The Mystery of Lincoln's Inn Part 53

"Yes; your movements yesterday were observed."

"I see," said Silwood, thoughtfully. Then he added, "Well, it does not signify now--nothing signifies any more to me!"

Silwood p.r.o.nounced these words in a firm voice, though strongly tinged with regret. Gilbert stood by in silence, many feelings working within him.

"Nothing matters any more to me personally," continued Silwood; "but there are others of whom I must think, for they are dear to me. It was because of them, it was for their sakes, that I sent you the telegram. I asked the doctor to tell me the truth, the whole truth, about my state; and when he told me that I should not last more than two or three days, I had to consider the best course to take. What helped me to make up my mind was the certainty you had made some discovery--otherwise, I reasoned, you would not have been in St. Paul yesterday. Had this accident not occurred, and if I had been alone, I should have succeeded in baffling you; even hampered by my wife and the boy, I believe I could have managed to escape pursuit. But now I am dying, and my wife and child would soon have been hunted down when left to themselves.

Therefore I resolved to ask you to come to me."

Silwood paused, his breath coming a little more quickly than before.

"But why?" asked Gilbert.

"I wished to make a bargain with you."

"To make a bargain!"

"Yes. I thought of offering to tell you the whole truth if you would consent to make provision for my wife and child. She is an uneducated woman, and the boy is a cripple. They are two helpless creatures, and they are absolutely innocent; they do not even know my real name. They believe I am----"

"James Russell!"

"Yes! You know that! That is what I thought, else you would not have been in St. Paul. Will you consent to make some provision for them, if I declare everything without concealment or reserve? I do not know how much you do know?" he added inquiringly.

"I know a good deal, but not all. I know you did not lose the money on the Stock Exchange, as you told my father, but that you--appropriated it to your own use, and still have it, I imagine. Is it not so?"

"Yes. That money shall be restored to you in trust for your father and the firm, if you will accede to my suggestion about my wife and child.

What more do you know?"

"I know you led a double life, and that you entered into a conspiracy with Ucelli, the Syndic of Camajore. But I do not know what pa.s.sed between you and Morris Thornton the night he died."

"I will tell you the whole story," said Silwood, "if you will agree to see my wife and child suitably provided for."

"And if I refuse?"

"Refuse! You will not refuse. Consider! In forty-eight or fifty hours I shall be dead. Nothing can alter that. I shall be where the hand of the law cannot touch me. What can you do against a dead man? Personal vengeance on me is impossible. On the other hand, if you will do what I wish, then I will tell you where the money is, so that you will have no difficulty in obtaining it. You have much to gain and nothing to lose by falling in with my desire."

"But I shall be able to get at the money in any case."

"No, that you never shall unless you get my help."

Gilbert thought for a while. The coolness of Silwood's proposition startled him; yet there was much to recommend it.

"Let me consider for a few moments what you have said," he remarked to Silwood; "and I will tell you my decision."

CHAPTER x.x.xVII

Beckoning to Hankey, the detective, to follow him, Gilbert went from the hospital tent into the open air to consider quietly what he should do.

He was not sorry to get out of the atmosphere of the tent, which reeked with iodoform; where also the sight of so many poor stricken and agonized wretches harrowed his feelings.

Just outside the tent, he encountered the doctor who had conducted him to the bedside of Cooper Silwood, _alias_ James Russell.

"Did you find him quite sensible, as I said?" asked the doctor.

"Extraordinarily so," replied Gilbert, "His mind is perfectly clear, even his voice shows no weakness. One would scarcely think he is dying."

"And yet nothing can save him. For two or three hours longer he will remain in much the same condition; thereafter a state of collapse must supervene, which will end in death--during that period he will become unconscious, and remain so to the last."

"Of course, you must know," said Gilbert; "but from the strong, firm voice he speaks in, one would imagine he is not in this desperate case."

"It is so, however. The princ.i.p.al mischief is internal, and does not admit of cure."

Then the doctor hurried into the tent. What he had said had given fresh point to those words of Silwood's--"You can do nothing against a dead man. Personal vengeance upon me is impossible." The hand of Heaven, Gilbert reflected, already lay heavy on the man.

Then he debated the offer made by Silwood. From the first he had inclined to accept it. What he had witnessed of the calamity had softened his heart; and to find Silwood cared for his wife and child in the way he evidently did, was a discovery of a side, entirely unsuspected, of this man's nature, which somehow appealed to Gilbert.

These were sentimental influences, but became powerful reasons when added to the practical argument, the immediate recovery of the stolen money. Gilbert did not altogether believe that the money, or a large part of it, at any rate, could not be recovered without Silwood's help, but it might be a long and tedious business, involving, likely enough, considerable litigation, expense, and delay. Then there was the secret of Morris Thornton's death to be cleared up--a thing which Silwood alone could do.

Gilbert quickly made up his mind that the best policy was to accept Silwood's offer. Rapidly outlining the main facts to Hankey, who listened with an ever-increasing wonder, Gilbert desired him to accompany him into the tent to act as witness to the statement of Silwood.

"Well?" asked Silwood, as Gilbert bent over him.

"I agree. You will hold nothing back?"

"I am glad, for the sake of my wife and our child," said Silwood. "No, nothing shall be held back. But who is this man?" he asked, his eyes glancing at Hankey.

"I asked him to come as a witness."

"Very well; he'll be a witness to what you promise for my wife and child, as well as of what I tell you. So be it. What do you promise for them?"

"What do you wish me to promise exactly?"

"That you pay her three pounds a week for life, and that, should she die before the child, you will continue the payment to him for his life."

"Yes, I promise that, contingent----"

"Certainly, you mean contingent on your receiving the money? That is understood. Now, ask one of the doctors to come here?"

One of the doctors was called up.

"Doctor," said Silwood, "will you go and ask my wife, Mrs. James Russell, who is lying in the tent somewhere, to give you the key she has on the ribbon round her neck? Say that I sent you; give her my love, and tell her I am comfortable."

There were tears in Silwood's eyes as he spoke the last words. Seeing them, Gilbert marvelled at the strange intricacies of the human soul, but held his peace.

"Your wife sends her love to you," said the doctor, on his return, "and bids you not fret about her. Here is the key."

"Thank you, doctor. Give the key to this gentleman here," and Silwood with his eyes indicated that it should be given to Gilbert. This done, the doctor retired.