CHAPTER XXII.
MY MEMORY RETURNS
"At last my chance came," Jack went on. "I'd found out almosteverything; not, of course, exactly by way of legal proof, but to myown entire satisfaction: and I determined to lay the matterdefinitely at once before Mr. Callingham. So I took a holiday for afortnight, to go bicycling in the Midlands I told my patients; and Ifixed my head-quarters at Wrode, which, as you probably remember, istwenty miles off from Woodbury.
"It was important for my scheme I should catch Mr. Callingham alone.I had no idea of entrapping him. I wanted to work upon hisconscience and induce him to confess. My object was rather to movehim to remorse and restitution than to terrify or surprise him.
"So on the day of the accident--call it murder, if you will--I rodeover on my machine, unannounced, to The Grange to see him. You knewwhere I was staying, you recollect--"
At the words, a burst of memory came suddenly over me.
"Oh yes!" I cried. "I remember. It was at the Wilsons', at Wrode. Iwrote over there to tell you we were going to dine alone at six thatevening, as papa had got his electric apparatus home from hisinstrument-maker, and was anxious to try his experiments early.You'd written to me privately--a boy brought the note--that youwanted to have an hour's talk alone with papa. I thought it wasabout ME, and I was, oh, ever so nervous!"
For it all came back to me now, as clear as yesterday.
Jack looked at me hard.
"I'm glad you remember that, dear," he said. "Now, Una, do try toremember all you can as I go along with my story... Well, I rodeover alone, never telling anybody at Wrode where I was going, norgiving your step-father any reason of any sort to expect me. Itrusted entirely to finding him busy with his new invention. When Ireached The Grange, I came up the drive unperceived, and looking inat the library window, saw your father alone there. He was potteringover his chemicals. That gave me the clue. I left my bicycle underthe window, tilted up against the wall, and walked in withoutringing, going straight to the library. Nobody saw me come: nobodysaw me return, except one old lady on the road, who seemed to haveforgotten all about it by the time of the inquest."
(I nodded and gave a start. I knew that must have been Aunt Emma.)
"Except yourself, Una, no human soul on earth ever seemed to suspectme. And that wasn't odd; for you and your father, and perhaps MinnieMoore, were the only people in the world who ever knew I was in lovewith you or cared for you in any way."
"Go on," I said, breathless. "And you went into the library."
"I went into the library," Jack continued, "where I found yourfather, just returned from enjoying his cigar on the lawn. He wasalone in the room--"
"No, no!" I cried eagerly, putting in my share now; for I had a partin the history. "He WASN'T alone, Jack, though you thought him so atthe time. I remember all, at last. It comes back to me like a flash.Oh, heavens, how it comes back to me! Jack, Jack, I remember to-dayevery word, every syllable of it!"
He gazed at me in surprise.
"Then tell me yourself, Una!" he exclaimed. "How did you come to bethere? For I knew you were there at last; but till you fired thepistol, I hadn't the faintest idea you had heard or seen anything.Tell me all about it, quick! There comes in MY mystery."
In one wild rush of thought the whole picture rose up like a visionbefore me.
"Why, Jack," I cried, "there was a screen, a little screen in thealcove! You remember the alcove at the west end of the room. It wasso small a screen, you'd hardly have thought it could hide me; butit did--it did--and all, too, by accident. I'd gone in there afterdinner, not much thinking where I went, and was seated on the floorby the little alcove window, reading a book by the twilight. It wasa book papa told me I wasn't to read, and I took it trembling fromthe shelves, and was afraid he'd scold me--for you know how stern hewas. And I never was allowed to go alone into the library. But I gotinterested in my book, and went on reading. So when he came in, Iwent on sitting there very still, with the book hidden under myskirt, for fear he should scold me. I thought perhaps before longpapa'd go out for a second, to get some plates for his photographyor something, and then I could slip away and never be noticed. Thebig window towards the garden was open, you remember, and I meant tojump out of it--as you did afterwards. It wasn't very high; andthough the book was only The Vicar of Wakefield, he'd forbidden meto read it, and I was dreadfully afraid of him."
"Then you were there all the time?" Jack cried interrogatively. "Andyou heard our conversation--our whole conversation?"
"I was there all the time, Jack," I cried, in a fever of exaltation:"and I heard every word of it! It comes back to me now with avividness like yesterday. I see the room before my eyes. I rememberevery syllable: I could repeat every sentence of it."
Jack drew a deep sigh of intense relief.
"Thank God for that!" he exclaimed, with profound gratitude. "ThenI'm saved, and you're saved. We can both understand one another inthat case. We know how it all happened!"
"Perfectly," I answered. "I know all now. As I sat there andcowered, I heard a knock at the door, and before papa could answer,you entered hastily. Papa looked round, I could hear, and saw who itwas in a second.
"'Oh, it's you!' he said, coldly. 'It's you, Dr. Ivor. And pray,sir, what do you want here this evening?'"
"Go on!" Jack cried, intensely relieved, I could feel. "Let me seehow much more you can remember, Una."
"So you shut the door softly and said:
"'Yes, it's I, Mr. Callingham,'" I continued all aglow, and lookinginto his eyes for confirmation. "'And I've come to tell you a factthat may surprise you. Prepare for strange news. Richard Wharton hasreturned to England!'
"I knew Richard Wharton was mamma's first husband, who was deadbefore I was born, as I'd always been told: and I sat there aghastat the news: it was so sudden, so crushing. I'd heard he'd beenwrecked, and I thought he'd come to life again; but as yet I didn'tsuspect what was all the real meaning of it.
"But papa drew back, I could hear, in a perfect frenzy of rage,astonishment, and terror.
"'Richard Wharton!' he hissed out between his teeth, springing awaylike one stung. 'Richard Wharton come back! You liar! You sneak!He's dead this twenty years! You're trying to frighten me.'
"I never meant to overhear your conversation. But at that, it was sostrange, I drew back and cowered even closer. I was afraid of papa'svoice. I was afraid of his rage. He spoke just like a man who wasready to murder you.
"Then you began to talk with papa about strange things thatastonished me--strange things that I only half understood just then,but that by the light of what you've told me to-day I quiteunderstand now--the history of my real father.
"'I'm no liar,' you answered. 'Richard Wharton has come back. And bythe aid of what he's disclosed, I know the whole truth. The girl youcall your daughter, and whose money you've stolen, is not yours atall. She's Richard Wharton's daughter Mary!'
"Papa staggered back a pace or two, and came quite close to thescreen. I cowered behind it in alarm. I could see he was terrified.For a minute or two you talked with him, and urged him to confess.Bit by bit, as you went on, he recovered his nerve, and began tobluster. He didn't deny what you said: he saw it was no use: he justsneered and prevaricated.
"As I listened to his words, I saw he admitted it all. A greathorror came over me. Then my life was one long lie! He was never myfather. He had concocted a vile plot. He had held me in this slaveryso many years to suit his own purposes. He had crushed my mother todeath, and robbed me of my birthright. Even before that night, Inever loved him. I thought it very wicked of me, but I never couldlove him. As he spoke to you and grew cynical, I began to loathe anddespise him. I can't tell you how great a comfort it was to me toknow--to hear from his own lips I was not that man's daughter.
"At last, after many recriminations, he looked across at you, andsaid, half laughing, for he was quite himself again by that time:
"'This is all very fine, Courtenay Ivor--all very fine in its way;but how a
re you going to prove it? that's the real question. Do youthink any jury in England will believe, on your unsupported oath,such a cock-and-bull story? Do you think, even if Richard Wharton'scome back, and you've got him on your side, I can't cross-examineall the life out of his body?'
"At that you said gravely--wanting to touch his conscience, Isuppose:--
"'Richard Wharton's come back, but you can't cross-examine him. ForRichard Wharton died some six or eight weeks since at my cottage atBabbicombe, after revealing to me all this vile plot against himselfand his daughter.'
"Then papa drew back with a loud laugh--a hateful laugh like ademon's. I can't help calling him papa still, though it pains meeven to think of him. That loud laugh rings still in my ears to thisday. It was horrible, diabolical, like a wild beast's in triumph.
"'You fool!' he said, with a sneer. 'And you come here to tell methat! You infernal idiot! You come here to put yourself in my powerlike this! Courtenay Ivor, I always knew you were an ass, but Ididn't ever know you were quite such a born idiot of a fellow asthat. Hold back there, you image!' With a rapid dart, before youcould see what he was doing, he passed a wire round your body andthrust two knobs into your hands. 'You're in my power now!' heexclaimed. 'You can't move or stir!'
"I saw at once what he'd done. He'd pinned you to the spot with thehandles of his powerful electric apparatus. It was so strong that itwould hold one riveted to the spot in pain. You couldn't let go. Youcould hardly even speak or cry aloud for help. He had pinned youdown irresistibly. I thought he meant to murder you.
"Yet I was too terrified, even so, to scream aloud for the servants.I only crouched there, rooted, and wondered what next would happen.
"He went across to the door and turned the key in it. Then he openedthe cabinet and took out some things there. It was growing quitedusk, and I could hardly see them. He returned with them where youstood, struggling in vain to set yourself free. His voice was ashard as adamant now. He spoke slowly and distinctly, in a voice likea fiend's. Oh, Jack, no wonder that scene took away my reason!"
"And you can remember what he said next, Una?" Jack asked, followingme eagerly.
"Yes, I can remember what he said next," I went on. "He stood overyou threateningly. I could see then the thing he held in his righthand was a loaded revolver. In his left was a bottle, a smallmedical phial.
"'If you stir, I'll shoot you,' he said; 'I'll shoot you like a dog!You fool, you've sealed your own fate! What an idiot to let me knowRichard Wharton's dead! Now, hear your fate! Nobody saw you comeinto this house to-night. Nobody shall see you leave. Look here,sir, at this bottle. It's chloroform: do you understand?Chloroform--chloroform--chloroform! I shall hold it to yournose--so. I shall stifle you quietly--no blood, no fuss, no nastymess of any sort. And when I'm done,--do you see these flasks?--Ican reduce your damned carcase to a pound of ashes with chemicals inhalf-an-hour! You've found out too much. But you've mistaken yourman! Courtenay Ivor, say your prayers and commend your soul to thedevil! You've driven me to bay, and I give you no quarter!'"