CHAPTER X
NARRATES A CONFESSION
Half an hour later the man found in the hiding-hole lay upon a bed inone of the spare rooms.
Though not dead, he had, when discovered, been in the last stage ofexhaustion. The doctor telephoned for had at once discovered that whatwe already suspected was true--the man's left ankle was very badlysprained. It must, he said, have been sprained ten or twelve dayspreviously. In addition, the man was almost like a skeleton.
"You found him not an hour too soon," the doctor said when, aftercompleting his diagnosis, and giving instructions concerning thetreatment of his patient to the nurse who had just arrived, he rejoinedus in the smoking-room downstairs. "He is in a state of completecollapse. For days he has evidently not touched food."
He looked at us in turn with an odd expression as he said this. He wasclearly mystified at finding a man at Holt Manor dying of starvation--astarving man dressed for the chase, a man obviously of refinement, andundoubtedly to be described as a gentleman.
Sir Roland decided under the circumstances to tell the doctoreverything: how the man's presence had been discovered by Dick, how wehad afterwards found him lying upon the floor of the hiding-hole,apparently dead, and how, with the help of ropes, we had finally pulledhim out. The doctor had, of course, heard of the robbery at Holt nearlya fortnight before, and he at once put two and two together.
For two days the stranger quivered between life and death. Two nurseswere in constant attendance, and the doctor called frequently. It was onthe afternoon of the third day that he expressed a desire to talk to SirRoland; he had, until then, been allowed to speak only a word or two.
He wanted, he said, "to speak with Sir Roland alone"; but to this SirRoland would not agree.
"If you want to speak to me, you can speak quite freely before thisgentleman," he said; I was in the room at the time.
At first the man seemed distressed, but at last, finding that Sir Rolandwould make no concession, he said in a weak voice:
"I'm dying, Sir Roland, I feel it, and before I go there are things Ishould like to say to you--things that it may be to your advantageto hear."
His voice, I noticed, had in it the _timbre_ peculiar to the voices ofmen of education.
"Say anything you like," Sir Roland answered coldly.
"You have been exceedingly kind to me: there are men who, finding me inconcealment as you found me, and after what has happened in this house,would at once have called in the police. You may believe me or not, butI am extremely grateful to you. And I want to show my gratitude in theonly way I can."
He paused for nearly a minute, then continued:
"Sir Roland, I will tell you as much as I am justified in telling aboutthe robbery; but first, has anybody concerned in it been arrested?"
Sir Roland shook his head.
"Nobody--as yet," he answered. "The police have not discovered even thesmallest clue."
"I and another were in your bedroom when your son suddenly sprang frombehind the screen," the stranger went on. "Again you may believe me ornot, but I tried to prevent my companion from doing him any injury. Itwas I who put the chloroform on the boy, but I did him no other harm, Iswear, sir."
I saw Sir Roland's eyes blaze. Then, as his glance rested upon thestranger's starved, almost ashen face--it seemed to be graduallygrowing livid--the sternness of his expression relaxed.
"How came you to be in hiding here?" he asked abruptly. "How manyaccomplices had you?"
"Seven," the stranger replied, without an instant's hesitation. "Therobbery was carefully planned; it was planned so carefully that itseemed without the bounds of possibility that it could fail to succeed.I and others were at your hunt breakfast--"
"Were your accomplices all men?" I interrupted sharply.
The man's stare met mine. He looked at me with, I thought, singularmalevolence.
"They were not," he answered quietly. He turned again to Sir Roland."Just after your son had been rendered unconscious, I had the misfortuneto slip up on the polished floor and sprain my ankle badly. No soonerdid my companion realize what had happened, than he snatched from me allthe stolen property I held, in spite of my endeavour to prevent him,then emptied my pockets, and left me. Dismayed at being thusdeserted--for unless I could hide at once I must, I knew, quickly bediscovered--I crawled out of the room on all fours, and along thelanding as far as the angle where the hiding-place is. The hole wasopen--we had opened it before entering your room, lest we might besurprised and suddenly forced to hide. Almost as I reached it I heardsomebody coming. Instantly I scrambled down and slid the board overmy head."
"How came you to know of the existence and the whereabouts of thehiding-hole at all?" Sir Roland inquired, eyeing the strangersuspiciously.
"That I do not wish to tell. I hoped ultimately to be rescued by myaccomplices, and for that reason I made no sound which might haverevealed my presence. My ankle had swollen considerably, and, confinedin my riding-boot, which I couldn't pull off, it gave me intense pain.To clamber out unaided was consequently an impossibility; so there Ilay, slowly starving, hoping, night after night, that my accompliceswould force an entrance into the house and rescue me, for my companionwho left me must have guessed where I was in hiding--we had agreed, as Ihave said, to seek concealment in that hole should either of us bedriven to hide in order to escape detection."
"Was the man who deserted you the man who deliberately strained my boy'sarm by twisting it?" Sir Roland asked.
"Yes."
"What is his name?"
"Gastrell--Hugesson Gastrell, that's the name the brute is known by. Healways was a blackguard--a perisher! I shall refuse to betray any of theothers; they are my friends. But Hugesson Gastrell--don't forget thatname, Sir Roland. You may some day be very glad I told it to you--theman of The Four Faces!"
He paused. He seemed suddenly to be growing weaker. As we sat there,watching him, I could not help in a sense feeling pity for the fellow,and I knew that Sir Roland felt the same. It seemed terrible to find aman like this, quite young--he was certainly under thirty--a man withthe unmistakable _cachet_ of public school and university, engaged in acareer of infamy. What was his life's story I wondered as I looked athim, noting how refined his features were, what well-shaped hands hehad. Why had he sunk so low? Above all, who was he? for certainly he wasno ordinary malefactor.
Suddenly he turned on to his back, wincing with pain as he did so; hehad been lying partly on his side.
"I can't betray my friends, Sir Roland," he murmured, "but believe mewhen I say I am deeply grateful for your kindness to me. I was notalways what I am now, you know," his voice grew weaker still; "notalways an adventurer--a criminal if you will. Yes, I am a criminal, andhave been for many years; unconvicted as yet, but none the less acriminal. I was once what you are, Sir Roland; I took pride in being agentleman and in calling myself one. Educated at Marlborough and atTrinity--but why should I bore you with my story--eh, Sir Roland? Whyshould I bore you with, with--ah! The Four Faces! The Four Faces!"he repeated.
His eyes rolled strangely, then looked dully up at the ceiling. What didhe mean by "The Four Faces"? Did he refer to the medallion worn byGastrell? His mind was beginning to wander. He muttered and murmured fora minute, then again his words became articulate.
"Jasmine--oh, Jasmine my darling, I love you so!"
I started.
"Jasmine, if only you would ... oh, yes, that is all I ask, all I want,my darling woman, all I ... you remember it all, don't you? ... yes ...oh, it was her fault ... he wouldn't otherwise have killed her ... oh,no, discovery is impossible, the ... it was quite unrecognizable.... TheFour Faces--ha! ha! ... I myself saw it, black, charred beyond all hopeof recognition ... he did right to ... dear, I should have donethe same...."
Between these scraps of sentences were words impossible to catch themeaning of, so indistinctly were they uttered, some being said beneathhis breath, some muttered and inarticulate, some little more thanmurmurings.
&nb
sp; He moved restlessly on the bed. Then his eyes slowly closed, and for aminute he lay still. And then, all at once, he seemed to spring backinto life.
"Mother!" he shouted suddenly in quite a strong voice.
He started up in bed, and now sat erect and still, his wide-stretchedeyes staring straight before him.
The nurse had, at Sir Roland's request, left the room before thestranger had begun to speak to him. Now, opening the door quickly, SirRoland called to her to return.
The stranger's eyes were fixed. Motionless he sat there glaring, as itseemed to us, at some figure facing him. Instinctively we followed thedirection of his gaze, but naught was visible to us save the artisticpattern upon the pink-tinted wall-paper opposite the foot of the bed.
His lips were slightly parted, now. We saw them move as though he spokerapidly, but no words came. And then, all at once, he smiled.
"The Four Faces!" he repeated, almost inaudibly.
It was not a vacant smile, not the smile of a man mentally deficient,but a smile charged with meaning, with intelligent expression; a smileof delight, of greeting--a smile full of love. It was the first time wehad seen a smile, or anything approaching one, upon his face, and in aninstant it revealed how handsome the man had been.
"Mother!"
This time the word was only murmured, a murmur so low as to be barelyaudible. The fellow's pyjama jacket, one Sir Roland Challoner had lentto him, had become unfastened at the throat, and now I noticed that athin gold chain was round his neck, and that from it there depended aflat, circular locket.
Sir Roland was seated close beside the bed. Almost as I noticed thislocket, he saw it too. I saw him bend forward a little, and take it inhis fingers, and turn it over. I could see it distinctly from where Isat. Upon the reverse side was a miniature--the portrait of a woman--awoman of forty-five or so, very beautiful still, a striking face ofsingular refinement. Yes, there could be no doubt whatever--the eyes ofthe miniature bore a striking likeness to the stranger's, which nowgazed at nothing with that fixed, unmeaning stare.
I had noticed Sir Roland raised his eyebrows. Now he sat staringintently at the miniature which lay flat upon the palm on his hand. Atlast he let it drop and turned to me, while the stranger still satupright in the bed, gazing still at something he seemed to seebefore him.
"I believe I have discovered his identity," Sir Roland whispered. "Irecognize the portrait in that locket; I couldn't possibly mistake itseeing that years ago I knew the original well. It's a miniature ofLady Logan, who died some years ago. Her husband, Lord Logan, was agambler, a spendthrift, and a drunkard, and he treated her withabominable cruelty. They had one child, a son. I remember the sonsitting on my knee when he was quite a little chap--he couldn't at thattime have been more than five or six. He went to Marlborough, I know;then crammed for the army, but failed to pass; and yet he wasundoubtedly clever. His father became infuriated upon hearing that hehad not qualified, and, in a fit of drunkenness, turned him with cursesout of the house, forbidding him ever to return, in spite of LadyLogan's pleading on the lad's behalf. The lad had from infancy beenpassionately devoted to his mother, though he couldn't bear his father.The mother died soon afterwards--of a broken heart it was said--and LordLogan survived her only a few months, dying eventually of _deliriumtremens_. Upon his death the little money he left was swallowed up inpaying his debts. The son, whose name was Harold, didn't show up even atthe funerals--none knew where he was or what had become of him. It wasgenerally believed that he had gone abroad, and Logan's executorsthought it probable that the son had not had news of either his mother'sor his father's death. Altogether it was a very sad story and--"
He checked himself, for the stranger had turned his head and was lookingat us--never shall I forget the infinite pathos of his expression atthat moment. There was something in the face which betrayed misery anddejection so abject that for days afterwards the look haunted me. AgainI saw the lips move, but no sound came.
He had sunk back upon his pillows. Once more his eyes gazed fixedly atthe ceiling. Some moments later the mouth gaped, the lips turned slowlyblue, a dull, leaden hue spread over the pale features.
The nurse hurried forward, but there was nothing to be done. HaroldLogan, Lord Logan's wastrel son, was dead.