“’Tis more than likely,” returned Father Maloney grimly, “but it’s a deal of trouble he’d have been saving if he’d given the merest suspicion of a hint. A fourth letter was sent to Margaret Delancey, written by one Francis Raymond, a priest. ’Tis a sad letter, and a fine letter too, for that matter. He begs her to come home without delay, and tells her of her husband’s death. He goes straight at what he has to say, and then gives her the comfort the poor soul would be needing,—though it’s plain he knows the manner of woman she is, and the courage of her. There’s a hint in his letter of foul play of some kind. Other papers, Margaret’s own diary among them, tell what that foul play was. Sir Antony had been found in the park, under an oak tree, shot through the head. Henry was lying near him, a pistol not ten inches from his hand, and his throat torn out by Sir Antony’s wolf-hound.”
“What a ghastly business!” ejaculated John, as Father Maloney stopped.
“You may well say that,” remarked Father Maloney. “The matter was plain enough. Henry had shot his brother with the idea of getting hold of that precious paper unhindered, but he had forgotten—or, maybe, never realized—the presence of Sir Antony’s wolf-hound, Gelert. The dog wasn’t one to let his master’s murderer go unpunished.”
Again there was a little pause. Father Maloney refilled his pipe.
“Well,” he said after a minute, “after Sir Antony’s death, his son Antony came into possession. But—” Father Maloney emphasized the word with an emphatic movement of his pipe, “that paper desired by Henry had vanished. Wherever Sir Antony had hidden it, the hiding-place was a bit too good. It has never been found.”
“Perhaps,” suggested John tentatively, “Henry had destroyed it.”
Father Maloney shook his head.
“Not a bit of it. If Henry had destroyed it before he shot his brother there’d have been no need for the shooting at all. He shot his brother to get at the paper, but Gelert was one too many for him. And never a scrap of paper was found upon, or near him.”
“And,” said John ruminatively, “that has proved an awkward business.”
“It has that,” said Father Maloney drily. “A claimant has turned up.”