Fortunately the latter assurance was rightly spoken. The first day that brought me strength enough to put on my clothes and walk about the house, Mr. Earl invited me into the library to talk business. We were no sooner seated than he unlocked a drawer and handed me a document to read.
It was a deed of all my father's real and personal property.
“Confessed what?” I asked, wondering if the secret of my father's death had come out.
“The conspiracy against your life. There were two accomplices--one Count de Montalle, formerly a servant of Cobb, and now a convict in America, and the other a man named Fenlon, who is under arrest. These were the men who tried to take your life. Fenlon came over on the steamer with you, I believe.”
“Gone to answer for her sins at a higher court,” said he. “Her last deposition is annexed to the deed. The old hussy ran into the fire like a miller, and stood there screaming, 'Look at that picture on the wall! Oh, God! do you see it?' she shouted to the fellow who found her standing in the smoke and flames. The chap was so excited he really thought that he did see the picture of a woman holding a knife.”
“That is strange, isn't it?” said I. “Who was the man?”
“A detective,” said he, “whom I hired to watch the house that night. He heard some disturbance, it seems, and, fearing mischief, he immediately forced the door open and ran pell-mell into your cousin, noble fellow, who was then bringing you down-stairs. If he had been one moment later the woman would have been burned to death, and we would never have got this deposition. Cobb wouldn't have been the first to weaken, you may be sure of that. But after she had told the whole story, why, there was no use in holding out. Badly burned? No, strange to say, she was not badly burned, but frightened out of her wits. The nervous shock was too much for her and soon led to fatal results. Cobb will go to prison.”
I made no reply. I could not have found words to express the thoughts that came trooping through my brain.
“I have to tell you,” he continued, “that your cousin left a will bequeathing to you his father's house and a number of valuable paintings.”
I turned away and burning tears of sorrow came to my eyes. It was indeed a sad inheritance--the earthly part of his great riches--and of little moment to me. I could not bear to think or speak of it then, and I begged my friend to hide the will from my sight until time might give me strength to read it with composure.