"That key," Silwood resumed, "is the key of a compartment in the Minnesota Safety Deposit Vaults, in which you will find not only all the money, in the form of bank-notes, bonds payable to bearer, and other easily negotiable securities, that I owe to the firm of Eversleigh, Silwood and Eversleigh, but a good deal more than I owe."

"Where are these Safety Deposit Vaults?" asked Gilbert.

"In St. Paul," whispered Hankey, bending towards him.

"Yes, in St. Paul," said Silwood, who had overheard.

"And all the money is there in bonds and so forth?" asked Gilbert.

"That and more, for I have made money. Always, always, all my life, have I longed to possess a great store of money; it was my pa.s.sion--money, money, always money; always more money," said Silwood, with a pa.s.sing gleam in his eyes; then a deep sigh escaped him. "You will find there is far more than enough to recoup the firm."

Gilbert listened in amazement, revolving what manner of man this was to have acted as he had done through all these silent years.

"And more than enough to pay that annuity to my wife and child," Silwood went on. "Now promise me once more that you will pay them what I have asked, and then I will tell you the whole story. Do you promise?"

"Yes, I promise," said Gilbert.

"Then my mind is at rest, so far as they are concerned. And all is well," said Silwood, as if he had never done anything wrong in his life.

Then he began--

"I do not know quite when the idea came to me of making myself master of the clients' money, but, as I told you, I ever burned to be rich. Your father was so easy-going and unsuspecting, and he trusted me so fully, that when the idea came it found quick lodgment in my thoughts. But what helped more than anything else, was that I was already leading a double life. I had married beneath me, as people would say; but the only moments of happiness I have had in my life connect themselves with my wife and child. It matters not how I met and came to marry her. No one of our cla.s.s dreamed I was other than Cooper Silwood, solicitor, of Lincoln's Inn. But I was also James Russell at Stepney. I experienced no difficulty in being both; I had my disguise, and having also the keys of the two iron gates opening into Chancery Lane, at the top of Stone Buildings, I was able to let myself out or in at pleasure. To lead this double life was easy, I say; I even liked it. When the thought came to me of enriching myself at the expense of the clients, it occurred to me to make use of James Russell to a.s.sist Cooper Silwood. Do you understand?"

"Yes. You purposed to transfer the securities to yourself as James Russell? In fact, that is what you did do, at any rate in part."

"Yes; Cooper Silwood sold to James Russell," a.s.sented Silwood. "The plan worked well--worked well for years. Gradually I got possession of everything--save what was impossible for me to touch. And all that money and property I had converted into first-cla.s.s bonds and shares payable to bearer, with one exception, a very important exception, when the letter came from Morris Thornton, telling us he was returning to England, and would make a formal examination of the securities we held of his. I was not prepared for it; my hand was forced. I had not meant to disappear until I had completed a certain negotiation--the exception to which I have just referred. It was more than possible, I thought, that Thornton would come before that negotiation was complete, in which case I might be in great danger. The more I thought about it, the greater the danger seemed. It was this that drove me to tell your father of the position to which I, as Cooper Silwood, had brought the firm. Of course, I said nothing to him about James Russell."

"I don't quite follow you," said Gilbert. "Why did you tell my father at all?"

"Because I wished him, being so friendly with Thornton, to hold Morris off until that negotiation was complete. Do you not understand? Suppose Thornton had come before my plans were ripe and asked for that examination, I believed your father would have been able to have stood him off for some time--long enough for me to get that matter settled to my liking. Now, do you see?"

"Yes," said Gilbert, dryly, any pity he had felt for Silwood disappearing as he listened to this heartless statement. "What was this important negotiation of which you speak?"

"I had sold some acres of land to a contractor, who had paid a heavy price for them," said Silwood, now speaking with the indifference of a man who is telling a story that has no longer any interest for him; "but I had to be content with getting half the price in cash and half in the form of a bill. The total amount was thirty thousand pounds, the bill was for fifteen thousand, and when we heard from Thornton it still had some time to run. I did not discount the bill, but put it in a chamber in that large j.a.panned box you may remember seeing in my room."

"The secret chamber!" exclaimed Gilbert.

"You know of it?"

"Did you not go one night to New Square not long ago, and open it?"

"Yes; you know that! I went to get the bill--it was due next day."

"I see. Well, you left the secret chamber open, and that showed us you were not dead, and put us on your track."

Silwood's eyes flickered.

"The spring would not work," he said. "It had baffled me very nearly once or twice before, but that time it baffled me altogether. So! so! I understand now why you came to St. Paul--it was the secret chamber which gave me away, which has brought me here."

"Yes; I went to Italy," said Gilbert, "and Ucelli confessed the conspiracy you and he had entered into. He it was who told me that you and James Russell were one. James Russell was tracked to Liverpool, then to New York, and then to St. Paul."

"What a pity I did not leave that bill alone!" said Silwood, quite calmly. "But I could not think of leaving fifteen thousand pounds behind me. That," he added, "you will find with the rest."

"Did you cash the bill?"

"Certainly, as James Russell, to whom it was payable."

"How in the world," interjected Gilbert, "shall we be able to put all these matters right?"

"There will be plenty of money," said Silwood, "for everybody. But let me get on with my story while I am able. I told you I put the bill for the fifteen thousand into the secret chamber. Of course I hoped Thornton would not come before it matured, or, if he did, that your father would find means to delay the investigation of his account. But your father on this point was firm; he said he would not deceive Thornton, though I pressed him more than once. When I saw I could not move him, I prepared to act alone. I gave out I was about to take a holiday--it was a holiday from which I had no intention to return--at least, not as Cooper Silwood. I meant to leave on a Sat.u.r.day evening--I actually went on the Sat.u.r.day morning ... and it was because of Thornton."

"Of Morris Thornton?"

"It was past midnight," said Silwood, "and I was getting ready to go to Stepney, when I heard steps coming up the stairs towards my rooms in Stone Buildings; the steps stopped at my door; some one knocked. I had no wish to open the door, for I was in my disguise, so I paid no attention to the sound.

"'Whoever you are,' said a voice, 'I warn you to open the door, or I shall tell the porter to call the police. I saw you from Chancery Lane.

Come, open at once!'

"I glanced at my window, the one looking into Chancery Lane. By some frightful carelessness I had neglected to pull down the blind, and thus it was possible enough for the man to have seen me. But what did he want, I wondered?

"'Open at once!' said the voice again; 'or it will be the worse for you.'

"I was in a fix, but my best course seemed to be to let the man in; so I asked him to wait a moment, saying I was only half dressed. I hastily donned my wig, tore off my false moustache, and put on my ordinary coat and waistcoat. Then I opened the door.

"'What is the matter?' I asked.

"The man walked right into the room without speaking, and looked all round it, as if he was searching for some one. Then I saw who it was. It was Morris Thornton!

"'What is the matter?' he repeated after me. 'That is what I ask you to tell me, Cooper Silwood.... I arrived in London yesterday, and was taken ill. Feeling better this evening, I came out to get some fresh air, and strolled down this way. I remembered where your rooms were, and glancing up at the lighted window saw a figure pa.s.sing and repa.s.sing. I was certain it was not you. This was a bald man with a moustache.... I watched him for some minutes. Then I went down to the lodge and was let in, as I said I wished to see you on urgent business. Now here I am, and here you are! Did you know about this man being here--the man I saw? He gave me quite a start.'

"I did not speak immediately, being somewhat flurried by the sudden appearance of Thornton. He now came quite close to me, and peered into my face. I saw he looked ill and greatly changed, and his hands were shaking. He went on peering into my face, so that I wondered why.

"'What are you doing with that paint on your cheeks?' he asked.

"I had forgotten the stain on my face--the stain that was part of my disguise. This question disconcerted me.

"'Was it you, Cooper Silwood, that I saw? It was! It was! What does this mean?' he demanded, visibly agitated. 'You are not the kind of man who goes to a masked ball. One would think you were practising, rehearsing some part ... a disguise ... seeing how it would do ... but why, Silwood, why? One would think there was something wrong--that you were about to abscond.'

"All this he said in jerky sentences, while his cheeks turned a horrible bluish purple. I recalled he had written to us that he was suffering from heart-disease, and I was alarmed for him.

"'Calm yourself, Morris,' I said to him, soothingly, but with the opposite effect.

"'Explain, explain!' he cried, in tones of great excitement, his body trembling the while.

"My wits by this time had come back to me, and I a.s.sured him I had promised a young friend to go to a masked ball to take care of him--that was all; and that I could not but feel sorry he had caught me in the manner he had. In fact, I tried to laugh the matter off; but I failed to disarm his suspicions, which evidently had been keenly aroused. He sat down on a chair, breathing very heavily. I entreated him to return to his hotel, but he declined.

"'Cooper Silwood,' he said, 'I do not believe you are telling me the truth. I do not believe this invention of yours about the masked ball.

Again I tell you, you are not that kind of man.'

"'You do not know what you are saying,' I protested, 'your illness----'