jumping to his feet as though hehad received a shock. "Burton dead! Does Dicky Dawson know this?"
"Yes, and he is in London," I replied.
"Ah!" he ejaculated, with impatience, as though the premature knowledgeheld by the man Dawson had upset all his plans. "Who told him? How thedevil did he know?"
I had to confess ignorance, but in reply to his demand I deplored thetragic suddenness of our friend's decease, and how I had been left inpossession of the pack of cards upon which the cipher had been written.
"Have you any idea what his secret really was?" asked the wiry oldfellow. "I mean of where his great wealth came from?"
"None whatever," was my reply. "Perhaps you can tell us something?"
"No," he snapped, "I can't. He became suddenly rich, although only amonth or so before he was on tramp and starving. He found me and I gavehim certain information for which I was afterwards well repaid. It wasthis information, he told me, which formed the key to the secret."
"Was it anything to do with this pack of cards and the cipher?" Iinquired eagerly.
"I don't know, I've never seen the cards you mention. When he arrivedhere one cold night, he was exhausted and starving and dead beat. Igave him a meal and a bed, and told him what he wanted to know. Nextmorning, with money borrowed from me, he took train to London and thenext I heard of him was a letter which stated that he had paid into theCounty Bank at York to my credit one thousand pounds, as we had arrangedto be the price of the information. And I tell you, gentlemen, nobodywas more surprised than I was to receive a letter from the bank nextday, confirming it. He afterwards deposited a similar sum in the bank,on the first of January every year--as a little present, he said."
"Then you never saw him after the night that his search for you wassuccessful?"
"No, not once," Hales answered, addressing his wife, who had justentered, saying that he was engaged in a private conversation, andrequesting her to leave us, which she did. "Burton Blair was a queercharacter," Hales continued, addressing me, "he always was. No bettersailor ever ate salt junk. He was absolutely fearless and a splendidnavigator. He knew the Mediterranean as other men know Cable Street,Whitechapel, and had led a life cram-full of adventure. But he was areckless devil ashore--very reckless. I remember once how we bothnarrowly escaped with our lives at a little town outside Algiers. Hepulled an Arab girl's veil off her face out of sheer mischief, and, whenshe raised the alarm, we had to make ourselves scarce, pretty quick, Ican tell you," and he laughed heartily at the recollection of certainsprees ashore. "But both he and I had had pretty tough times in theCameroons and in the Andes. I was older than he, and when I first methim I laughed at what I believed to be his ignorance. But I soon sawthat he'd crammed about double the amount of travelling and adventureinto his short spell than ever I had done, for he had a happy knack ofdeserting and going up country whenever an opportunity offered. He'dfought in half-a-dozen revolutions in Central and South America and usedto declare that the rebels in Guatemala, had, on one occasion, electedhim Minister of Commerce!"
"Yes," I agreed, "he was in many ways a most remarkable man with a mostremarkable history His life was a mystery from beginning to end, and itis that mystery which now, after his death, I am trying to unravel."
"Ah! I fear you'll find it a very difficult task," replied his oldfriend, shaking his head. "Blair was secret in everything. He neverlet his right hand know what his left did. You could never get at thebottom of his ingenuity, or at his motives. And," he added, as thoughit were an afterthought, "can you assign any reason why he should haveleft his secret in your hands?"
"Well, only gratitude," I replied. "I was able on one occasion torender him a little assistance."
"I know. He told me all about it--how you had both put his girl toschool, and all that. But," he went on, "Blair had some motive when heleft you that unintelligible cipher, depend upon it. He knew wellenough that you would never obtain its solution alone."
"Why?"
"Because others had tried before you and failed."
"Who are they?" I inquired, much surprised.
"Dick Dawson is one. If he had succeeded he might have stood in Blair'sshoes--a millionaire. Only he wasn't quite cute enough, and the secretpassed on to your friend."
"Then you don't anticipate that I shall ever discover the solution ofthe cipher?"
"No," answered the old man, very frankly, "I don't. But what of hisgirl--Mabel, I think she was called?"
"She's in London and has inherited everything," I replied; whereat theold fellow's furrowed face broadened into a grim smile, and heremarked--
"A fine catch for some young fellow, she'd make. Ah! if you couldinduce her to tell all she knows she could place you in possession ofher father's secret."
"Does she actually know it?" I cried quickly. "Are you certain ofthis?"
"I am; she knows the truth. Ask her."
"I will," I declared. "But cannot you tell us the nature of theinformation you gave to Blair on that night when he re-discovered you?"I asked persuasively.
"No," he replied in a decisive tone, "it was a confidential matter andmust remain as such. I was paid for my services, and as far as I amconcerned, I have wiped my hands of the affair."
"But you could tell me something concerning this strange quest ofBlair's--something, I mean, that might put me on the track of thesolution of the secret."
"The secret of how he gained his wealth, you mean, eh?"
"Of course."
"Ah, my dear sir, you'll never discover that--mark me--if you live to bea hundred. Burton Blair took jolly good care to hide that fromeverybody."
"And he was well assisted by such men as your self," I said, ratherimpertinently, I fear.
"Perhaps, perhaps so," he said quickly, his face flushing. "I promisedhim secrecy and I've kept my promise, for I owe my present comfortablecircumstances solely to his generosity."
"A millionaire can do anything, of course. His money secures him hisfriends."
"Friends, yes," replied the old man, gravely; "but not happiness. PoorBurton Blair was one of the unhappiest of men, that I am quite certainof."
He spoke the truth, I knew. The millionaire had himself many timesdeclared to me in confidence that he had been far happier in his days ofpenury and careless adventure beyond the seas, than as possessor of thatgreat West End mansion, and the first estate in Herefordshire.
"Look here," exclaimed Hales, suddenly, glancing keenly from Reggie tomyself, "I give you warning," and he dropped his voice to almost awhisper. "You say that Dick Dawson has returned--beware of him. Hemeans mischief, you may bet your hat on that! Be very careful of hisgirl, too, she knows more than you think."
"We have a faint suspicion that Blair did not die a natural death," Iremarked.
"You have?" he exclaimed, starting. "What causes you to anticipatethat?"
"The circumstances were so remarkable," I replied, and continuing, Iexplained the tragic affair just as I have written it here.
"You don't suspect Dicky Dawson, I suppose?" the old fellow askedanxiously.
"Why? Had he any motive for getting rid of our friend?"
"Ah! I don't know. Dicky is a very funny customer. He always heldBlair beneath his thumb. They were a truly remarkable pair; the oneblossoming forth into a millionaire, and the other living strictly insecret somewhere abroad--in Italy, I think."
"Dawson must have had some very strong motive for remaining so quiet," Iobserved.
"Because he was compelled," answered Hales, with a mysterious shake ofthe head. "There were reasons why he shouldn't show his face. Myself,I wonder why he has dared to do so now."
"What!" I cried eagerly, "is he wanted by the police or something?"
"Well," answered the old man, after some hesitation, "I don't think he'dwelcome a visit from any of those inquisitive gentlemen from ScotlandYard. Only remember I make no charges, none at all. If, however, heattempts any sharp practice, you may just casuall
y mention that HarryHales is still alive, and is thinking of coming up to London to pay hima morning call. Just watch what effect those words will have upon him,"and the old man chuckled to himself, adding, "Ah! Mr. Dicky-birdDawson, you've got to reckon with me yet, I fancy."
"Then you'll assist us?" I cried in eagerness. "You can save MabelBlair if you will?"
"I'll do all I