CHAPTER XXXIII
A MAN FROM THE GRAVE
There was nothing to be done.
The possibility of recovering the Indian's body from the Wizard's Marshwas a remote one, and, even were it done, what would the advantage ofsuch 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 atthe nature of the Thug's end, that Laurence rode slowly home on hisbicycle, accompanied by Nichols, mounted on the mare.
On their way they passed a woman, who was commencing the long trudgeacross the moor in somewhat tattered attire, and with a ponderous bundleon her shoulders.
Something in her figure being familiar to Laurence, he scrutinised herfeatures as she tramped past.
"She" was the person who had taken refuge in the tree from thebloodhounds 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. Knoxstill engaged in breaking her fast. The final events in the unravellingof the mystery surrounding the Squire's enemy had not covered a verygreat 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 youinterested in my niece?"
"Really, now you come to mention it, I believe I am."
"More than interested?" the lady pursued, stretching out her hand forthe marmalade jar.
"Perhaps. Why?"
"Well, I was wondering whether you knew she was already engaged?"
"Engaged! Lena engaged! Impossible! She has--er--practically engagedherself to me, Mrs. Knox."
"Precisely. That is the engagement to which I refer! I merely desiredto ascertain whether your intentions were entirely honest."
"I assure you, Mrs. Knox----"
"Quite so, Mr. Carrington; I understand. I have mentioned the matter toyour papa, who leaves it entirely in my hands."
"Really! But don't you think Miss Scott and I are the first persons tobe 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 fewwords. I will not intrude just yet. As a matter of fact, I have onlyjust begun my breakfast. I have been ailing lately. My appetite is notwhat it was, but there are one or two things your dear housekeeper hasprovided to-day which have tempted me to eat."
Laurence withdrew, leaving Mrs. Knox to congratulate herself on being anexcellent match-maker. He entered the drawing-room, but was disappointedto find the room empty.
He hurried upstairs to the Squire's bedroom, where he was surprised tosee 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 you know?" he shrieked, clutchinghis son's arm, and staring into his face with eyes almost starting fromtheir sockets.
"We traced him there. He was chased by the Marquis's bloodhounds. Andthis--this was found on the brink of the swamp. In trying to escape thehounds he plunged into the marsh, and, followed by them, has gone downinto 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 thedoor 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'sunbounded astonishment. Once he knew that the grim shadow of dread anddeath no longer enshrouded him, the Squire was something like he hadbeen five-and-twenty years before--the dashing Indian officer, strivinghis hardest for promotion, so that he might claim for his bride thewoman who had now been dead long years.
"Show him in," he said, almost hysterically, wriggling about in his beduntil the pains in his neck compelled him to desist.
Kingsford departed, only to return in a couple of minutes, throw openthe door, and announce in strident tones a name that caused the threeoccupants of the room to stare with unbounded astonishment in thedirection of the doorway.
"Sir Bromley Lestrange," he said.
And, with light tread, there stepped into the room--"Doctor OrlandoMeadows," alias "Major Jones-Farnell!"