The Slave of Silence

by Fred M. White

  CHAPTER XXXVIII

  Bentwood led the way from the dining-room up a back staircase, andpaused before what looked like a portion of the wallpaper. There was alittle discoloured spot about half way between the dado and the floor,and on this the doctor pressed a shaking thumb. A part of the wall fellaway and disclosed a small room beyond. The room had evidently beenoccupied lately, for there was a fire in the grate and the remains of ameal on the table. The room itself was empty.

  "Well, I'm hanged," Bentwood cried. "Gentlemen, I can't tell you now.You asked to see the body of Sir Charles Darryll, and I have done mybest to satisfy your curiosity. The last time I saw the body it washere. It seems to have vanished, and I know no more than the dead whathas happened. I'm telling you no more than the truth."

  That the man was telling the truth was evidenced by the expression ofhis face. Field had no more questions to ask, because he was quite sureof the fact. On the table lay a letter, which the inspector firstglanced at and then placed in his pocket.

  "I am just a little disappointed," he said, "because I fancied that Ihad the complete and crowning surprise for you here tonight, Colonel.You had better go off with my men, because I have no further need ofyour services for the present, Dr. Bentwood. Perhaps to-morrow I mayhave the pleasure of calling upon you. Good night."

  The doctor vanished from the house, which was empty now, save forBerrington and Field. The latter put out the lights and prepared toleave by way of the front door.

  "What are you going to do next?" Berrington asked.

  "Go back to headquarters and report progress," Field explained. "Therest is a matter of chance. I fancy I can see my way pretty clearly asto what has happened. Come along, sir; on the whole we have no call tobe dissatisfied."

  But the events of the night were by no means over yet. A batteredconstable at the Yard who had just had his head bandaged up had a storyto tell. The prisoners from No. 100, Audley Place, had not been conveyedto durance vile without one accident that had been attended with a fataltragedy. The officer told his story painfully.

  "It was that little devil by the side of the driver," he said. "It'slucky for me that he was not a big man instead of a bag of bones. We'dcome about half way when he turned and half throttled the driver andthen put speed on the motor. There was a struggle for the steering gear,and then the whole show came to grief on a bridge. We were all pitchedout, but we hung to our prisoners, who are a pretty sight, sir. Mr.Richford pitched over the side of the bridge on to the metals of therailway lines below and he was killed on the spot. I don't want anothergame like that."

  Surely enough Richford had been killed. His neck had been broken, and hehad died without the slightest pain. Berrington, listening gravely tothe story, felt no shock from the recital that he had heard. The worldwas well rid of a poisonous scoundrel, and Beatrice would be free now tomarry the man of her choice.

  "Was Sartoris hurt?" he asked, a little ashamed to feel that he wouldhave been glad to hear so for Mary's sake. "A delicate man likethat----"

  "Internally, the doctor says," the officer went on; "been spitting bloodever since he has."

  Berrington expressed a desire to see the cripple, who received himwithout any sign of feeling. He was lying back in an arm chair, his facewhite and set.

  "You need not condole with me," he said. "Don't ask me to make adeathbed confession, for that kind of thing is sheer waste of time. Iknow that I'm dying. I know that I may fall back at any moment, and thenthere will be the end. I'm full of blood inside. I might have told thatfool of a doctor what he had come to find out--that a broken rib haspierced the lung, and I'm bleeding away quietly. Feel my hands."

  Berrington touched the cold, clammy fingers. They were icy with thetouch of death.

  "_Rigor mortis_," Sartoris said. "Only a few minutes now. It's a goodthing for you, and it's a good thing for Mary, who has been cursed witha brother like me. It's, it's----"

  Sartoris said no more. There was a bubbling kind of sigh, blood welledfrom his mouth and ran down his coat, his head dropped on one side, andhe was gone. There was nothing to be said, nothing to be done. On thewhole it was just as well.

  "It's a ghastly business altogether," Berrington said to Field. "Oldsoldier as I am, I have had quite enough of horrors for one night. Iunderstand that Miss Grey returned to the _Royal Palace_ with Mrs.Richford. I had better go and tell them both what has happened."

  Field agreed, and Berrington departed on his errand. It was not muchpast eleven yet, so there was plenty of time. Mary and Beatrice had goneback to the hotel in care of Mark Ventmore. They were seated in thedrawing-room when Berrington arrived.

  Beatrice crossed the room quickly. She wanted to have a few words withBerrington before the others joined in the discussion; she wanted toknow if anything had been discovered.

  "About my father?" she asked. "This suspense is horrible. Have they notgot on the track yet? Why did they want to do that disgraceful thing atall?"

  Berrington explained as far as possible. Beatrice was quick to see themeaning of it all. The recital of the story made her a little easier inher mind.

  "Possibly by this time to-morrow," Berrington said. "Meanwhile I havesomething to tell both you and Miss Grey that will be a shock to you,though personally it would be hypocritical to regard it in the light ofa deplorable event. There was an accident to the motor car."

  "Mr. Sartoris, I mean Mr. Grey, has he escaped?" Beatrice cried. "Yes?"

  "I don't think that he was trying to escape. I fancy it was more in thespirit of diabolical mischief than anything else, but he attacked thedriver and made a grab for the steering wheel. The result was a smash ona bridge, and the motor was upset. Stephen Richford was pitched cleanover the bridge on to the lines, and--and----"

  "Killed on the spot?" Beatrice asked quietly. "Would that I could saythat I am sorry. It is the best thing that could have happened. And therest of them?"

  "There was not much damage done, except to Sartoris, or Grey, rather.The body of the car struck him on the chest, and a rib stuck into hislung. He bled to death. I was the last person to see him. To the end hewas as hard and callous as ever. Will you tell Mary, please? It wouldcome better from you."

  Berrington and Ventmore stood talking quietly together whilst Beatriceperformed her sad task. Mark listened to all that Berrington had totell.

  "And yet all this bother might have been saved," he said. "My fatherknew all about those concessions, and he has a pretty good idea of thevalue of them. Only yesterday he was talking to me about it. If SirCharles had gone to him, he could have got every penny that he required.But you see, I was not on good terms with my father at the time, thoughthat is all forgiven and forgotten now. At any rate I think we shouldask my father's assistance if only to clear the good name of SirCharles, and make a provision for Beatrice. Now that Richford is dead,something will have to be done. Don't you think so?"

  "I am quite sure that you are right," Berrington said. "Your father isrich, and a remarkably good man of business. He is the very one to putmatters on a proper footing, and see that the money is returned to thecompany that Sir Charles was entangled with. You say that those rubymines are really a good property?"

  "My father says that they are splendid," Mark replied. "Enough to giveSir Charles a large income, pay his debts, and provide for Miss Deciebesides. I shall see my father to-night, and will go thoroughly into thequestion with him."

  The thing was left at that, and Berrington made his preparations todepart. Mary was crying quietly now with the keen edge of her grieftaken off. Mark and Beatrice drew aside, so that the others could talkin private.

  "What shall I say to you, Mary?" Berrington asked.

  "What can you say?" the girl asked in a gentle tone. "You are a goodman, Phil, and it is good to know that you have loved me so devotedlyand sincerely. I shall be able to come to you now and take up the threadof my happiness, where I deliberately snapped it three years ago. If mybrother had not been misled by a designing woman----"
/>   "Mary," Berrington said with firmness. "You are utterly wrong. I havehad the story from Field only to-night, who has heard it from the lipsof Miss Decie herself. She is a girl as good and pure as yourself. Fromfirst to last she was deceived. If Frank Leviter, the man who sacrificedhis life for her sake and whom she loved, had lived, the mask would havefallen from your eyes. Your brother treated Violet Decie as he treatedyou, as he treated everybody. He was bad to the core of his being, andhe has been saved from a shameful death by an accident. If you will tryto get all that into your mind you will be a happier woman. You havelost three of the best years of your life--years that belonged to me aswell as to you--in pursuit of a mistaken sense of duty. This must beclearly understood between us if the path of our married life is to befree from care."

  Mary bent her head and said nothing. And yet, deep down in her heart sheknew that Berrington had said no more than the truth. She placed herhand in his.

  "I am ready for you when the time comes, Phil," she whispered. "Only onething I ask. Never let this be mentioned between us again."

  "That I faithfully promise," said Berrington. "It is what I was going tosuggest. Do you stay here to-night with Beatrice Darryll?"

  Mary replied that that was the arrangement. Meanwhile Mark had beendiscussing the future with Beatrice. She had warmly approved of all thather lover had said about his father. She was glad to know that old Mr.Ventmore would not oppose the marriage, and that her love for him wouldnot tend to keep Mark a poor man.

  "So perhaps you had better let me have all those papers that Sartoriswas so anxious to get hold of," Mark concluded. "Could you let me havethem now?"

  "Of course I can," Beatrice said. "I'll go and get them for you from myroom. Mary Grey is sharing my bed with me to-night--to-morrow I shallarrange for her to have my father's room. I'll get the papers at once ifyou will wait."

  The papers were found with some little delay, and Beatrice was preparingto come downstairs again when it seemed to her that she heard a noise inthe room next to her, the bedroom that had been occupied by SirCharles. It was a creeping kind of noise followed by what was mostunmistakably a sneeze.

  Beatrice hesitated just for a moment, for her nerves had been muchstrained lately. Then she put her fear from her and walked into the nextroom. Only one of the electric lights gave a feeble glimmer over theroom. A man stood there, a man who was changing his upper garments.Beatrice gave a little cry and staggered back into the doorway. The manturned at the same time, and saw that he was observed. His face was aswhite as that of Beatrice.

  "Father!" the girl said, "father! Is it possible that I am not dreamingand that you are in the flesh before me again? Oh, father, father!"