CHAPTER XXXIX
CONTAINS THE CONCLUSION
After long consultation--Krail having been removed in custody back tothe village--it was agreed that the only charges that could besubstantiated against Flockart were those of complicity in the ingeniousattempt upon Hamilton's life by which poor Miss Bryant had beensacrificed, and also in the theft of Sir Henry's papers.
But was it worth while?
At the Baronet's suggestion, he was allowed freedom to leave theupstairs room where he had been detained by the three stalwart servants;and, without waiting to speak to any one, he had made his way down thedrive. He had, as was afterwards found, left Auchterarder Station forLondon an hour later.
The painful impression produced upon everybody by Sir Henry's statementof what had actually occurred on the night of the great meeting at theAlbert Hall having somewhat subsided, Murie mentioned to the blind manthe legend of the Whispers, and also the curious discovery whichGabrielle and he had made earlier in the morning.
"Ah," laughed the old gentleman a trifle uneasily, "and so you'vediscovered the truth at last, eh?"
"The truth--no!" Murie said. "That is just what we are so very anxiousto hear from you, Sir Henry."
"Well," he said, "you may rest your minds perfectly content that there'snothing supernatural about them. It was to my own advantage to causeweird reports and uncanny legends to be spread in order to preserve mysecret, the secret of the Whispers."
"But what is the secret, Sir Henry?" asked Hamilton eagerly. "We,curiously enough, have similar Whispers at Hetzendorf. I've heard themmyself at the old chateau."
"And of course you have believed in the story which my good friend theBaron has caused to be spread, like myself: the legend that those whohear them die quickly and suddenly," said the old man, with a smile uponhis grey face. "Like myself, he wished to keep away all inquisitivepersons from the spot."
"But why?" asked Murie.
"Well, truth to tell, the reason is very simple," he answered. "As weare speaking here in the strictest privacy, I will tell you somethingwhich I beg that neither of you will repeat. If you do it might resultin my ruin."
Murie, Hamilton, and Gabrielle all gave their promise.
"Then it is this," he said. "I am head of a group of the leadingfinancial houses in Europe, who, remaining secret, are carrying onbusiness in the guise of an unimportant house in Paris. The members ofthe syndicate are all of them men of enormous financial strength,including Baron de Hetzendorf, to whom our friend Hamilton here acts asconfidential secretary. The strictest secrecy is necessary for thesuccess of our great undertakings, which I may add are perfectly honestand legitimate. Yet never, unless absolutely imperative, do we entrustdocuments or letters to the post. Like the house of Rothschild, we haveour confidential messengers, and hold frequent meetings, no 'deal' beingundertaken without we are all of us in full accord. Monsieur Goslin actsas confidential messenger, and brings me the views of my partners inParis, Petersburg, and Vienna. To this careful concealment of our plans,or of the fact that we are ever in touch with one another, is due thehuge successes we have made from time to time--successes which havestaggered the Bourses of the Continent and caused amazement in WallStreet. But being unfortunately afflicted as I am, I naturally cannottravel to meet the others, and, besides, we are compelled always to takefresh and most elaborate precautions in order to conceal the fact thatwe are in connection with each other. If that one fact ever leaked outit would at once stultify our endeavours and weaken our position. Hence,at intervals, two or even three of my partners travel here, and I meetthem at night in the little chamber which you, Walter, discoveredto-day, and which until the present has never been found, owing to theweird fables I have invented regarding the Whispers. To Hetzendorf, too,once or twice a year, perhaps, the members pay a secret visit in orderto consult the Baron, who, as you perhaps may know, unfortunately enjoysvery precarious health."
"Then meetings of Frohnmeyer, Volkonski, and the rest were held here insecret sometimes?" echoed Hamilton in surprise.
"On certain occasions, when it is absolutely necessary that I shouldmeet them," answered Sir Henry. "They stay at the Station Hotel inPerth, coming over to Auchterarder by the last train at night andleaving by the first train in the morning from Crieff Junction. Theynever approach the house, for fear that servants or one or other of theguests may recognise them, but go separately along the glen and up thepath to the ruins. When we thus meet, our voices can be heard throughthe crack in the roof of the chamber in the courtyard above. On suchoccasions I take good care that Stewart and his men are sent on a falsealarm of poachers to another part of the estate, while I can find my waythere myself with my stick," he laughed. "The Baron, I believe, acts onthe same principle at his chateau in Hungary."
"Well," declared Hamilton, "so well has the Baron kept the secret that Ihave never had any suspicion until this moment. By Jove! the inventionof the Whispers was certainly a clever mode of preserving the secret,for nobody cares deliberately to court disaster and death, especiallyamong a superstitious populace like the villagers here and the Hungarianpeasantry."
Both Gabrielle and her lover expressed their astonishment, the latterremarking how cleverly the weird legend of the Whispers invented by SirHenry had been made to fit historical fact.
* * * * *
When the eight o'clock train from Stirling stopped at AuchterarderStation that evening, a tall, well-dressed man alighted, and inquiredhis way to the police-station. The porter knew by his accent that he wasa Londoner, but did not dream that he was "a gentleman from ScotlandYard."
Half an hour later, after a chat with the rural inspector, the pair wentalong to the cell behind the small village police-station in order thatthe stranger should read over to the prisoner the warrant he had broughtwith him from London--the application of the French police for thearrest and extradition of Felix Gerlach, _alias_ Krail, _alias_ Benoist,for the wilful murder of Edna Mary Bryant in the Forest of Pontarme,near Chantilly.
The inspector had related to the London detective the dramatic scene upat Glencardine that day, and the officer of the Criminal InvestigationDepartment walked along to the cell much interested to see what mannerof man was this, who was even more bold and ingenious in his criminalmethods than many with whom his profession brought him daily intocontact. He had hoped that he himself would have the credit of makingthe arrest, but found that the man wanted had already been apprehendedon the charge of burglary at Glencardine.
The inspector unlocked the door and threw it open, but next instant thestartling truth became plain.
Felix Krail lay dead upon the flagstones. He had taken his life bypoison--probably the same poison he had placed in the wine at the fatalpicnic--rather than face his accuser and bear his just punishment.
* * * * *
Many months have now passed. A good deal has occurred since thatnever-to-be-forgotten day, but it is all quickly related.
James Flockart, unmasked as he has been, never dared to return. The lastheard of him was six months ago, in Honduras, where for the first timein his life he had been compelled to work for his living, and had, threeweeks after landing, succumbed to fever.
At Sir Henry's urgent request, his wife came back to Glencardine a weekafter the tragic end of Gerlach, and was compelled to make fullconfession how, under the man's sinister influence, both she andFlockart had been forced to act. To her husband she proved beyond alldoubt that she had been in complete ignorance of the truth concerningthe affair in the Pontarme Forest until long afterwards. She had atfirst believed Gabrielle guilty of the deed, but when she learned thetruth and saw how deeply she had been implicated it was impossible forher then to withdraw.
With a whole-hearted generosity seldom found in men, Sir Henry, afterlong reflection and a desperate struggle with himself, forgave her, andnow has the satisfaction of knowing that she prefers quiet, healthfulGlencardine to the social gaieties of Park Street, Paris,
or San Remo,while she and Gabrielle have lately become devoted to each other.
The secret syndicate, with Sir Henry Heyburn at its head, stilloperates, for no word of its existence has leaked out to eitherfinancial circles or to the public, while the Whispers of Glencardineare still believed in and dreaded by the whole countryside across theOchils.
Edgar Hamilton, though compelled to return to the Baron, whose righthand he is, often travels to Glencardine with confidential messages, anddocuments for signature, and is, of course, an ever-welcome guest.
The unpretentious house of Lenard et Morellet of Paris now and theneffects deals so enormous that financial circles are staggered, and theworld stands amazed. The true facts of who is actually behind thatapparently unimportant firm are, however, still rigorously andingeniously concealed.
Who would ever dream that that quiet, grey-faced man with the sightlesseyes, living far away up in Scotland, passing his hours of darkness withhis old bronze seals or his knitting, was the brain which directed theirmarvellously successful operations!
The Laird of Connachan died quite suddenly about seven months ago, andWalter Murie succeeded to the noble estate. Gabrielle--sweet, almostchild-like in her simple tastes and delightful charm, and more devotedto Walter than ever--is now little Lady Murie, having been married inEdinburgh a month ago.
At the moment that I pen these final lines the pair are spending ablissful honeymoon at the great old chateau of Hetzendorf, high up abovethe broad-flowing Danube, the Baron having kindly vacated the place andput it at their disposal for the summer. Happy in each other's love andmutual trust, they spend the long blissful days in company, wanderingoften hand in hand, for when Walter looks into those wonderful eyes ofhers he sees mirrored there a perfect and abiding affection such as isindeed given few men to possess.
Together they have in secret explored the ruins of the ancientstronghold, and, by directions given them by the Baron, have found therea stone chamber by no means dissimilar to that at Glencardine.
Meanwhile, Sir Henry Heyburn, impatient for his beloved daughter to beagain near him and to assist him, passes his weary hours with hisfavourite hobby; his wife, full of sympathy, bearing him company. Fromher, however, he still withholds one secret, and one only--the Secret ofthe House of Whispers.
The House of Whispers Page 39
