CHAPTER XXX
THE SQUIRE'S STORY (CONCLUSION)
"And so it came about that I returned to the old country, and, out ofmere politeness, discovered old Colonel Rawson's address, and called oneafternoon. I was ushered into the drawing-room, where sat a lady, whom Iat once recognised as my beloved Edith.
"'Harold!' she cried, as she sprang forward.
"I looked at her left hand. There was no ring on the third finger!
"It was, as you, my son, may have suspected, all a mistake (how costly aone you have yet to learn) on my part. The Edith Rawson who had marriedwas not even any relative of my Edith.
"Within three months, though, the latter was a bride.
"In the midst of all my happiness there was one troubling thought thatdisturbed me more than anyone knew.
"The prophecy contained in the parchment was coming true!
"I mean that prosperity had been promised me for the five-and-twentyyears that would elapse before the child which, according to the messagesent me in so mysterious a fashion, had then just been born should reachwhat was evidently considered by his people his majority. Had I notexperienced that prosperity in receiving the unexpected legacy andwinning for my wife the woman whom I had believed to have proved falseto me? But I felt that twenty-five years was a long time. It was no useworrying about a possible calamity in the distant future. And so Iforgot the weird prophecy and my connection with India, and settled downto the four years of bliss that were my portion before you, my son, wereborn, and my darling, in giving you birth, sacrificed her own dear life.
"That was not prosperity, you will say; and I agree to a certain extent.But if she had not died perhaps I might, and then--if there was anythingin the prophecy--the doom of the girl Lilla might have fallen upon herinstead of upon me. But to proceed with my actual narrative.
"It was nearly four years after my Edith's death when I received aletter bearing an Indian stamp and a blurred postmark that I was unableto decipher. It was addressed to me at the War Office, with instructionsto be forwarded, in a shaky handwriting--the work, probably, of an oldman; and the sheet contained in the dirty, thin envelope bore thesingle word--'Remember!'
"My feelings on receiving this epistle from a world that I had come tohope was dead to me were indescribable. I had learned from Sir Bromleysome years before that the police believed Lilla was dead, since anotherqueen had been appointed for the district over which my enchantress hadheld nominal sway, and thus I had put less belief in the prophecycontained in the parchment letter; but now, with the knowledge that myexistence had not been forgotten by the Thugs, a great fear for my lifecame upon me.
"It was impossible for me to change my name, as my friends would haverequired some explanation of my conduct, and such explanation I shouldnot feel inclined to give. One thing I could do--I could become acivilian, and give up all connection with the army. This I accordinglydid. I took the Manse at Northden, in Yorkshire, managed to persuadepeople to call me and address me as Squire instead of Major Carrington,dropped the latter title altogether, and as my friends died or were lostsight of, I found as years went by that my connection with the IndianArmy or any other army was unknown, or, at any rate, forgotten. The nameCarrington I knew was no rare one, and I accordingly hoped that Ishould never be recognised as the Major Carrington who had visited theMadras opium den, and fallen a victim to the charms of the queen of theThugs.
"Eight years passed after the receipt of the letter from India; then oneday I caught sight of a paragraph in the agony column of the_Telegraph_, which caused me to shudder and dream of all manner ofhorrible things for months. The paragraph consisted only of a couple ofwords, and, I found, it had appeared for a week in every London paper.
"This was it--'Carrington, remember!'
"For fear of revealing my identity I took no steps to inquire at theoffices of the newspapers whence the instructions for the insertion ofthe message had come. I should probably have done myself no good bymaking such inquiries.
"I knew well what those harmless-looking words meant. Sixteen years hadpassed since I had found the parchment in the deserted roadway. Onlynine remained.
"From that day forward I have had no real peace of mind. Perhaps I haveappeared harsh to you, my boy. Have I not had cause enough to make meirritable? I have made a point of never mentioning your mother to you,for several reasons. In the first place, it would be most painful forme to do so. In the second, you might have discovered that Miss EdithRawson (had I told you your mother's maiden name) had married a MajorCarrington. An explanation would then have been necessary, and I had nowish to burden you with the secret which has ruined my life.
"The third message from across the seas reached me a few months ago, andwas the cause of all the precautions I adopted. It was, as before, aparagraph in the agony column of the leading London newspapers, andran--'Carrington, the bhuttote (strangler) left Madras to-day.'
"Possibly, those who had heard the queer name were puzzled by themessage. You will understand how plain it was to me. It meant that mydoom was sealed; that from that day forward I was in the position of ahunted criminal--to be hunted down by a more tireless, more terriblesleuth-hound than any that Scotland Yard possesses.
"The rest you know, or most of it. How the son of 'Lilla' found me out Icannot say. As I have stated, the marvellous powers possessed by theseThugs are terrible, beyond the realisation of the ordinary European.That he has done so you know. Now you know, too, why I would tell younothing about my secret, why I would not assist you in yourinvestigations, why I would not allow a detective to enter my house.What good would a hundred detectives do when this creature is sodetermined to slay me at any cost? The attack on the moor is known toyou. It is but a few hours since that happened. I am writing these wordsin the full anticipation of their being perused by you, my son, within afew days, though I have requested that this book shall not be openeduntil after my death. Thank God, I have never been coward enough to takemy life, and lay you open to the attack of the avenger. If you have everwondered whether my secret in any respect concerned your dear mother oryour birth, set your mind at rest, and do not despise
"YOUR LOVING FATHER."
The House of Strange Secrets: A Detective Story Page 30
