Chapter Thirty The Mystery Solved.

At those dreadful words, spoken in a low, vibrating voice, a shudder ran through the listeners. Sheila laid her head upon her father’s shoulder, and sobbed unrestrainedly. Wingate uttered a cry of horror.

“And whose was the devilish mind that conceived this awful thing, and what was the motive?” he cried, when he had recovered from his stupefaction.

“You will know directly, but it is best I should tell the story in my own way, and in proper sequence. Well, I went to Forest View, to look after Mr Monkton. I may say that Stent never went near him himself, for fear of recognition. I found that he was being treated with drugs, so as to keep him more or less in a state of torpor. When I saw what was being done, I was horrified, and remonstrated. But Stent was always plausible, told me the effect was temporary, and that as soon as he could fix the time for his release, he would give him antidotes that would speedily restore him to his normal state.

“I very shortly conceived the idea of liberating him, but the means were hard to discover. Stent distrusted everybody, and it was only by acceding to all his humours that I was able to worm anything out of him. Half-a-dozen times he permitted me to administer the drug during his absence. It was one of his own preparation—for he was among other things a most skilled chemist. On these occasions I gave your father but a small portion of the dose intended for him. By these means I revived his benumbed faculties, and was able to assure him that I was his friend, and was eagerly seeking the means of restoring him to freedom.

“Then one day, when Stent was in an unusually good temper, he came to me, with that evil smile on his face which I had learned to know and dread. ‘A curious thing is going to happen to-morrow. A man is coming here to stay for a little time. Can you guess what he is coming for?’ Of course, I answered I could not.

”‘He will stay here under an assumed name, but he is rather a great personage in his own world. He will want, if I know him aright, to go to Monkton’s room every day, and gloat over his handiwork.’

“It was imprudent of me, but I could not help blurting out, ‘Yours as well as his.’

“His smile grew more evil as he said, ‘I am afraid you are a little too tender-hearted for this world, my dear. Anyway, I am paid a big price for the job, and you know I never refuse money.’

“I saw my mistake, and pretended to fall in with his mood, and succeeded in winning him back to amiability. I expressed great curiosity to know the real name of the man who, to use his own expression, was coming down ‘to gloat over his handiwork.’ To this day I shall never know what caused him to satisfy it. But at last he told me.”

Sheila and her lover gazed at the pale-faced woman intently. In their eagerness they almost forgot their loathing.

“The instigator of his abduction, the man who hired this fiend to carry out his deadly, malignant revenge, is a man well-known, wealthy, a peer of the realm. I daresay you have heard of him. He is called Lord Wrenwyck.”

Sheila gasped at this astounding revelation. “The husband of the popular Lady Wrenwyck, who in her youth was a celebrated beauty?”

Then she turned to her father, whose pale, worn face cut her to the heart. “But, dearest, what was his motive for such a dastardly deed?”

Monkton spoke in a low voice, but he did not meet his daughter’s eyes. “A fancied wrong, my child. We crossed each other many years ago, and he has brooded over it till he grew half insane, and thought of this scheme of vengeance.”

“But you will have him punished,” cried his daughter loudly. “You must! You cannot mete out to him what he has done to you, but you will deal with him as the law allows you.”

Monkton turned uneasily in his chair. “It is the dearest wish of my heart to bring him low, but, in my position, one cannot afford scandal. In a few weeks I shall be restored to my old place, to my old strength. That there has been a mystery is only known to a few. To the public, Reginald Monkton has recovered from a brief illness induced by overstrain and over-work. It is better so.”

Sheila gazed at him almost wildly. “That is your resolve. But it seems to me folly; forgive me if I question your decision, if I criticise you.”

For a moment the glances of Wingate and Mrs Saxton met, and they read each other’s thoughts. Monkton must let Lord Wrenwyck go unpunished; it would be political death to him to have that old folly brought into public gaze.

He interposed hastily. “Dearest Sheila, your father is right. I understand his reasons perfectly. He is not an ordinary man. If he is to keep his position, he must forgo the revenge to which he is so justly entitled.”

Sheila looked at him with puzzled eyes. Austin was wise beyond his years, but surely he was wrong in this. She pressed her hand to her head, and murmured faintly, “I do not understand. But I suppose it must be as you say.”

Mrs Saxton went on swiftly with her story.

“According to all accounts. Lord Wrenwyck is half insane. He had been mixed up with some financial transactions with Stent, and had taken the man’s measure, had satisfied himself that he would carry out any villainous scheme, so long as he was well paid for the risk. He it was who suggested the abduction of Mr Monkton, the systematic drugging at Forest View, where he would come in while his unhappy prisoner was asleep, and watch him with a fiendish smile spreading over his repulsive countenance.”

At this point Sheila raised her hands with a gesture of despair. “And yet this fiend is to go scot-free, and live to work further evil.”

“He will not do that,” said Mrs Saxton quickly. “Smeaton, after our interview, compelled him to go to Scotland Yard. Depend upon it. Lord Wrenwyck will not risk his fate a second time. He will be rendered powerless by the fact that his cunningly laid scheme was frustrated, and also that it is known to those who could set the law in motion at any moment they chose.”

And again Sheila murmured, “You may be right, but I cannot understand.”

“I am coming now to the end of my story,” Mrs Saxton continued, after this interruption. “I was walking one day into Horsham, and was accosted by a young man who seemed desirous of striking up an acquaintance. I rebuffed him, of course, and learned afterwards that he made similar advances to the young woman who was supposed to be my fellow-servant. At once it struck me that he was spying upon us. He lodged at a small inn a little distance away, and gave out that he was an artist. I mentioned the matter to Stent, but he rather laughed at the idea; told me I had got detectives on the brain. He was destitute of nerves himself, and had an exaggerated belief in his own capacity to outwit everybody.

“Pondering upon the means by which I could extricate my patient—if I may call him so—from a position which I felt convinced was growing more perilous, the idea of using this young man came into my mind. Day after day I impressed upon Stent that my fears were well grounded, and that at any moment he might be faced with discovery. At last I invented a story that I had seen this man who called himself Franks standing outside the house with another person, obviously a detective, and had heard the latter say distinctly; ‘Smeaton himself thinks we have given them rope enough.’

“You know the story of the removal in the dead of night?”

She addressed her question to Wingate, appreciating the fact that he showed his hostility less plainly than did his sweetheart.

The young man nodded. “Yes, we know that.”

“Stent was at last impressed, and agreed that we must leave Forest View as quickly and secretly as possible. Stent and the other maid—Lord Wrenwyck had left us by then—travelled in the van. I drove Mr Monkton in the motor by a roundabout route—I may tell you I am an expert driver. My destination was supposed to be the house of the confederate where he had first been taken.

“The game was now in my hands, and I knew I could play it. I drove to a different place altogether, some miles from London. I had, fortunately, plenty of money with me. We stayed at an hotel for the night. Next morning we came up to London and took up our quarters in a small inn at Hampstead.”

“What did you do with the car?” asked Wingate.

“We left it at a garage close to the hotel where we stayed the first night, promising to come back for it in a couple of hours. There, no doubt, it is still.”

“And the next step when you got to London?” was Wingate’s next question.

“Owing to the cessation of the drugs, Mr Monkton’s faculties were swiftly restored. He was weak and ill from his long confinement, but he could think clearly. His first impulse was to come home at once. I dissuaded him from this till he had gone to Smeaton and sought his advice. I felt also it was imperative to get rid of Stent and Bolinski in case they meditated further mischief. It happened that the means were in my power, means which I should not have used except in an extreme case. Information in my possession, which I placed at the disposal of Scotland Yard, enabled the authorities to arrest them on a criminal charge. That you have heard, or will hear.”

She paused a moment, and Sheila spoke.

“You drove up to Chesterfield Street the other night with a companion.”

“Your father. He was longing to come back, and to humour him I suggested we should come for a few minutes as far as the house.”

“And the portrait of Lady Gladys that was sent me? That was my father’s idea, of course. And to make sure, you sent that young woman to tell me what to do. But I had guessed before she came.”

“That young woman was a friend of mine, who knows nothing about the general circumstances. I simply made use of her for this particular purpose.”

There was a long pause. Wingate was the first to break it. He had no kindly feelings towards this woman who was ready to betray her old associates when it suited her own interests. Still, he could dissemble better than Sheila.

“You have cleared up all except one thing, Mrs Saxton. What of the Italian who died at Forest View, and the man Whyman who disappeared after Smeaton’s visit to him at Southport?”

“They were both members of a rather wide fraudulent partnership which included Stent and Bolinski. Roselli was evidently seized with remorse on his deathbed, and, much to Stent’s chagrin, conveyed a message in Italian which the young man Franks in his turn conveyed to Smeaton. Had Stent guessed the nature of that message, he would have found some means to keep Franks out of the house. In consequence of my information, the police are searching for Whyman now.”

This extraordinary woman was, by now, perfectly calm and collected. What her inmost feelings were, it would be impossible to guess, but apparently she felt no shame in avowing that she had betrayed her old friends.

There was an embarrassing silence till she spoke again. “I have now concluded my story. If there is nothing more you wish to ask me, I will go.”

Sheila rose, her face cold and hard. “Nothing more, Mrs Saxton. My father will, of course, reward you for the help you gave him, as you have put it yourself, at the eleventh hour. He has no doubt arranged that with you already. You will understand that now I want him to myself.”

“I quite understand.” Without another word, she bowed and left the room, her bearing not devoid of a certain dignity, which might, or might not, have been the result of callousness.

Left to themselves, Sheila breathed a sigh of relief. “The air is sweeter for her departure,” she said simply.

Then she knelt down again, and laid one hand tenderly on her father’s shoulder. The other she extended to Wingate, and drew him towards her.

“Father, dearest,” she said in her sweet, low voice, “I have a secret to tell you, and I could not tell it on a better night than this. Austin and I love each other. You do not know what he has been to me during this terrible time. You will let us be happy?”

Very gentle and kindly was the smile that met her upturned face.

“My darling, you are the dearest thing on earth to me. Could I refuse you anything on such a night as this?” He turned to the young man. “Austin—give me your hand.”

He placed it in Sheila’s, and drawing his daughter to his breast, kissed her. “Dearest, I wish you to follow where your heart leads you. And I think you have chosen well.”