Gregory had been fumbling with his papers, and now at last succeeded in extracting and bringing out the one he sought. "They have sent down an officer from Scotland Yard, sir," he said, "but me knowing the family, if I may venture to say so, I thought you would maybe be better pleased if I came along myself with the noos, sir. There's no such thing as breaking noos, sir, I know that. But a stroke comes easier sometimes if brought by one that has the welfare of the family at heart."
Denzil did not hear the tremulous speech. He had snatched the letter—the terrible letter—which Felix had left upon the table in his room. "Dear Pharisee."
The epithet thundered at him. He read the reckless, unjust words over and over.
He read it once—twice—then he rose, held it out to Miss Rawson, and, slowly turning, sank in his chair with his face hidden upon his arms.
"Oh, heavens!" he cried aloud, "I have not—no, I have not deserved this!"
It was a characteristic cry. What had he done, he the blameless, the well-conducted; he who had endured at his stepmother's hand treatment that might well have soured a sweeter nature than his own; he who knew, concerning that same stepmother, things that might have wrecked her chance of inheriting anything, had he told his father of them! He had behaved, so it seemed to him, with a wonderful Christian fortitude and forbearance. And this horrible suicide, this outrageous indictment, was his reward.
The constable was speaking. "He seems to have burnt all his papers, sir, in the grate first. The grate was full of burnt paper and the hearth, too. The officer thinks he burnt the manuscript of a book, sir. The empty bottles of laudanum, and the empty mug out of which he drank it, sir, were on the table. There was not a morsel of food, nor any clothes at all in the room, nor any luggage."
Vanston made an effort, and managed to say, "I told the police-court missionary to look after him. I put money in his hands for him."
"He had not seen him, sir, for two months. He offered Mr. Felix work, and he declined it."
There was a silence. Miss Rawson could not speak. She had read the letter, and was inexpressibly shocked. Knowing what she did of Felix, she had thought Denzil quite justified in declining to receive him until he should have shown some signs of regretting the dishonor he had brought upon the family.