“You shall hear,” said Enrique. “Sit down hereupon this stone; I have some hours before I sail. The vessel leaves Limerick to-morrow for Naples; and thither I am bound, for Maritaña is there. No, no, my dear friend, you must not ask me to stay; I have remained longer than I ought; but I waited for the time when I might be able to recompense you for having thus played the spy upon your actions. Hear me out patiently now, for that hour is come.”
As Cashel seated himself beside Enrique, it was only by a great effort he could compose himself to listen, when a hundred questions came thronging to his mind, and doubts and inquiries, of every possible kind, demanded explanation.
“I will not waste your time nor my own by dwelling upon your losses at play. I may one day or another amuse you by showing how little chance our old Columbian friends would have had against these honorable and right honorable swindlers. That you should be the mark for artifice is natural enough; but I have little patience with your blindness in not seeing it. From the first hour of your arrival here, Linton set a watch upon your doings. Phillis was his principal agent. But even upon him Linton had his spies,—myself among the number. Ay, Roland, I was perhaps the only one he trusted! As I have said, Linton marked every step you took, heard all you said, read every letter that reached you. Every night it was his practice, at a certain hour when you repaired to the cottage, to enter your dressing-room by a secret door that led from the theatre; and then, at his leisure, he ransacked your papers, examined your correspondence, searched through all the documents which concerned your estate, possessing himself of information on every point of your circumstances. Nor was this all; he abstracted papers of value from amongst them, well knowing the carelessness of your habits, and with what little risk of detection his boldest darings were attended. I studied him long and closely. For a great while I could not detect the clew to his proceedings. I even at one time ascribed all to jealousy, for he was jealous of the favor by which Lady Kilgoff distinguished you. This, however, could not explain all I saw, for it was on the subject of your fortune his deepest interest was excited. At last came his first move, and the whole game disclosed itself before me. There lay upon your table for several days a deed concerning the cottage where the old gentleman resided with his daughter. This, Linton, to my surprise, did not take away, but simply contented himself by placing it in such a prominent position as would in all likelihood attract your notice. To no purpose, however; you would seem to have tossed it over, among other papers, without attention. He went a step further; he broke the seal, and left the enclosure half open. Still it lay unminded. The next night he carried it off, but you never missed it.”
“Nor was it of any consequence,” broke in Cashel. “It was never perfected, and had neither my signature nor my seal.”
“Are you certain of that?” said Enrique, smiling dubiously.
“I could swear to it.”
“Look here, then,” said the other, as he drew forth a pocket-book, from the folds of which he took a heavy package, and opened it before Cashel. “Is that name, there,—that signature, 'Roland Cashel,'—yours?”
Cashel stared at the writing without speaking; his hands trembled as they held the paper, and his very frame shook with agitation.
“I never wrote it!” cried he, at last, with an effort almost convulsive.
“Yet, see if it be not witnessed; there are the names and address of two persons.”