CHAPTER XXXVIII
A BOMBSHELL
After this followed a series of events, startling, almost unbelievable and utterly unexpected, such as only take place in real life. Had this story been the outcome of my own imagination, I should never dare to relate them; but because I have undertaken the task of writing what actually took place I can do no other.
This was how they happened:
We were sitting together after dinner that night in the most commonplace fashion imaginable. Lord and Lady Carbis had announced their intention to leave early on the following morning, and their son had promised to go with them. George St. Mabyn and Springfield were there, having accepted Lady Bolivick's invitation to spend the evening with them. Norah Blackwater, who had been a guest at the house for some days, was also there.
'I think as I am leaving to-morrow,' and Jack only slightly raised his voice, 'that I ought to tell you all something, something—important.'
Instantly there was a deathly silence, and with a quick movement every one turned to the speaker.
'I imagine my motives may be questioned,' he went on. 'I am sure, too, that what I say will be denied; but that doesn't matter.'
He hesitated a second as if doubtful how he had best continue, but the tone of his voice and the purport of his words had done their work. Even Lady Bolivick dropped her knitting, and looked quite disturbed.
'This is what I have to tell you,' he said. 'Maurice St. Mabyn is alive; at least he was in July, 1914, months after he was announced to be dead.'