John Bradfield, for his part, had been flung, all in a moment, into a sentimental mood. He had truly loved this girl, in his own way, which was not, perhaps, the highest way, but still in a manner not to be altogether despised, except by a woman who was entirely absorbed in love for somebody else. Now he had got to lose her altogether; to lose even that faint hope of holding her some day in his arms, which he had nursed side by side with some particularly cruel and selfish designs upon her favoured lover. For a moment he felt as if he must break down in some sort of confession, perhaps some sort of appeal. Then the sterner stuff in him hardened, and saying only, “Go along with you,” he made way for her to pass him on her way upstairs.
Then with one look after her, one sigh, he dismissed her absolutely from his mind, and gave himself up to the serious dangers of the moment, and the way to escape them. For he did not deceive himself; he knew that the cordon was closing round him, that before long the outposts would close in, and the chain of evidence, each link of which was now in the possession of a different person, would be complete against him. It only wanted the garrulous and untrustworthy Marrable to be questioned by either Stelfox, or Richard, or even Chris, for it to become known that the fortune that he, Bradfield, had been enjoying, was that left by Gilbert Wryde to him in trust for Richard, Gilbert’s son.
If this had been all the story, John Bradfield might have got off lightly. But the comparing of notes would lead not only to the discovery of the fraud he had practised, but of the infamous means by which he had maintained it. Then there was that little matter of Richard’s disappearance at the time of the fire. What did Stelfox know? Bradfield, who had mistrusted the man for some time, but who had doubted the advisability of trying to “square” him, now wished that he had done so. However, it was too late to spend the time in regrets, and Mr. Bradfield went straight back to his study, and drawing down the blinds and locking the doors, proceeded to unlock a safe which had been built into the wall in one corner of the room.
As he took out, from some tin boxes inside, several bundles of papers, he smiled to himself with considerable malicious satisfaction. He took the papers to his desk, brought from a cupboard a strong leather travelling-bag, and with just a loving glance at the papers, which showed that he was too familiar with their exact contents to do more, he thrust them into the bottom of the bag, which he then carefully locked, putting the key in his pocket.
While enjoying to the full the pleasures of his quiet country life, and of his beautiful mansion, the astute Northerner had never lost sight of the fact that he might not be able to enjoy them for ever. He had therefore made a provision against discovery, by opening an account, to the extent of some thousands in each case, with several banks on the Continent, and in that Paradise of unrepentant thieves, South America. As long, therefore, as he could keep out of the hands of the police, it would go hard with him if he found himself without the sinews of war. The papers in the precious bag, which for the last few weeks he had kept always near at hand, consisted of securities easily realisable, and of the means of establishing his identity with the person who had opened the banking accounts above mentioned.
With the bag in his hand, John Bradfield unlocked and opened his study door softly, looked out, and listened. The person he most feared was Stelfox, in whom he recognised a mind as astute as his own; and he had a strong suspicion, in spite of the footman’s assurance to the contrary, that Stelfox had, within the last hour, secretly entered the house. John Bradfield felt that he must not only escape, but that he must escape without Stelfox’s knowledge.
He went softly upstairs, the thick carpets altogether deadening the sound of his footsteps, reached his bedroom, and packed in a Gladstone bag such things as were strictly necessary for a sudden journey—a change of clothes, some linen, the book he was reading. He was also careful to put in his favourite opera-glasses, being determined to take his journey not like a fugitive, but like a man of pleasure.
Then he left his bedroom as quietly and watchfully as he had entered it, and going to the door of Marrable’s room, listened for a few moments before going downstairs. He had not stood there for half-a-dozen seconds before the expression of his face changed from one of attention to one of mingled excitement and delight.
For Marrable, whom he had locked in asleep, was now awake, and talking—talking in his wandering and foolish manner, but with unusual emphasis and excitement.
And the answering voice was Stelfox’s.