I continued, with my face burning and my lips atremble:
"'For the sake of the name that he might claim, and all that it may mean, you may receive him. I have told him little of the past. In my judgment it was not needed, nor could it now produce anything to his favor. If circumstances should alter, you may divulge the secret; but I pray you not to do so unless this happens. This I beseech you for the sake of her whom you have loved. My son will bear with him the chest that contains the papers that I brought from the château at A. They will be unopened and addressed to you. There is enough money in the two bags to pay for my Jean's education. I have never been able to bring myself to talk about the dreadful happenings. I cannot even think of them, or I should go mad. Somehow it has appeared that silence has been the better part; but to your discretion I leave this, and to you I intrust my son's future. May God watch over him and direct you! It is evident to me from your letter that you were uncertain which one of your sisters was writing to you. I am H. de B., who inscribes here what will be carved upon her tombstone, "Madam John Hurdiss, widow of Captain John Hurdiss, merchant and trader, of Cornwall, England."'"
This was all the letter contained. It did not seem to lessen any mystery that existed, and for some minutes neither the doctor nor Mr. Edgerton spoke a word. Suddenly the latter kicked back one of the logs in the fireplace with his foot.
"Confound the fire, it smokes like a smudge!" he grumbled. "So we are not to open the papers, after all! But there may be something lying loose. Let us up."
"HARK! WHAT NOISE IS THAT?"
All at once the doctor raised his hand. "Hark! What noise is that?" he exclaimed.
A roaring crackling sound came from overhead. Something fell heavily on the floor of the hallway outside. The two men sprang to the door and pulled it open. The hall and the other rooms were filled with stifling smoke. The old portrait (the one with the long brown curls) had fallen, and a blazing bit of wainscoting burned through the canvas that had smouldered to the frame.
"The strong-box!" shrieked the lawyer, and he plunged up the stairs.
"It's in the room on the right!" I cried, as the doctor and I followed him, feeling our way with the aid of the banisters.