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“My mother and I were gradually compelled to sell the furniture and todismiss the servants, until now, as you see, I am living unattended in asingle room. But I have only two more months.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, that in two months I come of age. The first thing that I do willbe to op
en that door; the second, to get rid of the house.”
“Why should your father have continued to stay away when theseinvestments had recovered themselves?”
“He must be dead.”
“You say that he had not committed any legal offence when he fled thecountry?”
“None.”
“Why should he not take your mother with him?”
“I do not know.”
“Why should he conceal his address?”
“I do not know.”
“Why should he allow your mother to die and be buried without comingback?”
“I do not know.”
“My dear sir,” said I, “if I may speak with the frankness of aprofessional adviser, I should say that it is very clear that yourfather had the strongest reasons for keeping out of the country, andthat, if nothing has been proved against him, he at least thought thatsomething might be, and refused to put himself within the power of thelaw. Surely that must be obvious, for in what other possible way can thefacts be explained?”
My companion did not take my suggestion in good part.
“You had not the advantage of knowing my father, Mr. Alder,” he said,coldly. “I was only a boy when he left us, but I shall always look uponhim as my ideal man. His only fault was that he was too sensitive andtoo unselfish. That any one should lose money through him would cut himto the heart. His sense of honour was most acute, and any theory of hisdisappearance which conflicts with that is a mistaken one.”
It pleased me to hear the lad speak out so roundly, and yet I knew thatthe facts were against him, and that he was incapable of taking anunprejudiced view of the situation.
“I only speak as an outsider,” said I. “And now I must leave you, for Ihave a long walk before me. Your story has interested me so much that Ishould be glad if you could let me know the sequel.”
“Leave me your card,” said he; and so, having bade him “good-night,” Ileft him.
I heard nothing more of the matter for some time, and had almost fearedthat it would prove to be one of those fleeting experiences which driftaway from our direct observation and end only in a hope or a suspicion.One afternoon, however, a card bearing the name of Mr. J. H. Percevalwas brought up to my office in Abchurch Lane, and its bearer, a smalldry, bright-eyed fellow of fifty, was ushered in by the clerk.
“I believe, sir,” said he, “that my name has been mentioned to you by myyoung friend, Mr. Felix Stanniford?”
“Of course,” I answered, “I remember.”
“He spoke to you, I understand, about the circumstances in connectionwith the disappearance of my former employer, Mr. Stanislaus Stanniford,and the existence of a sealed room in his former residence.”
“He did.”
“And you expressed an interest in the matter.”
“It interested me extremely.”
“You are aware that we hold Mr. Stanniford’s permission to open the dooron the twenty-first birthday of his son?”
“I remember.”
“The twenty-first birthday is to-day.”
