without a second’s hesitation i drew the revolver i now habitually carried, and, dashing out through the hole, scrambled up to the surface after the intruder.
scarcely had i gained my footing above when a shot was fired close to me, and a bullet whizzed past my head. i looked angrily around, but could see no one. the man had taken refuge behind one of the trees, while i stood before him right in the open.
my companions, alarmed by my sudden rush and the report of the pistol, were next instant beside me, and usher’s quick eyes in a few seconds distinguished a slight movement behind a bush a few yards away. he rushed forward, regardless of consequences, and then i recognized in the intruder the man martin franklin. seeing that we were all armed he held up his hands, and from that action we supposed that he was alone, and that he had fired at me in order to effect his escape.
we quickly closed round him, indignantly demanding his object in spying upon us, but he only laughed and responded insolently. he was a man of about forty, dressed in rough grey tweeds and gaiters, in order, i suppose, to pass as a countryman.
philip reilly was furious. he had sprung upon the fellow and with a quick turn of the wrist had wrenched the weapon from his hand.
“i know you!” he shouted. “you are martin franklin, the man who was present on the night of the murder at kilburn! you’ll perhaps recollect that incident—eh?”
the man’s face, in an instant, went pale as death.
“i—i don’t know what you mean, sir!” he answered, with a vain effort to add indignation to his words.
“well, perhaps you will when i’m called as witness against you and your three companions bennett, purvis, and harding,” he answered meaningly. “where are they now?”
“in london,” was the fellow’s unwilling response.
suddenly a brilliant idea occurred to me, and in a loud, threatening voice i said?—
“now, look here, mr. franklin. we may as well speak plainly to you, as this is no time for beating about the bush. we know sufficient about you and your scoundrelly companions to give you into the custody of the first policeman we meet. understand that.”
the fellow was a coward, we could see. mention of the tragedy at kilburn had sapped his courage utterly, and he now stood before us white, terror-stricken, glancing wildly around for means of escape. we were, however, three to one, and he saw how he had fallen as into a trap.
“i fired the shot in order to alarm you,” he faltered, addressing me. “i had no intention of harming you.”
“but you will recollect who took miss dorothy drummond to that house at kilburn, and who forced her to touch the dead man’s face,” reilly interposed.
he made no response, for he saw that the secret of the murder was out.
a few minutes later, however, when he had had time for reflection, i spoke my mind further, saying?—
“now, mr. franklin, tell us the truth. you and your friends meant to possess yourselves of the chests we have just discovered, did you not?”
“we certainly did,” was his prompt response. then, after a short pause, he added: “i think, doctor, if you will reflect, you’ll see that even you and i have certain interests in common.”
“how?” i inquired.
“it is to your interest to preserve the secret of your find, eh? i heard you say so down there ten minutes ago.”
“well, i suppose it is!”
“it is also of the highest importance to you to discover the heir of clement wollerton?”
“certainly.”
“well, then, i think i can assist you in both,” he answered. “i am not a murderer, as you believe, although i confess to having assisted the others in their ingenious conspiracy. i know quite well that sooner or later they must fall into the hands of the police; nevertheless, if you will allow me freedom to escape and promise to take no steps against me, i will, on my part, give you a pledge of secrecy regarding your discovery of the treasure, and will also warn you of the plot against your life.”
“against my life!” i echoed. “what plot?”
“if you agree to my suggestion i will tell you,” answered the black-bearded coward, who, brought to bay, was now ready to betray his friends.
i turned to usher and reilly, both of whom were of opinion that, secrecy being necessary, we should make the compact franklin suggested.
therefore the fellow took a solemn oath, and there in the dim light beneath those big forest trees, a few yards from where the treasure lay in its cunningly-constructed subterranean chamber, he related to us a very strange story, which we afterwards discovered was the actual truth.
“i am a solicitor, as you perhaps know,” he began. “one day there came to my office in the minories a sailor named henry harding whom i had met some three years before, and who was, i knew, a man of considerable intelligence and education. he had just come home from a round voyage in the mediterranean, and showed me the translations of certain curious documents which had been found on board a derelict. i recognized that the treasure referred to might still exist, but that to undertake the search we should require the assistance of at least two other adventurous spirits like ourselves. harding said he knew two men of just the stamp we required, and a couple of days later brought to my office bennett and purvis, the first-named a retired sea-captain and the second a bookmaker. all three were eager to set to work at once, therefore after a long consultation we decided upon a plan of action. purvis was sent down to caldecott to make inquiries, and, finding a man named knutton still living there, purchased from him a parchment that had been in his family for generations. then, recognizing that if the treasure were actually found it would be useless to us unless we knew the rightful heir as stated in the old italian noble’s will, i at once advertised for information regarding the wollertons. within a fortnight i received a reply from a small country solicitor, and we were very soon in communication with the heir to the property, although, of course, we preserved the secret among ourselves.”
“do you know the identity of the heir at the present moment?” i cried excitedly, for such information was of greatest importance to us, to prevent the government claiming our find as treasure-trove.
“yes,” he answered, having grown calmer; “i will tell you everything in due course. well, having secured the document of the knuttons, we found it to be in cipher. whereupon harding recollected that in a vellum book which you took from the seahorse was a cipher and key which he had not had time to copy. we were closely watching you, one or other of us, and knew all your movements; hence we were aware that the book in question was in the hands of mr. staffurth, the pal?ographist. there seemed only one way to get possession of the book—namely, to steal it; therefore we employed a man known to bennett, and the house at clapham was burglariously entered, but the book was found to be locked in a safe which resisted all attempts upon it. one of the parchments—the one with the seven signatures—was, however, stolen.”
“and found to be useless,” i remarked laughing.
“yes,” he admitted. “but before long, after we had contrived to examine your own rooms, we saw by your movements that you had become aware that we were trying to forestall you, and that the fight for a fortune would be a hard one. knowing this, bennett and purvis conceived the idea of entrapping you in a house which they took at blackheath and—well, to put it very plainly—doing away with you. for that purpose the girl dorothy drummond was sent one night to the surgery at walworth with a message regarding the illness of a fictitious brother. she knew nothing of the evil intentions of the men, but, as she afterwards confessed to me, a sudden thought occurred to her while in the cab with you, and she refused to allow you to accompany her back to the house.”
“ah!” i ejaculated. “she has told me that already.”
“what?” cried the man in surprise. “has she told you anything else?—i mean the story of the affair at kilburn?”
“she has told me nothing of that,” i answered. “i wish to hear it from you according to your promise.”
“ah, doctor,” he went on, apparently much relieved by my reassuring words. “you had a narrow escape that night. she saved your life, although the thought that foul play was intended only came to her suddenly—one of those strange intuitions which sometimes come to us in moments of greatest danger. beware of those men, for there is yet another plot against you. to-morrow, when you return to london, you will receive a telegram purporting to come from miss drummond. recollect that if you keep the appointment it will mean death to you, just as it did to the unfortunate young fellow at kilburn.”
“tell me all about that. what connexion had dorothy drummond with that affair?”
“let me relate the incidents to you in their proper sequence,” he urged. “our suspicion was identical with yours, namely, that the treasure was secreted somewhere in the manor house at caldecott. you, however, forestalled us in buying out the tenant and obtaining possession of the house. we watched you living there day after day and working with mr. reilly and captain seal, fearing always lest you should make the discovery. if you had, then it was our intention to either raid the house during your absence and carry away all we could, or, failing that, to give information to the treasury by which the government would seize the whole. you see you had no idea of the whereabouts of the heir, and would, in that case, only be awarded a small sum for the discovery.”
“a nice revenge! it bears the mark of black bennett,” observed usher.
“we had to make use of the secret passage from bringhurst in order to enter the house, which we often did while you were absent at meals. yet even then you got the better of us when you closed us down in the tunnel early one morning, and purvis stumbling into the open well was nearly drowned. then, having found nothing at the manor, harding turned his attention to searching at the record office to ascertain whether any other documents were preserved there. he found one, but it was in cipher, and utterly unintelligible. therefore we kept a watchful eye on you, and when you came down here i was dispatched to follow you and note your movements.”
“but the murder at kilburn—how was that accomplished, and for what reason?”
“listen, and i will tell you,” the man responded. his tongue once loosened, he concealed nothing. his only object now seemed to save himself by the sacrifice of his friends. he quite realized that the game was up, and when, later, i gave him a few pearls from one of the chests that he might sell them and escape from the country in view of the coming revelations, he seemed to be perfectly satisfied. the fact that he was an arrant scoundrel could not be disguised, for he did not remain loyal to his friends in one single instance.
he paused for a few moments, as though hesitating to tell us the whole truth, but at last, with sudden resolution, he said: “when i advertised for information concerning the wollertons i received several replies, all of which i investigated, but found the claims faulty—all save one. this latter came from a solicitor named burrell, in oundle, northamptonshire, who, in confidence, wrote telling me that he could give information if paid for it.
“i therefore went to oundle and had an interview with him. twenty pounds was the sum agreed upon, and when i had paid it he produced some old papers which were in his dead father’s handwriting, and then told me a curious story—which, later, i found borne out by the records in question. what he related was briefly this: in the year 1870 charles wollerton—who held documentary proof that he was the lineal descendant of clement wollerton who commanded one of the ships of sir francis drake’s fleet—was living at weybourne, near sheringham, in norfolk, but, having been associated with two other men in a gigantic forgery of turkish bonds, was convicted and sent to penal servitude. he left a wife and two children, a girl and a boy, the first aged two and the other only nine months old.
“mrs. wollerton, always a weakly woman, died of a broken heart three months after her husband’s conviction, but before her death she had consulted burrell, her lawyer at oundle, regarding the bringing up of her children, expressing a wish that they should never know their proper name, fearing, of course, that the stigma as children of a convict should rest upon them. wollerton is not a common name, and the case had excited great attention throughout the country. therefore, on mrs. wollerton’s decease the children, being left in the solicitor’s hands, were put out to nurse, the girl being sent to a woman named stanion, at deenethorpe, a village about twenty miles away, while the boy was sent to sutton bridge, in the fen country. there was a very small estate left from the wreck of wollerton’s fortune, and out of this the people were paid for keeping the children.”
“why!” i cried, the name of stanion recalling to my memory what old ben knutton had told me. “then dorothy drummond is actually miss wollerton!”
“that is so—and, furthermore, she is the youngest descendant of clement wollerton, and therefore heiress to the treasure!”
“well, i’m hanged!” gasped philip reilly bluntly. “but is this really true, or are you only humbugging?”
“true, every word of it,” was the quick reply. “in the office of mr. george burrell, of oundle, you will find the documents which prove everything i’ve said. among them is charles wollerton’s genealogical tree, properly attested, besides other family papers which will be accepted as absolute proof.”
“but the boy?” i asked. “what of him?”
“ah! about the boy there was an element of romance,” was franklin’s response. “it’s a curious story—very curious.”
