“I now pass over a long period. In the year 1814 the eldest son Reginald died; he left a wife but no issue. Three months later the second son was thrown and killed while hunting. In consequence of this double shock the old earl was stricken with paralysis. He lingered for months speechless and helpless, and early in the following year he, too, died. Having no blood relatives—save the missing younger son—the title was threatened with extinction. The estate, of course, went into Chancery.”
As the law clerk paused for a moment there flashed into my mind an incident that had happened long before at Fort York—the sudden agitation exhibited by Captain Rudstone while reading a copy of the London Times, and the paragraph I had subsequently found relating to the Earl of Heathermere. It was all clear to me now.
“There is but little more to tell,” resumed Christopher Barley. “The disappearance of Osmund Maiden in 1787 was not generally known, but it came to the knowledge of my employers, Parchmont & Tolliver. They determined to take the matter up on speculation, and accordingly they sent me out to the Canadas to search for the missing heir, or for his issue in case he had married and died, and I trust you will remember, my lord, that they incurred very heavy expenses on a slim chance of success.”
“There are several things I should like to ask you,” replied Macdonald. “I infer from your own statement that you were aware months ago of the death of your father and brothers, and of the fact that Mr. Burley was in Canada seeking for you?”
“That is correct, sir.”
“And yet you kept silence—you did not reveal your identity?”
“Yes. I had a reason, as I mentioned before.”
“It must have been a very important one!”
“My lord, I agree with Mr. Macdonald,” broke in the law clerk. “Looking at it from a legal standpoint, I feel that an explanation should be forthcoming.”
“You shall have it in the presence of these gentlemen,” declared the captain. “There is nothing now to prevent me from speaking openly, though I must admit that the story is not one I like to tell. To be brief, I was under the impression that I had killed a man, and that a charge of murder rested against me. The affair happened in Montreal in February of 1788, a few months after I landed in Canada. I was in a gambling den with a companion, and another man at our table, with whom I was playing cards, deliberately cheated. When I accused him of it he reached for his pistol, and to save my life I fired first. I saw him fall, shot in the chest. Then some one put out the light, and in the confusion that followed I managed to escape. Before morning I was a fugitive from Montreal, heading for the wilderness.”