CHAPTER XXVICAPTAIN MARVEN'S SURPRISE PACKET
When in response to the official summons Captain Marven returned to town he was more perturbed than he would have cared to confess, at the disastrous ending to Meriel's love affair. The intimacy of everyday life had only confirmed the favourable impression Guy had produced upon him, and he had looked forward with pleasure to welcoming him as a member of his family. But altogether apart from the question of his own gratification, he was deeply pained that a cloud should have cast its shadow on the girl's happiness, and he be able to do nothing to dissipate it. He was in that condition of mind when trifles are apt to irritate the best conditioned of men, and he was consequently as nearly discourteous as it was possible for him to be when Mr. Hildebrand Flurscheim thrust himself into the same compartment of the railway train. As a travelling companion Flurscheim was the last person in the world he would have chosen, and he strove to ignore his presence by burying himself in a newspaper.
But Flurscheim was not accustomed to be ignored. He took no notice of Marven's coolness, but chattered away incessantly, and at last he succeeded in capturing the Captain's attention.
"There seems to have been some trouble between the young people," he had remarked.
"Really, I cannot conceive that if there is it can beany business of yours, Mr. Flurscheim," replied Marven frigidly.
The Jew had taken no notice of the snub.
"I'm not so sure of that," he had answered. "I am not so sure but that I may not be successful in putting matters straight between them."
"What on earth are you driving at?" asked the Captain.
Flurscheim smiled. "It's not a matter I can talk about," he answered, "without the permission of others, but I've seen how interested you are in Mr. Guy Hora, and I've put my own construction on your looking a bit down in the mouth this morning. I hope you'll excuse me speaking straight what's in my mind, and if I'm mistaken, I apologise for my interference. That's my impression, anyway," he continued, as Captain Marven did not reply, "so I thought that I would tell you that I think I know what is troubling Mr. Hora, and that I also think it is in my power to clear up the trouble. Of course, I may be mistaken, but I hope I am not, for I owe your young friend a debt I can never hope fully to repay."
He spoke so earnestly that Marven's reserve and irritation melted away, and the two men parted at the London terminus on the best of terms with each other.
But although Marven had not learned anything as to the nature of Flurscheim's intended action he felt easier in his mind, for he realised that the Jew was very much in earnest, and he drove off to his town house to make his preparations for his anticipated journey with a far lighter heart than he had possessed when leaving Whitsea.
These preparations were soon completed, and he was sitting down to a hastily prepared luncheon when Lynton Hora had knocked at his door. Hora had not anticipated finding Captain Marven in town, but had merely called in order to ascertain with certainty where the letter he had written would find him. Then finding that Marven was in the house, he had left the packet with instructions that it was to be immediately delivered.
The package Hora had left was a bulky one. Marven merely glanced at it when the servant brought it to him. Not until he had finished lunch did he cut the string. When the wrapper was unfolded and he had shaken out the contents his face paled, and he gasped for breath. There seemed but little reason for his agitation; the parcel contained nothing but a child's pinafore and a letter. Yet the sight of the pinafore was quite sufficient to blur his vision and set his hands shaking. He recognised it. He knew it instantly, without the necessity for turning to the corner where the letters G. M. were embroidered by his wife's own hand. He sprang to his feet and rang the bell violently.
"Where is the man who brought this parcel?" he demanded directly the servant who had waited on him made her appearance. His anxiety was so great that the woman was terrified, and some minutes elapsed before he could obtain from her a connected account of Hora's call. She seemed to think she must have been in some way to blame for receiving the package. Marven succeeded ultimately in reassuring her, and sent her out hastily to see if the messenger still lingered in theneighbourhood. He followed to the door and was grievously disappointed when she declared that he was nowhere to be seen. Bethinking himself of the unopened letter he returned to the room where he had left it. The envelope was similar to many which had reached him previously, on the anniversary of his child's disappearance, but when he opened it he saw that it contained much more than the three-lined typed message telling him that his child was alive. There were many sheets of note paper covered in a bold handwriting which seemed familiar to him. His hand shook more than ever as he smoothed out the sheets, and his eyes grew dim again. Was his son at last to be restored to him? He laid down the letter deliberately, and not until he had succeeded in mastering his emotion did he attempt to make himself acquainted with the contents. The opening sentence made his heart leap with joy. The epistle opened baldly, without any of the customary methods of address.
"The time has arrived when I am compelled to restore your son to you. I hope you will be proud of him. He is known to the world as Guy Hora."
Then his instinct had been right. Guy was his son. He wanted to read no more. That was quite enough. He would hasten to make himself known to his son. He rang the bell and ordered the servant to summon a cab immediately. He would send a wire to his wife informing her of the good news. He picked up the pinafore, folded it carefully and placed it in his pocket. The letter he could read on his way to Guy's chambers. But first he would see if his correspondent revealed himself. He turned to the last page. Yes, there was a signature, "Hartley Ruthven, now known as Lynton Hora."
He remembered his brother officer and unsuccessfulrival perfectly. He had thought, like all the rest of the world, Ruthven had been dead years since. The reason for his child's disappearance ceased to be a mystery any longer. Yet why should Ruthven now desire to return to life? A sudden dread seized upon Marven as he remembered his old comrade's cold, revengeful nature, the nature which had been the real reason for his unpopularity in the regiment, instead of the possession of narrow means, to which Hora had always ascribed it. Perhaps this letter was only a part of Ruthven's revenge upon the successful rival. Perhaps he had better read it to the end before starting in search of Guy. He passed through the entire gamut of the emotions before he had come to the end of the epistle. Hora had deliberately set himself to describe Guy's history in plain, matter-of-fact terms. He gave details of the manner of the kidnapping of the child and particulars concerning him which left no doubt that he was writing the truth. Then he went on to relate how from the first he had trained Guy to a criminal career. Captain Marven's heart was eaten out with rage, and he swore to himself that the sun should not set before he exacted a reckoning from his enemy.
Hora wrote of Guy's university career, and as he read Marven's heart expanded again with joy. His boy had apparently been uninjured by his earlier education. He thanked God for that. Then came two pages in which Hora related the episodes of the Flurscheim robbery and of the despoiling of himself of the despatches entrusted to him. "The latter was an unpremeditated link in my chain of revenge," wrote Hora. "Fortune does not always favour the virtuous." The paper became blank toMarven's eyes. The servant who came to announce that the cab was waiting at the door had to speak twice before she could make her master comprehend.
The cabman must wait until he had finished the letter. He read on.
"You will naturally ask why I am telling these facts now. I have two reasons. Fortune has deserted me at last. I had intended to reveal Guy's parentage when he stood in the dock so deeply stained with crime that part of the odium he incurred would necessarily fall upon you. More recently I determined that I would refrain from putting that coping stone on the edifice of my revenge. Not out of any misplaced tenderness for you. Do not think that. My reason was a purely selfish one. My adopted son had somehow endeared himself to me. I foresaw in him an ornament to my own profession. I became sentimental and so, foolish. I thought he should always remain my son. I forgot that he had your blood in his veins and I let him fall under your influence. I forgot too that a girl can shatter the most complete philosophy with a glance of her eyes. The young fool has fallen in love with Meriel Challys, and the consequence is that he has got into his head a ridiculous idea that he must deliver himself up to justice in order to make amends for his legitimate spoiling of the Egyptians, Flurscheim and yourself. He is proposing to do so within the next forty-eight hours, so you may have time to prevent his voluntary martyrdom—a martyrdom he will certainly regret, judging from my own experience. Do not think, however, that I am only animated by Guy's interests. I am still keenly alive to my own safety. I have had quite enough of prisonlife, and am well prepared with means of escape, though I do not desire to end my existence just yet. Of course, if you care to sacrifice your son in order that I shall not escape, that is your affair. Guy knows nothing of his parentage, though I have taken steps to inform him of it should you fail to do so. I shall not leave him entirely in your hands."
Captain Marven laid the letter down, and, dropping his face in his hands, he groaned aloud. His heart was sick with anguish. His long lost son was returned to him, but in what guise? By training, by profession, he was a thief. Guy Marven, his son, a thief! The horror of it was almost too great to be borne! It was the bitterest blow of his life, far more bitter even than the blow which had fallen when his baby boy had been stolen from him. If Lynton Hora could have watched the effect produced by his communication, even his thirst for revenge would have been satisfied. But more bitter even than the knowledge of what his son had become was the realisation of the burden of duty which the revelation thrust upon him. As he realised his duty in the matter, Captain Marven's face was grey with anguish. He had found his son only to lose him again—to lose him amongst the yellow-garbed denizens of the convict prison. More, it was he who must, with his own hand, send him to that outer darkness. God grant that his son would be a man! God grant it! That was Captain Marven's earnest prayer.
Then his wife and Meriel? What if they were to learn of Guy's relationship. Captain Marven could only dimly conceive the effect upon them.
The servant came again to announce that the cab was awaiting him. Marven rose, but it was as a man tenyears older than the one who had opened Hora's letter ten minutes before. His face was lined, and his hand tremulous, but his lips were set firmly. He saw his duty plainly before him. There was only one path he could tread, even though every step on that path gave him a fresh pang. But he must see Guy first, before he took that step.
He entered the cab and was driven to the Albany. He was more master of himself by the time he arrived. He wondered what he should do if Guy should be absent from home, for the time at his command was short. Within an hour he was due at the Foreign Office.
Guy opened the door, and started with amazement at sight of his visitor's face.
"Captain Marven!" he exclaimed. Then a great fear took possession of him. "Meriel?" he gasped.
Marven grasped the intention of the query.
"Meriel was all right when I left her this morning," he replied.
Guy's relief was obvious. "Are you ill? Is anything the matter?" he asked, as he closed the door behind the Captain, and followed him into his sitting-room.
Marven was at a loss for words. Hora's letter was in his hand. He held it out to Guy, and said huskily, "Read this."
"But——" interrupted Guy.
"No, read this," repeated Marven.
Guy took the letter. He recognised the handwriting, and he wondered. His wonder gave place to amazement as he read. Amazement was succeeded by horror, and, when he had finished reading, the paper dropped from his hands, and he turned his face away from the manwho had brought it, in a vain endeavour to conceal his emotion. He was hardly aware that a hand was laid on his arm, until a voice, tremulous with emotion, said, "Guy, my son."
He disdained concealment then. He wheeled round and clutched blindly at the two hands outstretched to meet his own.
"Father, forgive! forgive!" he muttered brokenly.