There was nothing to be done.
The possibility of recovering the Indian's body from the Wizard's Marsh was a remote one, and, even were it done, what would the advantage of such a recovery be? Christian burial would be denied to such a creature, and with good reason.
It was with a certain feeling of satisfaction, combined with horror at the nature of the Thug's end, that Laurence rode slowly home on his bicycle, accompanied by Nichols, mounted on the mare.
On their way they passed a woman, who was commencing the long trudge across the moor in somewhat tattered attire, and with a ponderous bundle on her shoulders.
Something in her figure being familiar to Laurence, he scrutinised her features as she tramped past.
"She" was the person who had taken refuge in the tree from the bloodhounds who were pursuing the fugitive Thug—the convict servant, Horncastle, from Durley Dene! What did it mean? Where was he going?
Laurence had not to wait long for an answer to these questions.
He took leave of Nichols, and entered the dining-room on arriving home.
Lena was not present, but the young man was surprised to find Mrs. Knox still engaged in breaking her fast. The final events in the unravelling of the mystery surrounding the Squire's enemy had not covered a very great space of time.
"Young man," said the worthy old lady, "I would have a word with you." And she tried to look extremely severe.
"Certainly, Mrs. Knox. I hope it is something pleasant."
"Well, that remains to be seen. What I want to know is this: are you interested in my niece?"
"Really, now you come to mention it, I believe I am."
"More than interested?" the lady pursued, stretching out her hand for the marmalade jar.
"Perhaps. Why?"
"Well, I was wondering whether you knew she was already engaged?"
"Engaged! Lena engaged! Impossible! She has—er—practically engaged herself to me, Mrs. Knox."
"Precisely. That is the engagement to which Irefer! I merely desired to ascertain whether your intentions were entirely honest."
"I assure you, Mrs. Knox——"
"Quite so, Mr. Carrington; I understand. I have mentioned the matter to your papa, who leaves it entirely in my hands."
"Really! But don't you think Miss Scott and I are the first persons to be considered?"
"That, my dear boy, is a matter for you to decide between yourselves. Lena is in the drawing-room. Perhaps you would like to exchange a few words. I will not intrude just yet. As a matter of fact, I have only just begun my breakfast. I have been ailing lately. My appetite is not what it was, but there are one or two things your dear housekeeper has provided to-day which have tempted me to eat."
Laurence withdrew, leaving Mrs. Knox to congratulate herself on being an excellent match-maker. He entered the drawing-room, but was disappointed to find the room empty.
He hurried upstairs to the Squire's bedroom, where he was surprised to see Lena, who had been reading to the old gentleman.
"Father," he cried, "you are safe! He is drowned in the Wizard's Marsh!"
The Squire darted up in bed.
"Do you mean it? Is this true? How do youknow?" he shrieked, clutching his son's arm, and staring into his face with eyes almost starting from their sockets.
"We traced him there. He was chased by the Marquis's bloodhounds. And this—this was found on the brink of the swamp. In trying to escape the hounds he plunged into the marsh, and, followed by them, has gone down into its unfathomable depths."
And he produced the dead man's "noose."
"Then I am safe!" yelled Squire Carrington.
Laurence had barely time to assure him that such was the case when the door opened and Kingsford appeared.
"A gentleman to see you," he informed the Squire mysteriously.
"Show him in; show him in," replied the old gentleman, to Kingsford's unbounded astonishment. Once he knew that the grim shadow of dread and death no longer enshrouded him, the Squire was something like he had been five-and-twenty years before—the dashing Indian officer, striving his hardest for promotion, so that he might claim for his bride the woman who had now been dead long years.
"Show him in," he said, almost hysterically, wriggling about in his bed until the pains in his neck compelled him to desist.
Kingsford departed, only to return in a couple of minutes, throw open the door, and announce in strident tones a name that caused the three occupants of the room to stare with unbounded astonishment in the direction of the doorway.
"Sir Bromley Lestrange," he said.
And, with light tread, there stepped into the room—"Doctor Orlando Meadows," alias "Major Jones-Farnell!"
At the sight of the master of Durley Dene, Squire Carrington seemed dumfounded. At first he looked as though he fancied the new-comer would suddenly vanish into air.
"Good-afternoon, Major Carrington," remarked the visitor, with the utmost coolness; "you seem surprised to see me."
"Good heavens, Lestrange, I thought you were dead!"
"So did the whole world, and does now," responded the owner of the Dene.
So saying, he walked up to the bedside, and shook hands heartily with the Squire.
"Who'd have thought we should have met under these circumstances?" observed Sir Bromley.
"Ay, sir, in the hour of my joy. You are very welcome."
"Then he is dead? I congratulate you, Carrington, from the bottom of my heart."
He turned to Lena and bowed, shook hands withLaurence, then took a seat by his old friend's bedside.
"Lestrange," said Mr. Carrington, "you look younger than you did twenty-five years ago."
"And I feel it now, though I didn't when these young people were trying to corner me, connecting me for some reason or other with these attempts on your life. So the—you know—is dead?"
And, without hesitation, the Squire, prompted where necessary by Lena and Laurence, commenced to relate the whole story of his career since he had left India, never stopping until he was able to announce that his merciless enemy was dead.
Laurence and the girl had heard the whole story before, except that part of it concerning the second attempt to murder the old gentleman. It appeared that the Squire was undressing on the eventful night, when, turning by chance, he saw the wall suddenly open and a terrible apparition enter. Then he fainted, and knew no more until he found Mrs. Featherston bending over him two days later. This announcement proved that, as Laurence and Lestrange believed, the secret passage under the barn led from Durley Dene into the Squire's bedroom.
Afterwards they explored the passage, and further proved that such was the case.
The Squire's narrative concluded, Sir Bromley turned to the two young people, and with a smile informed them that the moment had now come when he could reveal his secret.
By this time, though, the Squire was quite tired out by his exertions, and, as he had but little interest in the secrets of Durley Dene, the party withdrew, Sir Bromley bidding his old friend a hearty "au revoir," and expressing a hope that he might see the Squire again ere long.
Once seated in the drawing-room, he seemed unwilling to relate the promised story, but, with a little persuasion from Lena, he gave way, and proceeded with a narrative that entirely cleared up the mysteries of the little Yorkshire village and its two largest houses.
"I am by no means sure, even now," he began, "whether I am doing right in divulging for your benefit the secret which I have been at such pains to keep unrevealed, and which you have tried so hard to unravel. At any rate, I have promised to tell you the whole story, and I am going to do so. But I must ask you to let it go no farther—never to refer to it even in conversation between yourselves. You promise? That is right. Then the Princess H—— need have no fear——"
"The Princess H——!" exclaimed Lena.
"The Princess H——" repeated the gentleman slowly; "and, if you will forgive me for saying so, I shall be unable to tell my story if I have any interruptions, as I have much to do to-day.
"Well, as I say, my name is Bromley Lestrange, and further, I am, as you may see for yourselves, very far from being dead.
"To explain things intelligibly, I must go back five-and-twenty years. At that remote period, as your father, Laurence, has told you in the excellent synopsis of his career, I was commanding the 'Red Herrings' (as the old regiment was then nicknamed) at Madras. I was young for my post, but then I had good influence with the authorities. In passing, I may say that my looks are not a good indication of my age, which is—but what matter?
"As you know, I was able to assist Major Carrington in the unhappy affair connected with the Thug opium den. It was I, as you know, who first caused him to realise that the enmity of the Thugs was not to be thought lightly of. I had heard strange tales of the hideous vengeances of these human fiends. When Carrington left India, I did all that was in my power to learn the whereabouts of the girl Lilla, but failed. However, her death was reported soon after the Squire's return to England, and I hastened to acquaint my old friendwith the news. Then, as things do, the matter passed from my mind, and, except very occasionally, was not brought under my notice, until you," turning to Laurence, "told me your name on the occasion of your first visit to the Dene.
"After leaving the army and Madras, which I did soon after Carrington, I connected myself with the Court of the Rajah of Punneoda for a short period, then spent a number of years travelling. After which—it would be about the time Carrington took this house, sixteen or seventeen years ago—I returned to England, where I was able to be of some slight service to the Princess H——, who had then lately married.
"It is necessary for you to know the circumstances of this august lady's marriage. She was forced into a union with the late Prince H—— of R——, though, as the busybodies said, she was pledged to another man—a man without the necessary amount of blue blood in his veins.
"She married Prince H——, who, however, died shortly after, leaving her the mother of an infant prince, who, as you will recollect, would, had he lived, be now, with the exception of two lives, heir-apparent to the British throne. You may also recall the fact that the circumstances of Prince H——'s death, and likewise that of his son, were, to say theleast of it, remarkable. In the first instance, you may take it from me that the prince did not succumb to the illness specified by the two Royal physicians. He was afflicted with a far more terrible complaint than that of apoplexy. When I reach the end of the story you may judge for yourself what it was.
"Concerning the young prince there were also sinister rumours about the time of his birth. Some said he was born blind, others that he was deformed, a few that he had died and another infant been substituted without the mother's knowledge; but all these reports were incorrect, though there was, indeed, something peculiar about the Royal infant. In fact, the child from its birth was blind, deaf, and dumb!
"Very wisely, this terrible state of affairs was withheld from the world, but the difficulties to be overcome to ensure the secret being kept were very great. As you know, the Princess H——, until the death of her child, at the age of four, resided in the country, where she kept up a small establishment, and lived a remarkably quiet life. The papers stated that the Royal child had died of a severe chill, which had caused a relapse of bronchitis—an ailment to which the boy was supposed to be a martyr. The funeral was necessarily a public affair,but it was noticed that remarkably few Royal personages were present. Why?
"Because," and when Sir Bromley said the words, it was in a whisper, "because the funeral was a sham one—because the child was not dead!" He paused, wiped his forehead with his silk handkerchief, then resumed—
"It was at this time that the newspapers were requested by his sorrowing relatives (all of whom were actually deceived) to announce the death of Sir Bromley Lestrange from cholera. 'The deceased gentleman,' it was said, 'had succumbed to the fell disease while spending a short holiday in Shanghai.'
"Two or three weeks later, an elderly merchant, named Goode, bought a small house in the Highlands of Scotland, where he spent a number of years in the most retiring fashion, the only other inmate of the house being apparently his sister. As a matter of fact, there was a comfortably furnished room in the house in which a small child passed its miserable existence, but not a soul in the neighbourhood, beyond the worthy merchant and his sister, knew of the existence of the child. Need I say that Mr. Goode was Sir Bromley Lestrange, Miss Goode a Miss Lestrange, and the child the 'dead son' and heir of the Princess H——?
"Years passed, and the child became more and more unmanageable. There were occasions when he seemed to be possessed of the strength of a Hercules. It required a second man to look after him. A young doctor was heavily paid to live in the house, and Miss Goode disappeared—to reappear in the world of society, after 'travelling on the Continent' for several years, as Miss Lestrange, 'younger sister of the late Sir Bromley Lestrange, Kt.,' theCourt Gazettesmentioned in their 'chit-chat.'
"The young doctor made a discovery when he first examined the child in Mr. Goode's country residence, which, had it been noised abroad, would have explained the mystery of the father's (Prince H——) death.
"The boy was a raving maniac of the most dangerous kind."
"This alarming discovery," proceeded Sir Bromley, "caused an alteration in Mr. Goode's plans.
"The doctor was so horrified at the idea of being compelled to live in the same house with so dangerous a charge that he threw up his remunerative appointment, with a promise of secrecy, leaving Goode to his own devices. This was less than a year ago. The doctor had given his opinion that the child—he was really a boy of sixteen—could not live more than a few months, but the merchant felt his position was not safe, for the young doctor had settled down to practice in the neighbourhood. It was absolutely necessary to leave Scotland, and one day, after nightfall, a special train carried an old gentleman, with a number of large packages, one labelled 'Live dog, with care,' being taken in the carriage to Derby, where sundry moves were made in order to throw a possible pursuer or busybody off the track.
"Shortly after, a Major Jones-Farnell moved intoDurley Dene after carefully arranging matters with a house agent. At Derby, a servant had been engaged by Mr. Goode, and this servant reappeared at Northden with Farnell. He had been discovered by mere chance. His name was Horncastle, and he had escaped from Dartmoor a few months before.
"To alter my story from the third to the first person, I had obtained the very creature I required—a strong man, who would be of real assistance to me in the care of the maniac prince, and one who, instead of being able to hold the threat of exposing my secret over my head, would be unable to breathe a word of it, for fear I in my turn should betray his secret—that he was a convict, wanted by the police.
"Unfortunately, the man soon perceived that I was more in his power than he in mine. My secret was one that I would not risk being revealed in order to punish Horncastle by handing him over to the police for his frequent misbehaviour. He compelled me to pay him good wages, and supply him with unlimited quantities of drink. Fortunately, he was never drunk, in spite of what he took. I say fortunately, for had he ever visited the room in which our prisoner was shut up while intoxicated, the cunning maniac would have certainly effected his escape, with dire results—to me, to the Princess H——, in fact, to Great Britain, for he would haveat once been recognised, since the boy was the very image of his dead father, whose features were well known to all who had ever opened an illustrated magazine, or inspected photographs in the book-sellers' windows.
"The lunatic was as cunning as he was powerful. I need not refer to the terrible cries he was wont to utter, for I believe at least one of you heard a specimen of his heart-breaking screams. At last it became necessary to drive him into a corner whenever the door of his cell was opened. Accordingly I sent Horncastle out one day for a whip, with which we were able to frighten him off when he attacked us. By the way, I presume I need not explain why the convict disguised himself as a woman. You will have already guessed as much.
"You will know, too, why you were not allowed to expose what you have so fancifully described as the 'House of Strange Secrets.' I think that is all.
"My patient was released from his sufferings last night. He was first taken dangerously ill when you visited me for the second time. He was buried by me at midnight. I have informed the unhappy Princess H—— of the fact, and expect to hear soon from her, and know whether all I have done has been satisfactory. It seems strange to have to bury aRoyal child in unconsecrated ground, but what else could I do?
"My duty to my country, for I consider it amounts to that, is accomplished. To-morrow Major Jones-Farnell and likewise Doctor Orlando Meadows will cease to exist, and the world will shortly learn that, by a strange series of circumstances, Sir Bromley Lestrange has returned from the grave. It will appear that he did not die of cholera, but while very unwell was kidnapped by Chinese pirates, by whom he was kept a prisoner for over a dozen years. He recently escaped, after hair-raising adventures, and returns to tell one of the strangest stories it is possible to imagine!
"What about Horncastle, do you say? Oh, I settled that gentleman very easily. Directly after the death of my charge I paid him a month's salary, and despatched him promptly, in his female disguise. He daren't betray my secret. If he did, who would believe him—a criminal and a convict of the worst type? Besides, he could never find the boy's grave. And I know he would not, even in revenge for his dismissal, sacrifice his liberty for some five or six years. No; I don't think we shall hear much more of Mr. Horncastle.
"Now, Miss Scott, I must bid you farewell for the present. If in my new capacity I shall be sofortunate as to receive an opportunity of renewing our slight acquaintance, we must meet as strangers. You must never have met Sir Bromley Lestrange before. And the same applies to you, Carrington; is it not so?
"Well, I see that, now you have got all you want out of me, I am one too many. No? Ah, you are too polite to say so, but I was young once, and——To-morrow you will find the Dene uninhabited, the furniture it contains being left as a present to the next tenant. If you care for any little memento, you are at liberty to adopt Horncastle's profession for the nonce—you will find the door unlocked, and the old house is no longer a hiding-place for secrets and bogies. Well, good-bye. I think I have earned my rest."
He rose, and the young couple accompanied him to the door, where they took a cordial leave of him.
Returning to the drawing-room, Laurence informed his fair companion of the remarks made by Mrs. Knox.
"She said that we were to settle the matter ourselves," he added; "and now, dear, that the mystery is solved, you have no excuse for withholding your answer. What is it to be—Lena?" He paused, from nervousness, then proceeded, when the girl hung her head and made no reply: "Youknow your aunt would be very disappointed if you didn't accept her choice of a husband!"
"Auntie wouldn't care in the least," replied Lena, laughing lightly. "You won't be angry, will you, if I confess I told her to say what she did?"
"Lena!"
"I thought it would be such a splendid joke to pretend I was already engaged, only auntie didn't keep it up long enough. She's a good old thing, rather dense, but good nature itself. I can twist her round my little finger."
"That's not the question," replied Laurence, seizing the opportunity—and her hand; "what I want to know is if I may twist something else—not Mrs. Knox—round one of your little fingers. May I?"
Lena's reply was not a verbal one, but it was quite as expressive as any words could have been!