The Mystery of Lincoln's Inn

  CHAPTER XXIX

  Though Bennet had said to Kitty Thornton that the sight of her wastorture to him, yet, when she had departed, her pleading face remainedpresent for a short time in his thoughts and temporarily softened him.But this frame of mind quickly passed, leaving him a prey to hatred,malignity, and the darkest passions.

  His devilish humour now prompted him to an act of hideous malice. Theidea came to him that if he had Gilbert Eversleigh as his counsel at theforthcoming trial, he would inflict on Gilbert, as well as on Kitty, themost exquisite pain. It was the idea of a fiend rather than of a humanbeing, and showed, as perhaps nothing else could have done, how Bennet'swhole nature had been warped to the side of evil. He gloated over thismonstrous idea, telling himself that in this way, whatever happened, hewould glut his desire for revenge. He knew that, in ordinarycircumstances, Gilbert would never consent to appear for him if he couldavoid doing so; but a threat to expose Francis Eversleigh would beenough, Bennet believed, to settle the matter. Whether Gilbert would orwould not be a good counsel counted for little with him in comparisonwith the gratification he expected and promised himself, from seeingthe man he had always hated placed in this position.

  It was much the same thing as if Bennet had said to Gilbert--

  "If you succeed in getting me off from the capital charge, I shall notrelease Kitty from her engagement, but will marry her after my term ofimprisonment has expired. Though I shall be a convict, I shall compelher to marry me, for the same reason that made her engage herself to me.

  "Or, if you don't succeed, and I am sentenced to death, and there is noKitty for me, then you shall not have her; for I will not quit thisworld without exposing your father and bringing disgrace on you, inwhich case you will not seek to marry her."

  No matter the result of the trial, Bennet assured himself, withdiabolical satisfaction, that he would cause Gilbert's heart to sufferthe most horrible agony.

  He at once took the necessary steps by instructing the local solicitor,Deakin, to have Gilbert Eversleigh retained for his defence. He gave acertain plausibility to this, when discussing it with the lawyer, byrepresenting that Gilbert was well known to him, being the son of thehead of the London firm of solicitors who transacted his legal business,as well as that of his father before him. When Deakin, in reply,suggested it might be better, in view of the seriousness of the charge,to employ a more eminent barrister, Bennet peremptorily declined to doso, saying his mind was made up.

  Deakin, therefore, put himself in communication with Gilbert, and henaturally did so in this particular case through Eversleigh, Silwood andEversleigh, though they were not his own London agents.

  When Francis Eversleigh received his letter, he instantly perceived themalice and hatred that inspired Bennet's proposal; it was a fresh andbitter blow to himself, but he understood its ingenuity of cruelty wasspecially aimed at his son. As for himself, he was helpless; all hecould do was to send for Gilbert, and lay the letter before him.

  Gilbert at first was dumbfounded. He could hardly believe that Bennet atsuch a time could make such a proposition seriously; but he, too, soonperceived what lay behind it.

  "It is infamous!" he cried; "or the man must be out of his head. Toselect me of all people!"

  Then he looked at his father, whose weakness and loss of power were moreand more evident every day.

  "What am I to do?" he asked. "How can I defend this man?"

  "He holds me in the hollow of his hand," observed Francis Eversleigh,with a pathetic shake in his voice.

  "I know, I know," said Gilbert. "And I suppose I must appear for him.But the thing is an outrage----"

  Gilbert was interrupted by a loud knocking at the door of his father'sroom--it was no ordinary knocking, but a knocking that spoke of somestrong emotion on the part of the person who knocked.

  Gilbert strode to the door and opened it. The clerk who had replacedWilliamson was standing there, and on his face was a terrifiedexpression.

  "I must speak to Mr. Eversleigh immediately," he said hurriedly.

  "What is it, Mr. Whittaker?" asked Eversleigh, with a quick agitation.

  "I should like, begging Mr. Gilbert's pardon, to see you in private,sir," returned Whittaker, confusedly. "Please come into Mr. Silwood'sroom; there is no need for Mr. Gilbert to go from here. It is somethingI must show you personally in Mr. Silwood's room."

  "But of what nature is it?"

  "That I can scarcely tell, but you may be able to do so."

  Francis Eversleigh said no more, but went with Whittaker into Silwood'sroom. In a few moments he came back alone, looking so shattered that assoon as his son saw him he rushed forward to assist him. When Gilbertoffered him his arm, he took it at once, and Gilbert could feel how hisfather shook and trembled.

  "What has happened?" he asked, after helping his father into a chair.

  "Yes, in a minute," stammered the other; "I am horribly upset, and I canstand so little now! In a minute I'll tell you all."

  He lay back in his chair with his eyes closed--the mere wreck of thehandsome man he once had been.

  "A very strange thing has taken place, Gilbert," he said after awhile--"a very strange thing indeed!"

  Eversleigh stopped, and Gilbert patiently waited till his father spokeagain, his heart full of compassion and sorrow. For the moment, heforgot Bennet, and could think of nothing save the pitiable state of hisfather.

  At length Francis Eversleigh recovered himself sufficiently to stand up.

  "Come with me," he said to Gilbert, "to Mr. Silwood's room--that will bethe simplest way of making you acquainted with what has happened."

  And Gilbert, with mingled feelings of curiosity and alarm, followed hisfather to the next floor. Halfway down the stairs, Eversleigh halted.

  "Whittaker thinks it's a burglary," he whispered mysteriously inGilbert's ear.

  "A burglary! In the office!" said Gilbert, incredulously in a low voice.

  "Wait," cautioned Eversleigh. "Wait until you see."

  And now they were in Silwood's room, which was still known as Silwood's,though it knew Silwood no more. It was changed, however, but littlesince he had sat in it and worked his wicked will.

  "Close the door, Gilbert," said Eversleigh.

  The son obeyed, and then glanced about him. He could see no sign ofdisturbance, nothing that indicated specially the burglary of which hisfather had given a suggestion on the stairs. There were in the room, asof yore, the same table, chair, book-cases, deed-boxes; all werearranged in the way that was familiar enough to him. The large japannedbox stood by itself in the usual corner. There appeared to be absolutelyno hint of anything out of the ordinary. This rapid scrutiny over,Gilbert looked at his father inquiringly.

  "You don't notice anything particularly?" asked Eversleigh.

  "No; that is, at a superficial glance."

  "I wish you to examine the bottom of that box," said Eversleigh,pointing to the large japanned box in the corner. "You and Mr. ArcherMartin have recently had constant access to it for the purpose of goingover Mr. Silwood's books and papers; you therefore know it well. Now youwill see something I am sure you know nothing of. I did not know of itmyself--not until Whittaker showed me it."

  While Eversleigh was speaking, his son was looking at the foot of thebox, from which he saw there protruded a narrow strip of metal.

  "What do you make of _that_?" asked the father, huskily.

  "I should say it was a sort of secret chamber--you can't exactly call ita drawer," Gilbert replied, after a study of the box. "I knew nothing ofit; you are right there. How has it been discovered? What was found init?" he inquired eagerly, while other questions came thronging into hismind. "When was this discovery made?" he went on.

  "It was made this morning," replied Eversleigh. "Whittaker tells me hehad occasion to come into the room a few minutes ago to get a paperwhich he thought he'd find here. He could not lay his hand on itquickly, and had to hunt for it. Quite by accident, as he was searching,he happened to obser
ve a strip of metal at the foot of the box stickingout. Naturally, he went and examined the box, and then saw the secretchamber, which he declares was empty, and I don't doubt it. Now he ispositive that when he saw the box yesterday this secret chamber wasclosed."

  "Positive! In what way?"

  "It seems that he and one of the other clerks required to move the boxyesterday. And he maintains that one or other of them, or both, musthave seen the secret chamber if it had been open then. He concludes, ofcourse, that it has been opened since he saw it last. His theory is thatit was opened last night by a burglar. I don't know whether he reallybelieves that; it appears preposterous and beyond possibility that anyordinary burglar would be acquainted with this secret chamber."

  Gilbert nodded his agreement. He had listened carefully to his father,but at the same time had been trying to understand how the mechanism wasworked by which the chamber was opened and closed. It baffled him,however, and he desisted from the attempt.

  "What do you make of it?" asked the father.

  "Do you believe Whittaker right in thinking the chamber was opened lastnight?" inquired Gilbert.

  "I do."

  "But that he was wrong in putting it down to a burglar?"

  "Yes. Do burglars break into lawyer's rooms? I don't mean to say thatsuch a thing is impossible, for valuable documents have been stolen--youcan imagine that."

  "Of course. But if the secret chamber was not opened by a burglar, thenby whom was it opened?"

  "That is the question," said Eversleigh, gazing earnestly at his son.

  "Whoever opened the secret chamber knew of its existence," Gilbert wenton, thinking the matter out aloud.

  "Undoubtedly. He knew of its existence, and he also had the means ofopening it."

  Gilbert suddenly started, for an extraordinary notion had come into hismind. His father saw the start, and thought he knew its meaning. The twomen looked at each other strangely.

  "Only two men in the world, I feel certain, knew of that chamber,"Eversleigh resumed. "One was the mechanic who devised and made it, theother was----"

  "Cooper Silwood!" exclaimed Gilbert.

  "Yes, Cooper Silwood."

  "But Silwood is dead, so you would say that it was the other? That seemsabsurd."

  "It is absurd. What would the mechanic who made the box care abouttaking anything out of the secret chamber? Once his job of making thething was finished, he would be finished with it altogether. No, it wasnot the mechanic."

  Gilbert was silent.

  "Don't you see?" asked Eversleigh.

  "Silwood!"

  "Precisely."

  "But that is impossible. Dead men do not open secret chambers," saidGilbert, but there was something curious and suggestive in the manner ofhis saying it.

  "No. Dead men do not open secret chambers, but living ones do. Silwoodis not dead! He is alive!"

  Eversleigh's voice rose into a shout and then cracked.

  "It seems inconceivable."

  "Yet there is no other conclusion. The maker of the box being out of thequestion, it follows that it must have been Silwood. I believe he washere last night and removed from the secret chamber something ofparticular value to him."

  "Silwood might have told some one of it," objected Gilbert.

  "Is it likely? You know he was the least communicative of men."

  "What about Williamson?"

  "I feel confident he knew nothing of it either. Don't you see thissecret chamber was a receptacle in which Silwood hid papers or otherthings he had an object in concealing? You may be certain he told no oneof it. If he had told any one, would he not have told me? No, Gilbert;from the moment I knew of Whittaker's discovery I suspected the truth."

  "But the certificate of his death?"

  "It was a false certificate."

  "Strange I had not thought of that before, once I knew the kind of manhe was!"

  "Silwood is alive," Eversleigh once more, but with less vigour,declared, after a pause of some duration.

  All through the conversation up to this point he had carried himself,supported by excitement, with some degree of his former buoyancy, butnow he seemed to sink rapidly into a state of apathy, while Gilbertregarded him anxiously.

  "I don't know what's to be done next," murmured Eversleigh, feebly.

  "Some one must go to Italy," said Gilbert, emphatically, "and find outthe truth--that's what must be done!"

  "Then," said his father, "you must go!"