He did not answer me at once; he sat in his chair, with his hand to his forehead, thinking.
Then he lifted his head.
"Sit down and listen to me, Anstruther," he said; "I want you to follow exactly what I say.
"When you arrived in Valoro six weeks ago, and gave me that casket, you reopened an episode in my life closed many many years ago."
He spoke with great emotion and his lip trembled. I even saw a tear coursing down his sunburnt cheek.
"Since then," he continued, "you have very kindly followed me in the fulfilment of certain duties which devolved upon me upon opening that packet. You have followed me without question, as became a gentleman, taking an old man's word that all was well. In keeping that silence of delicacy, Anstruther, you have unwittingly done me a great service; you have left me unhampered to fulfil that which I had to do."
He paused and placed his fingers together in deep thought.
"I place myself mentally," he continued, "in your position, and I try to think as you think—try to realise your feelings: the appeal you received from the old lady as she stood at the door of the house in Monmouth Street, your acceding to her request, your second visit, the discovery of the tragedy, the undeserved misfortunes that fell upon you in consequence, your fidelity to your promise to the lady who was at best a mere chance acquaintance, the impenetrable mystery which surrounds it all.
"I have thought of it, and I feel that you must be consumed with a great and reasonable curiosity.
"That you have not indulged that reasonable curiosity, that you have maintained a discreet silence under very trying circumstances has caused a very good first impression of you to grow into one of respect and strong regard."