"I only live to explain these things," confessed her father. "I would give all that I have to discover reasons for the death of your dear husband. But there are terribly grave hints here. I can hardly imagine this man is justified in speaking of 'crime.' Would the word mean less to him than to us?"
"He writes perfect English. Whatever may be in store, we must face it hopefully. Such things do not happen by chance."
"He is evidently a gentleman—a man of refinement and delicate feeling. I am kindly disposed to him already. There is something chivalric and what is called 'old-fashioned' in his expressions. No young man writes like this nowadays."
The letter, which both read many times, revealed the traits that Sir Walter declared. It was written with Latin courtesy and distinction. There were also touches of humor in it, which neither he nor Mary perceived:
"Claridge's Hotel, London. April 9.
"Dear Sir Walter Lennox,—In common with the rest of the
world that knows England, I have recently been profoundly
interested and moved at the amazing events reported as
happening at Chadlands, in the County of Devon, under your
roof. The circumstances were related in Italian journals
with no great detail, but I read them in the 'Times'
newspaper, being familiar with your language and a great
lover of your country.
"I had already conceived the idea of communicating with you
when—so small is the world in this our time—accident
actually threw me into the society of one of your personal
friends. At an entertainment given by the British Ambassador
at Rome, a young soldier, one Colonel Vane, was able to do
me some service in a crush of people, and I enjoyed the
privilege of his acquaintance as the result. I would not
have inflicted myself upon another generation, but he took
an interest in conversing with one who knew his own language.
He was also intelligent—for a military man. Needless to
say, he made no allusion to the tragedy at Chadlands, but
when he spoke of espionage in war and kindred matters, I
found him familiar with the details concerning the death of
the great English detective, Peter Hardcastle. I then asked
him, as being myself deeply interested in the matter, whether
it would be possible to get further and fuller details of the
story of 'the Grey Room,' whereupon he told me, to my
amazement, that he had been at Chadlands when your lamented
son-in-law, Captain Thomas May, passed out of life. I then
recollected Colonel Vane's name, among others mentioned in
the 'Times,' as at Chadlands when the disaster occurred.
"Finding that my curiosity was not idle, Colonel Vane accepted
an invitation to dinner, and I enjoyed the pleasure of
entertaining him and learning many personal and intimate
particulars of the event. These were imparted in confidence,
and he knew that I should not abuse his trust. Indeed, I had
already told him that it was my determination to communicate
with you upon the strength of his narrative.
"It seems improbable that anything I can say will bear upon
the case, and I may presently find that I lack the means to
serve you, or throw light where all is so profoundly buried
in darkness. Yet I am not sure. Small things will often
lead to greater, and though the past is unhappily beyond
recall, since our Maker Himself cannot undo the work of
yesterday, or obliterate events embalmed in vanished time,
yet there is always the future; and if we could but read
the past aright, which we never can, then the future would
prove less of a painful riddle than mankind generally
finds it.
"If, then, I can help you to read the past, I may at least
modify your anxieties in the future; and should I, by a
remote chance, be right in my suspicions, it is quite
imperative that I place myself at your service for the
sake of mankind. In a word, a great crime has been
committed, and the situation is possibly such that further
capital crimes will follow it. I affirm nothing, but I
conceive the agency responsible for these murders to
be still active, since the police have been so completely
foiled. At Chadlands there may still remain an unsleeping
danger to those who follow you—a danger, indeed, to all
human life, so long as it is permitted to persist. I write,
of course, assuming you to be desirous of clearing this
abominable mystery, both for your own satisfaction and the
credit of your house. "There is but little to hope from me,
and I would beg you not to feel sanguine in any way. Yet
this I do believe: that if there is one man in the world
to-day who holds the key of your tribulation, I am that man.
One lives in hope that one may empty the world of so great a
horror; and to do so would give one the most active
satisfaction. But I promise nothing.
"If I should be on the right track, however, let me explain
the direction in which my mind is moving. Human knowledge
may not be equal to any solution, and I may fail accordingly.
It may even be possible that the Rev. Septimus May did not
err, and that at the cost of his life he exorcised some
spirit whose operations were permitted for reasons hid in
the mind of its Creator; but, so far as I am concerned, I
believe otherwise. And if I should prove correct, it will
be possible to show that all has fallen out in a manner
consonant with human reason and explicable by human
understanding. I therefore came to England, glad of the
excuse to do so, and waited upon you at your manor, only to
hear, much to my chagrin, that you were not in residence,
but had gone to Florence, a bird's journey from my own home!
"Now I write to the post-office at Milan, where your servant
directed me that letters should for the moment be sent. If
you are returning soon, I wait for you. If not, it may be
possible to meet in Italy. But I should prefer to think
you return ere long, for I cannot be of practical service
until I have myself, with your permission, visited your
house and seen the Grey Room with my own eyes.
"I beg you will accept my assurances of kindly regard and
sympathy in the great sufferings you and Madame May have
been called upon to endure.
"Until I hear from you, I remain at Claridge's Hotel in
London.
"I have the honor to be,
"Faithfully yours,
"Vergilio Mannetti."
To this communication, albeit he felt little hope, Sir Walter made speedy response. He declared his intention of returning to England during the following week, after which he hoped that Signor Mannetti would visit Chadlands at any time convenient to himself. He thanked him gratefully, but feared that, since the Italian based his theory on a crime, he could not feel particularly sanguine, for the possibility of such a thing had proved non-existent.
Mary, however, looked deeper into the letter. She even suspected that the writer himself entertained a greater belief in his powers than he declared.
"One has always felt the Grey Room is somehow associated with Italy," she said. "The ceiling we know was moulded by Italians in Elizabeth's day."
"It was; but so are all the other moulded ceilings in the house as well."
"He may understand Italian workmanship, and know some similar roof that hid a secret."