Rodney Stone by Arthur Conan Doyle (ebook reader below 3000 TXT) 📕

of them I beat over the head with the butt of the whip, so that he dropped the cudgel with which he was about to strike me; then lashing the horse, I shook off the others and got safely away.  I cannot imagine who they were or why they should molest us.”

“Perhaps Sir Lothian Hume could tell you,” said my uncle.

Our enemy said nothing; but his little grey eyes slid round with a most murderous glance in our direction.

“After I had come here and seen my father I went down—”

My uncle stopped him with a cry of astonishment.

“What did you say, young man?  You came here and you saw your father—here at Cliffe Royal?”

“Yes, sir.”

My uncle had turned very pale.

“In God’s name, then, tell us who your father is!”

Jim made no answer save to point over our shoulders, and glancing round, we became aware that two people had entered the room through the door which led to the bedroom stair.  The one I recognized in an instant.  That impassive, mask-like face and demure manner could only belong to Ambrose, the former valet of my uncle.  The other was a very different and even more singular figure.  He was a tall man, clad in a dark dressing-gown, and leaning heavily upon a stick.  His long, bloodless countenance was so thin and so white that it gave the strangest illusion of transparency.  Only within the folds of a shroud have I ever seen so wan a face.  The brindled hair and the rounded back gave the impression of advanced age, and it was only the dark brows and the bright alert eyes glancing out from beneath them which made me doubt whether it was really an old man who stood before us.

There was an instant of silence, broken by a deep oath from Sir Lothian Hume—

“Lord Avon, by God!” he cried.

“Very much at your service, gentlemen,” answered the strange figure in the dressing-gown.

p. 326CHAPTER XX.
LORD AVON.

My uncle was an impassive man by nature and had become more so by the tradition of the society in which he lived.  He could have turned a card upon which his fortune depended without the twitch of a muscle, and I had seen him myself driving to imminent death on the Godstone Road with as calm a face as if he were out for his daily airing in the Mall.  But now the shock which had come upon him was so great that he could only stand with white cheeks and staring, incredulous eyes.  Twice I saw him open his lips, and twice he put his hand up to his throat, as though a barrier had risen betwixt himself and his utterance.  Finally, he took a sudden little run forward with both his hands thrown out in greeting.

“Ned!” he cried.

But the strange man who stood before him folded his arms over his breast.

“No Charles,” said he.

My uncle stopped and looked at him in amazement.

“Surely, Ned, you have a greeting for me after all these years?”

“You believed me to have done this deed, Charles.  I read it in your eyes and in your manner on that terrible morning.  You never asked me for an explanation.  You never considered how impossible such a crime must be for a man of my character.  At the first breath of suspicion you, my intimate friend, the man who knew me best, set me down as a thief and a murderer.”

“No, no, Ned.”

“You did, Charles; I read it in your eyes.  And so it was that when I wished to leave that which was most precious to me in safe hands I had to pass you over and to place him in the charge of the one man who from the first never doubted my innocence.  Better a thousand times that my son should be brought up in a humble station and in ignorance of his unfortunate father, than that he should learn to share the doubts and suspicions of his equals.”

“Then he is really your son!” cried my uncle, staring at Jim in amazement.

For answer the man stretched out his long withered arm, and placed a gaunt hand upon the shoulder of the actress, whilst she looked up at him with love in her eyes.

“I married, Charles, and I kept it secret from my friends, for I had chosen my wife outside our own circles.  You know the foolish pride which has always been the strongest part of my nature.  I could not bear to avow that which I had done.  It was this neglect upon my part which led to an estrangement between us, and drove her into habits for which it is I who am to blame and not she.  Yet on account of these same habits I took the child from her and gave her an allowance on condition that she did not interfere with it.  I had feared that the boy might receive evil from her, and had never dreamed in my blindness that she might get good from him.  But I have learned in my miserable life, Charles, that there is a power which fashions things for us, though we may strive to thwart it, and that we are in truth driven by an unseen current towards a certain goal, however much we may deceive ourselves into thinking that it is our own sails and oars which are speeding us upon our way.”

My eyes had been upon the face of my uncle as he listened, but now as I turned them from him they fell once more upon the thin, wolfish face of Sir Lothian Hume.  He stood near the window, his grey silhouette thrown up against the square of dusty glass; and I have never seen such a play of evil passions, of anger, of jealousy, of disappointed greed upon a human face before.

“Am I to understand,” said he, in a loud, harsh voice, “that this young man claims to be the heir of the peerage of Avon?”

“He is my lawful son.”

“I knew you fairly well, sir, in our youth; but you will allow me to observe that neither I nor any friend of yours ever heard of a wife or a son.  I defy Sir Charles Tregellis to say that he ever dreamed that there was any heir except myself.”

“I have already explained, Sir Lothian, why I kept my marriage secret.”

“You have explained, sir; but it is for others in another place to say if that explanation is satisfactory.”

Two blazing dark eyes flashed out of the pale haggard face with as strange and sudden an effect as if a stream of light were to beat through the windows of a shattered and ruined house.

“You dare to doubt my word?”

“I demand a proof.”

“My word is proof to those who know me.”

“Excuse me, Lord Avon; but I know you, and I see no reason why I should accept your statement.”

It was a brutal speech, and brutally delivered.  Lord Avon staggered forward, and it was only his son on one side and his wife on the other who kept his quivering hands from the throat of his insulter.  Sir Lothian recoiled from the pale fierce face with the black brows, but he still glared angrily about the room.

“A very pretty conspiracy this,” he cried, “with a criminal, an actress, and a prize-fighter all playing their parts.  Sir Charles Tregellis, you shall hear from me again!  And you also, my lord!”  He turned upon his heel and strode from the room.

“He has gone to denounce me,” said Lord Avon, a spasm of wounded pride distorting his features.

“Shall I bring him back?” cried Boy Jim.

“No, no, let him go.  It is as well, for I have already made up my mind that my duty to you, my son, outweighs that which I owe, and have at such bitter cost fulfilled, to my brother and my family.”

“You did me an injustice, Ned,” said my uncle, “if you thought that I had forgotten you, or that I had judged you unkindly.  If ever I have thought that you had done this deed—and how could I doubt the evidence of my own eyes—I have always believed that it was at a time when your mind was unhinged, and when you knew no more of what you were about than the man who is walking in his sleep.”

“What do you mean when you talk about the evidence of your own eyes?” asked Lord Avon, looking hard at my uncle.

“I saw you, Ned, upon that accursed night.”

“Saw me?  Where?”

“In the passage.”

“And doing what?”

“You were coming from your brother’s room.  I had heard his voice raised in anger and pain only an instant before.  You carried in your hand a bag full of money, and your face betrayed the utmost agitation.  If you can but explain to me, Ned, how you came to be there, you will take from my heart a weight which has pressed upon it for all these years.”

No one now would have recognized in my uncle the man who was the leader of all the fops of London.  In the presence of this old friend and of the tragedy which girt him round, the veil of triviality and affectation had been rent, and I felt all my gratitude towards him deepening for the first time into affection whilst I watched his pale, anxious face, and the eager hope which shone in his eyes as he awaited his friend’s explanation.  Lord Avon sank his face in his hands, and for a few moments there was silence in the dim grey room.

“I do not wonder now that you were shaken,” said he at last.  “My God, what a net was cast round me!  Had this vile charge been brought against me, you, my dearest friend, would have been compelled to tear away the last doubt as to my guilt.  And yet, in spite of what you have seen, Charles, I am as innocent in the matter as you are.”

“I thank God that I hear you say so.”

“But you are not satisfied, Charles.  I can read it on your face.  You wish to know why an innocent man should conceal himself for all these years.”

“Your word is enough for me, Ned; but the world will wish this other question answered also.”

“It was to save the family honour, Charles.  You know how dear it was to me.  I could not clear myself without proving my brother to have been guilty of the foulest crime which a gentleman could commit.  For eighteen years I have screened him at the expense of everything which a man could sacrifice.  I have lived a living death which has left me an old and shattered man when I am but in my fortieth year.  But now when I am faced with the alternative of telling the facts about my brother, or of wronging my son, I can only act in one fashion, and the more so since I have reason to hope that a way may be found by which what I am now about to disclose to you need never come to the public ear.”

He rose from his chair, and leaning heavily upon his two supporters, he tottered across the room to the dust-covered sideboard.  There, in the centre of it, was lying that ill-boding pile of time-stained, mildewed cards, just as Boy Jim and I had seen them years before.  Lord Avon turned them over with trembling fingers, and then picking up half a dozen, he brought them to my uncle.

“Place your finger and thumb upon the left-hand bottom corner of this card, Charles,” said he.  “Pass them lightly backwards and forwards, and tell me what you feel.”

“It has been pricked with a pin.”

“Precisely.  What is the card?”

My uncle turned it over.

“It is the king of clubs.”

“Try the bottom corner of this one.”

“It is quite smooth.”

“And the card is?”

“The three of spades.”

“And this one?”

“It has been pricked.  It is the ace of hearts.”  Lord Avon hurled them down upon the floor.

“There you have the whole accursed story!” he cried.  “Need I go further where every word is an agony?”

“I see something, but not all.  You must continue, Ned.”

The frail figure stiffened itself, as though he were visibly bracing himself for an effort.

“I will tell it you, then, once and for ever.  Never again, I trust, will it be necessary for me to open my lips about the miserable business.  You remember our game.  You remember how we lost.  You remember how you all retired, and left me sitting in this very room, and at that very table.  Far from being tired, I was exceedingly wakeful, and I remained here for an hour or more thinking over the incidents of the game and the changes which it promised to bring about in my fortunes.  I had, as you will recollect, lost heavily, and my only consolation was that my own brother had won.  I knew that, owing to his reckless mode of life, he was firmly in the clutches of the Jews, and I