something--something very important--when weare alone."
"No, not now. Miss Seymour," interrupted Sir George, shaking his fingerat his patient, and laughing. "Later on--a little later on. You mustnot excite yourself to-day."
And so, with a pretty pout, she was compelled to remain silent at thedoctor's orders.
I suppose I must have been there a full quarter of an hour, though thetime passed so rapidly that it only appeared like a few moments. Then Ibade her be of good cheer and went forth again.
She had made no mention of the man who was a fugitive.
The only poignant remark she had made was a warning.
"Be careful when you go into my bedroom. There is something in there,"she had said. But I had only laughed and promised her that I would notintrude.
About eleven o'clock Redwood arrived, and as he met me in the hall hepushed a copy of that day's _Times_ under my nose, asking--
"Seen this, Mr Kemball? It concerns you, I fancy. That's the name youmentioned yesterday, isn't it?"
Eagerly I scanned the lines which he indicated. It was anadvertisement, which read--
"_Re_ Melvill, Arnold.--Will the gentleman to whom Mr Melvill Arnold has entrusted a certain ancient object in bronze kindly deliver it according to promise, first communicating with Messrs. Fryer and Davidson, solicitors, 196 London Wall, London, E.C."
I read it again and again.
Then of a sudden I recollected that it was the third of November. Onthat day I had instructions to deliver the bronze cylinder to the firstperson who made application for it!
The low, soft-spoken words of the dying man as he had handed me theheavy cylinder, bidding me keep it in safe custody, recurred to me as Istood there with the newspaper in my hand. So I resolved to go at onceto London, and call upon the firm who had advertised.
Soon after three o'clock, therefore, I ascended in the lift of a largeblock of offices in London Wall, and entered the swing doors of Messrs.Fryer and Davidson.
When asked by the clerk for my name, I gave a card, adding that I hadcalled in response to the advertisement, and a few moments later foundmyself in a comfortable private room with a thin, clean-shaven,thin-faced, alert-looking man of middle age, who introduced himself asMr Cyril Fryer, the head of the firm.
After thanking me for my call he said--
"Perhaps, Mr Kemball, I may tell you briefly what I know of our clientMr Melvill Arnold's rather eccentric action. He lived mostly abroad inrecent years for certain private reasons, and one day, early this year,we received from him a somewhat curious letter upon the notepaper of theCarlton Hotel, saying that he had returned to England unexpectedly, andthat he had entrusted a certain bronze cylinder, containing somethingvery important, to the care of a friend. That friend was, curiouslyenough, not named, but he instructed us to advertise to-day--the thirdof November. We made inquiry at the Carlton, but he was unknown there.To-day we have advertised, according to our client's instructions, andyou are here in response."
"There is considerable mystery surrounding this affair, Mr Fryer," Iexclaimed in reply.
"I do not doubt it. Our client, whom I have known for a good manyyears, was a very reserved and mysterious man," replied the solicitor,leaning back in his padded chair.
"Well," I said, "I met him on board ship between Naples and London," andthen in detail described his sudden illness, how he had induced me toaccept the trust, and his death, a narrative to which Mr Fryer listenedwith greatest interest.
"Then the letter must have been written on the afternoon of his arrivalin London. He probably wrote it in the smoking-room of the Carlton.But why he should seek to mislead us, I cannot imagine," exclaimed thesolicitor.
"I recollect," I said. "I was with him in a taxi, when he stopped atthe Carlton and went inside, asking me to wait. I did so, and hereturned in about a quarter of an hour. In the meantime he must havewritten to you. He was very ill then, and that same evening he died."
"He did not mention us?"
"He made no mention whatever of any friends, save one--a Mr Dawnay, towhom I afterwards delivered a note."
"Dawnay?" repeated Mr Fryer. "You mean Harvey Shaw?"
"Exactly. So you know him, eh?"
The solicitor nodded in the affirmative, the deep lines upon his thinface becoming more accentuated.
I then told him of his client's wilful destruction of a large quantityof English banknotes which he had compelled me to burn, whereat the manseated at his table laughed grimly, saying--
"I do not think we need regret their destruction. They were betterburnt."
"Why?"
"Well--because they were not genuine ones."
"But surely--your client was not a forger!" I cried.
"Certainly not. He was a great man. Cruelly misjudged by the public,he was compelled in recent years to hide his real identity beneathanother name, and live in strictest retirement. His actions were putdown as eccentricities, but he was a great thinker, a wonderfulorganiser, marvellously modern among modern men, a man whose financialschemes brought millions into the pockets of those associated with him,yet whose knowledge of ancient Egypt and dry-as-dust Egyptology wasperhaps unique. But above all he was ever honest, upright and just."
"He was a complete enigma to me," I declared. "As he was to mostpeople. I who have been his legal adviser and friend through muchadversity, alone understood him. I was not even aware of his death. Ifhe took a liking to you I shall not be surprised to find that he hasleft you a substantial legacy."
"He gave me a present before he died," I said, and told him of thebanknotes I had found in the envelope, and also that I held the cylinderin the security of the Safe Deposit Company's vaults in Chancery Lane.
Finding the solicitor was perfectly frank and open with me, I relatedthe curious and startling circumstances which had occurred within myknowledge since I had made the acquaintance of Mr Harvey Shaw. As Isat in the fading light of that November afternoon I narrated the factsin their proper sequence just as I have herein set them down in theforegoing pages of this personal history.
The man before me sat with folded arms in almost complete silence,listening intently to every word. The twilight faded and darkness fellquickly, as it does in November in the City. He had given orders thatwe were not to be disturbed, and he sat silent, so transfixed by mystrange story that he did not rise to switch on the light.
I told him all, everything--until I described to him the discovery ofthat venomous tarantula in Asta's bedroom. Then he suddenly struck histable with his fist, and sprang to his feet, crying--
"Ah! I've been expecting to hear of this all along. The scoundrelmeant to kill the poor girl! There were reasons--very strong reasons--for doing so."
"What were they?" I demanded quickly. "I have told you everything, MrFryer. Now, be quite frank with me, I beg you--and tell me the wholetruth."
He was silent. I could hardly distinguish his thin, deeply lined faceseated as he was in the shadows, his back to the window, so dark had itnow become.
Presently, he rose and turned on the light, saying as he did so--
"Well, Mr Kemball, as you seem to have been so intimately associatedwith the closing scenes of poor Melvill Arnold's career, I will explainthe whole truth to you--even at the risk of a breach of professionalconfidence. My client is dead, but the dastardly attempt upon Miss AstaSeymour must be avenged--that man Harvey Shaw shall be brought tojustice. Listen, and I will tell you a story stranger than most menhave ever listened to--a romance of real life of which, however, everyword is the truth."
"The cylinder!" I cried. "Are you aware of what is contained in it?"
"I have not the slightest knowledge," he declared. "That we willinvestigate together later--after you have heard the strange romance ofthe man whom you knew as Melvill Arnold."
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.
THE TRUTH CONCERNING ARNOLD.
"The real name of your friend was--as you have guessed from thethreatening let
ters addressed to him at Kingswear, in Devon--ArnoldEdgecumbe," the solicitor commenced, leaning his elbows upon his tableand looking me straight in the face. "My firm acted for his father--awealthy manufacturer in Bradford, who, upon his death, left his son anample fortune. Twenty years ago he married an extremely pretty woman.It was purely a love-match, and one daughter was born. Six months afterthat event, however, poor little Mrs Edgecumbe died of phthisis, andher husband was inconsolable over his loss. He was devoted to his wife,and the blow proved a terrible one. Soon, in order to occupy his mind,he turned his attention to financial affairs in the City, and went intopartnership with a man named Henry Harford."
"Harford!" I ejaculated. "Why, that was the man against whom he warnedme! The words he wrote