, and the old house is no longer a hiding-place for secrets and bogies. Well, good-bye. I think I have earned my rest."
He rose, and the young couple accompanied him to the door, where they took a cordial leave of him.
Returning to the drawing-room, Laurence informed his fair companion of the remarks made by Mrs. Knox.
"She said that we were to settle the matter ourselves," he added; "and now, dear, that the mystery is solved, you have no excuse for withholding your answer. What is it to be—Lena?" He paused, from nervousness, then proceeded, when the girl hung her head and made no reply: "You know your aunt would be very disappointed if you didn't accept her choice of a husband!"
"Auntie wouldn't care in the least," replied Lena, laughing lightly. "You won't be angry, will you, if I confess I told her to say what she did?"
"Lena!"
"I thought it would be such a splendid joke to pretend I was already engaged, only auntie didn't keep it up long enough. She's a good old thing, rather dense, but good nature itself. I can twist her round my little finger."
"That's not the question," replied Laurence, seizing the opportunity—and her hand; "what I want to know is if I may twist something else—not Mrs. Knox—round one of your little fingers. May I?"
Lena's reply was not a verbal one, but it was quite as expressive as any words could have been!