"I thought the past was dead and buried," resumed his guardian, in a low voice. "So far as I can see it is foolish to rake up old scandals—old crimes."
"Crimes!" said Claude, rising involuntarily to his feet.
"Crimes," repeated Hilliston sadly. "The time has come when you must know the truth about your parents. The woman who wrote this letter has been silent for five-and-twenty years. Now, for some reason with which I am unacquainted, she is determined to see you and reveal all. A few months ago she called here to tell me so. I implored her to keep silent, pointing out that no good could come of acquainting you with bygone evils; but she refused to listen to me, and left this office with the full intention of finding you out, and making her revelation."
"But I have been in New Zealand."
"She did not know that, nor did I tell her," said Hilliston grimly; "in fact, I refused to give her your address, but she is not the woman to be easily beaten, as I well know. I guessed she would find out the name of your club and write to you there, therefore I sent that letter to you so as to counter-plot the creature. I expected that you would find a letter from her at your club on your arrival. I was right. Here is the letter. She has succeeded so far, but I have managed to checkmate her by obtaining the first interview with you. Should you call on her,—and after reading these papers I have little doubt but that you will do so,—she will be able to tell you nothing new. I cannot crush the viper, but at least I can draw its fangs."
"You speak hardly of this woman, sir."
"I have reason to," said Hilliston quietly. "But for this woman your father would still be alive."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that your father, George Larcher, was murdered!"
"Murdered!"