Текст книги "The Mammoth Book of the Lost Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes"
Автор книги: Denis O. Smith
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“‘That person you met on the path is my charwoman,’ said he in a low voice, breathing in my face. ‘She’s quite mad, you know. It’s difficult to get servants out here.’
“‘Is it?’ I asked in surprise.
“‘Yes, it is,’ said he sharply. ‘She said something to you, I believe, as you passed. What was it, eh?’
“‘Nothing intelligible.’
“‘But you replied to her. I saw you speak.’
“‘I tell you, I couldn’t understand what she was talking about.’
“‘Not at all?’ persisted Silas in a tone of disbelief.
“‘I think she wondered if I had come to the right address.’
“‘Bah!’ said he, stamping his foot on the floor in anger. ‘Interfering nuisance! I’ll teach her to meddle in my affairs, you see if I don’t! Still, that is something for me to consider later.’
“‘I take it you received my letter,’ said I, endeavouring to change the subject.
“For a long moment he did not reply, his hooded eyes flickering from side to side, as if he were considering whether he could deny having received the letter and if he would gain anything thereby.
“‘What if I did?’ said he at length in an unpleasant, argumentative tone.
“‘I am anxious to discover Simon’s whereabouts.’
“‘What is that to me, eh?’
“‘I thought, as I mentioned in my letter, that he had perhaps written to you, or even visited you, before his disappearance.’
“‘Why should he do that?’ retorted Silas quickly in a suspicious tone.
“‘I cannot imagine. But I can find no trace of him elsewhere.’
“‘Well, he didn’t. I haven’t seen him for years! Still,’ he continued in an unpleasantly unctuous tone, evidently fearing he had spoken too sharply, ‘we can consider the matter over dinner.’
“He led me through the darkened house to the dining room, where two places were laid for dinner. A single small candle in the centre of the table provided the only illumination. Silas must have sensed the despondency with which I viewed this dismal scene, for he chuckled.
“‘No sense in wasting money on light we don’t need,’ said he, laughing unpleasantly.
“There followed what I can only describe as the most wretched meal of my life, the central features of which were a miserable-looking joint of tough and highly salted bacon, and a bottle of wine that tasted like vinegar, of which, Silas informed me with great self-satisfaction, he had been fortunate enough to purchase a whole case at ‘a quite remarkably low price’. It quickly became clear that I should learn nothing from him concerning my brother, and I began to regret that I had ever gone to Hill House at all. His only suggestion was that Simon might have gone to Italy, but when I enquired why he should think so, he replied only that ‘people do go there sometimes, you know’ and laughed unpleasantly at this feeble and inappropriate jest. As soon as the meal was ended, therefore, I began yawning ostentatiously. Silas reacted with alacrity to this cue and offered to show me to my room. Taking the candle from the table, he led the way up the dirty, uncarpeted staircase and along a dusty, crooked corridor. Everywhere the smell of damp and rot rose from the bare floorboards. Presently he stopped and opened a door.
“‘This is your room,’ said he, ushering me through the doorway.
“He lit the stump of a candle, which stood on a small table beside the bed, and turned to go. As he was closing the door, however, he put his head back in.
“‘There’s water in the jug,’ said he, indicating a large, dirty-looking ewer which stood on a lop-sided washstand at the side of the room. ‘If there’s not enough, you’ll find more through there,’ he added, nodding at a door in the shadows at the far side of the room.
“It was a dark and grim chamber in which to pass the night. Apart from the bed, table and washstand, the only furniture was a stained and rotten-looking chest of drawers. The stench of damp seemed even stronger in the bedroom than elsewhere in the house, and the wallpaper was hanging from the walls in sheets, yellowed and dirty and dotted all over with the black marks of mould. I was glad to climb into bed and pull the covers over my head. For a while I lay awake, listening to the sounds of small creatures scurrying about beneath the floor, but at length I fell asleep. Before I did so, I vowed to myself that I would never spend another night in that wretched house.
“Some hours later, I awoke suddenly. A pounding headache seemed to split my head asunder, my throat was hot and parched, and I felt desperately thirsty. I struck a match and lit the candle, surprising a dozen large spiders on the wall above my head. Whether my thirst was the result of the salty meat I had eaten, the foul wine, or something else, I had no idea. I knew only that I must have a drink of water. I climbed wearily from my bed, but found that, despite what Silas had told me, the jug was empty. Feeling a little annoyed at this, I took the candle across to the door he had indicated and attempted to open it. I had presumed it would open inwards, as the other door did, but as I turned the doorknob it swung away from me and, still half asleep, I stepped forward into the blackness beyond. Never in my life have such terror and confusion gripped my heart as at that moment. For in stepping from the rough wood of the bedroom floor, my bare foot found nothing whatever, but trod on empty air. I think I must have cried out, but I cannot be certain, for my memory of that terrible moment is exceedingly confused. The step I had taken had created a forward momentum I could not stop, and in a split second I was plunging into the black void and had dropped the candle, which blew out almost at once. Scarcely conscious of my own actions, I somehow twisted round as I fell, stretching my arms out blindly and desperately. Abruptly, my right arm hit the door frame, then the edge of the bedroom floor, which I gripped with all my might. I realize now that all this must have occupied the merest fraction of a second, but as I relive it now it draws out to great, horrific length.
“For a moment my fall was arrested, but it was only for the very briefest of moments, for the edge of the floor at the doorway was wet and slimy, and my fingers, which did not have a proper grip on anything, were slipping rapidly towards the edge. With a great effort I lunged upwards and forwards with my left hand, even as my right completely lost its grip. This time I was more successful. I had reached further into the room, past the slimy doorway, and my fingertips had found a narrow crack between two floorboards. I doubt it was a quarter of an inch wide, but it saved my life. Using this tiny finger-hold as a base, I managed to reach further with my right hand until that, too, had found a secure grip, and so, by slow degrees, I hauled myself to safety.
“For some time I lay on the floor of the bedroom, almost delirious, but presently I came to myself once more and determined to see the nature of the dark pit into which I had so nearly plummeted. I crept carefully to the edge once more and peered over, but could make out nothing whatever in the darkness. As I crouched there, eyes straining, I became conscious of a foul, mephitic vapour that seemed to rise from the pit before me, smothering and choking me with its stench. I was turning my head away in disgust, when a slight noise from below made me stop. It was a soft noise, like the lapping of water, but with an odd and unpleasant heaviness about it. There followed a splashing sound, then what I can only describe as scratching noises, which were quite horrible to hear. For a moment my heart seemed to stop beating and the blood ran cold in my veins. There was something in the pit below me, something which was moving quietly about in the darkness.
“Scarcely daring to breathe, I drew back from the edge of that foul hole, dressed as quickly as I could in the darkness and sat on the side of the bed to gather my thoughts. Then a slight noise set my jangled nerves on edge once more, and I quickly struck a match, but there was nothing to be seen save the dark open doorway, through which, I was convinced, Silas had intended that I should fall to my death. I could not rest while the door stood open like that, so, striking match after match to light my way, I leaned out into the void, managed to grip the panelling of the door, and pulled it shut.
“My supply of matches was by now almost exhausted. I had opened the curtains, but gained no more light, for the night was a dark one. Then it occurred to me that there might be a spare candle in the chest of drawers. I pulled each drawer out in turn, examining them by the light of the matches, but they were all quite empty. The top drawer was a very shallow one, and as I was pushing it back in, I could feel that there was something hampering it. I pulled it right out again and examined the recess behind it by the light of another match. It appeared there was some woollen article there. I reached in, freed it from the nail on which it was snagged and pulled it out. To my utter amazement, I recognized it at once. It was a striped woollen muffler, belonging to my brother, Simon. I knew I could not be mistaken, for my sister, Rachel, had knitted it for him herself and given it to him at Christmas. I had seen him wearing it in January, at the time of our engagement party. Clearly he had been at Hill House some time shortly after that, despite Silas’s claim that he had not seen him for years, and had stayed in the very room in which I now stood.
“As you will imagine, I was already extremely agitated and excited by my experiences, but this latest discovery almost drove reason from my mind. I threw my few belongings into my bag, together with Simon’s muffler, and crept from the house as quietly as I could, letting myself out of the front door. The first pale light of dawn was showing over the hill as I reached the road. Without pausing, or even considering what I was doing, I walked quickly down into Richmond and on to the railway station, caught an early train, and was back in town by seven o’clock. At nine I was at the door of Farrow and Redfearn’s office, seeking their advice, and they, as you see, have sent me on to you.”
Sherlock Holmes had sat in silence, his eyes closed in concentration, throughout this strange narrative, and he remained so for several minutes longer.
“It is certainly a singular story that you tell,” said he at length, opening his eyes and reaching for his old clay pipe. “It interests me greatly. Although one or two small points are not yet entirely clear to me, it seems undoubtedly a bad business.”
“I am convinced that Cousin Silas knows what has become of Simon,” cried Boldero. “Otherwise, why should he lie about having seen him in January?”
“Why indeed?” said Holmes. “You have not reported the matter to the police?”
“It was in my mind to do so as I walked through Richmond this morning, but there are difficulties.”
“The chief one being that you have no real evidence to substantiate your suspicions.”
“Precisely, Mr Holmes. I cannot prove that any of my story is true, not even, now that I have removed it, that Simon’s muffler was ever at Hill House. Mr Farrow was of the opinion that the police would do nothing unless I could produce more telling evidence. He recommended that I seek your help at once.”
“I am honoured by his recommendation. What do you propose?”
“That you accompany me to Richmond, as my witness, and that we confront Silas with our suspicions. Beneath his shiftiness, he is mean-spirited and cowardly. I do not think he would dare lie so brazenly if you were there.”
Holmes did not reply at once, but sat for some time in silence, evidently considering the matter in all its aspects.
“I will certainly accompany you,” he responded at length, “and Dr Watson, too, if he will be so good. But it is necessary for us to prepare the ground a little before we confront your cousin, Mr Boldero. We must be armed with as much information as possible. I shall therefore spend the next twenty-four hours doing a little research into the matter. Be at the bookstall at Waterloo station at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon, and we can travel down to Richmond together!”
* * *
“What a very odd affair!” I remarked when our visitor had left us.
“It is certainly somewhat recherché,” agreed Holmes. “The curious arrangement of the door in the bedroom, which leads only to a bottomless pit, is quite unique in my experience. As a way of ridding oneself of unwanted guests it may have its merits, but it is hardly a feature the builders of modern villas are likely to include in their brochures!”
“Can it all be true?” I wondered aloud. “The black void into which he so nearly tumbled, the horrible noises he heard; they sound like the stuff of a disordered and terrifying nightmare!”
“Boldero himself is sufficiently convinced of their veracity to seek our advice on the matter,” responded my companion. “We must see if we can bring a little light into the darkness tomorrow. You will accompany us?”
“I should certainly wish to,” I returned, “if my presence would be of any use to you. The matter is so grotesque and puzzling that it seems to me quite beyond conjecture. The only hope of an explanation must be down there at Richmond, at Hill House.”
“And yet,” said Holmes after a moment, “even there we may have difficulty in arriving at the truth. If, as appears to be the case, Silas Boldero has indeed murdered his cousin, Simon, and intended last night to take the brother’s life also, we come up against the question of motive. What possible reason could Silas have for murdering his cousins in this way? He is, after all, the one with all the money. It would make more sense the other way round: if it had been Simon Boldero who had tried to murder Silas, in order to bring forward his inheritance a little.”
“Perhaps that is indeed what happened,” I suggested. “David Boldero appears a pleasant and honest man, but we know nothing, really, of his brother. Perhaps Simon did try to murder Silas, and Silas killed him in self-defence. Then Silas, frightened, perhaps, that he would be accused of murder, hid the body and decided to pretend that Simon had never been to see him at all.”
“It is possible,” conceded Holmes, “but it seems unlikely. You must remember that Silas had already made plans to murder his cousin, David, last night – the highly salted meat, the jug with no water in it, the suggestion that more water could be found through the side door – before David Boldero had expressed any suspicions at all. Why could he not simply deny having seen Simon and leave it at that? He could not have known that David Boldero would find his brother’s muffler, which is the only real evidence that Simon was ever at Hill House. Indeed, the muffler would probably not have been found at all had our client’s rest not been disturbed so alarmingly. I sense, Watson, that we may be fishing in deeper waters than was at first apparent.”
PART TWO: A RAINY AFTERNOON
When I descended to breakfast the following morning, I found that Holmes had already gone out, without leaving any message. I took it that he was pursuing his research into the Boldero case, although where he might begin such an investigation, I could not imagine. Unable to make any sense of the matter, I endeavoured to dismiss it from my mind, but the story of David Boldero’s terrifying night at Hill House had gripped my imagination and returned unbidden to my thoughts throughout the morning.
Just after one o’clock, a telegram arrived for me, which had been sent from Richmond. I tore it open and read the following: “DELAYED. MEET RICHMOND STATION 3.45. S. H”. Evidently, Holmes’s enquiries had taken him down to Richmond already. Knowing my friend’s amazing resources, I could not doubt that he had made progress, and I looked forward eagerly to hearing the results.
I met David Boldero at Waterloo station as we had arranged, and we travelled down to Richmond together. It wanted ten minutes to the time Holmes had mentioned as our train pulled into the station, but there was no sign of him there, so we waited by the main entrance. It was a pleasant, sunny afternoon, with a light breeze blowing. Fresh green leaves adorned the branches of the trees, and in the air was the smell of spring.
After a few minutes, I observed a thin, disreputable-looking man approaching slowly along the road. He was dressed in a tweed suit with a bright red cravat round his neck, and he carried a rolled-up newspaper under his arm. Even from a distance I could see that he was unshaven and that his face was red and blotchy. I observed him particularly because he was, so it seemed to me, keeping his gaze fixed steadily upon us.
“That man appears to want something of us,” remarked Boldero to me as the stranger drew near. I was about to reply when the man approached us and spoke.
“You are a little early, gentlemen,” came a clear and well-known voice.
“Holmes!” I cried. “I had no idea—”
“I judged it best to adopt this little disguise for my local research,” said he. “I am sorry if I startled you, Watson. You were regarding me so keenly as I approached that I was convinced you had recognized me. Now,” he continued in a brisker tone, “let us be down to business. There is a hotel across the street where you can order a pot of tea while I bid adieu to Albert Taylor, footman out of position, and bienvenue once more to Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective!”
In ten minutes my friend had discarded his disguise and joined us in the parlour of the hotel, his appearance as neat and clean as ever.
“I have had enough indifferent tea already this afternoon,” said he with a shake of the head as I made to pass him a cup. “As Albert Taylor, I have made the acquaintance of Miss Mary Ingram, known locally as ‘Mad Mary’, who is the woman Mr Boldero spoke to on his cousin’s path yesterday afternoon. I have consumed large quantities of tea with her and, I believe, gained her confidence. She is a little unhinged, it is true, but not quite so much as is generally believed. She witnessed Simon Boldero’s arrival at Hill House one afternoon in January, but never saw him leave, although she was at the house early the following morning. She had been told by Silas to make a bed up for the visitor, but when she saw it the following day, it appeared not to have been slept in, and she assumed that Simon had simply decided against spending the night there.”
“But his muffler was in the bedroom,” said Boldero.
“Precisely,” said Holmes in a grave tone.
David Boldero put his head in his hands and groaned. Holmes reached out and put his hand on his shoulder.
“Have courage,” said he. “I think we must accept that your brother is dead, and that his death occurred at the hand of your cousin, Silas. It is our duty now to ensure that that unpleasant old man is brought to justice!”
“I shall wring the truth from him with my own hands!” cried Boldero in a suddenly impassioned voice, his eyes flashing with emotion.
“That may not be necessary,” responded Holmes calmly. “There is now sufficient prima facie evidence, I believe, to lay the matter before the police. A slight snag is that Miss Ingram’s somewhat eccentric manner is likely to mean that her testimony is given less credence by the authorities than it merits. Fortunately, my enquiries have brought to light one or two other points of interest.”
“I still wish to confront Silas myself,” said Boldero in a determined voice.
Holmes glanced at his watch. “Come, then,” said he. “Let us be off to Hill House. I can give you the details of my discoveries as we go.”
The breeze had freshened and the clouds were piling up ominously as we left the hotel and made our way through the little town.
“There is a newsagent’s shop on the way to Hill House,” said Holmes as we walked along, “the window of which contains several interesting advertisements. Two of them, yellowing and faded, offer positions for hardworking servants in the establishment of Mr S. Boldero, one for a maid, the other for a male servant, duties unspecified. I enquired the details of the newsagent, representing myself as a footman seeking a post, and remarked that the advertisements appeared to have been in his window for some time. He acknowledged the truth of this observation.
“‘Old Boldero’s establishment is not such as appeals overmuch to the average domestic,’ said he, sucking on his pipe. ‘His advertisements have brought few enough replies, fewer still have ever taken up a position there, and none of them has ever stayed long enough to make it worth Boldero’s while to remove the notices from my window. He’s reduced now to relying on the services of “Mad Mary”, a local woman. She goes in to the house most days, but she won’t stay there. She could tell you a thing or two about Hill House, I’d wager!’
“I took this as my cue, and enquired Mary’s address, saying I should like to learn a little about Hill House before I applied for the position offered there. Thus it was that I came to make the acquaintance of that unusual lady, with the results I mentioned earlier. Here is the newsagent’s,” he continued as we approached a row of small shops.
We stopped by the window, and Holmes pointed out to us the advertisements he had mentioned.
“There is also this,” said he, directing our attention to a large piece of card towards the bottom of the window. The announcement on it ran as follows:
MISSING: THOMAS EVANS, sometime footman to the Marquess of Glastonbury, butler to E. J. Archbould Esq. of Chelsea, and latterly butler to Mr S. Boldero of Hill House, Richmond Hill. Last seen on the morning of 14 November 1883, leaving his employment at Hill House. Will anyone having information as to the whereabouts of the said Thomas Evans please communicate with his sister, Miss Violet Evans, of Ferrier Street, Wandsworth.
“Who can say whether Mr Evans ever really left Hill House?” remarked Holmes in a thoughtful tone as I looked up from the notice. “If Cousin Silas is the source of the information, I think we are justified in being sceptical of its accuracy.”
“The more we learn of it, the worse the matter becomes!” I cried.
Sherlock Holmes nodded his head gravely. “The sooner Silas Boldero and the Old Bailey make acquaintance with each other, the better for all concerned!” said he. “Come, let us make haste to Hill House!”
“But we still cannot say,” remarked David Boldero in a puzzled voice as we walked briskly up the hill, “why Silas should wish to take Simon’s life, and attempt to take my own; nor, for that matter, why Simon went to visit him in the first place.”
“I am now able to shed a little light on those questions,” responded Holmes. “You recall the aide-memoire that your brother had written for himself, and which you showed us yesterday?”
“What of it?”
“One of the items on his list was ‘Baker – see again’, in which the word ‘Baker’ was begun with a capital letter. This might, of course, have been of no importance: the word ‘Baker’ was the first word on the list, and there might have been no more significance to its capitalization than that, but it did at least make it possible that the ‘Baker’ referred to was not the man who supplied your brother’s bread, but someone bearing the surname ‘Baker’. Who this man might be, however – if he existed at all – there was no way of telling.”
“It all sounds a little unlikely to me,” remarked Boldero in a dubious tone.
“No doubt, but you must remember that ‘the unlikely’ falls, by its very definition, within the bounds of the possible.”
“But even if your supposition were correct, it seems a very trifling matter.”
“My work is built upon the observation of trifles,” said Holmes. “Now, I had pondered last night what might have been your brother’s purpose in calling upon your cousin, an unfriendly and miserly man, whom he had no reason to regard with affection and every reason to detest. The only significant connection between the two men was their shared ancestry. Perhaps, then, I speculated, it was some family matter that brought Simon down here to Richmond. This suggested to me your father and grandfather, which in turn suggested to me your grandfather’s will, and I decided to see this document for myself. I therefore took myself down this morning to the Registry of Wills, and examined the copy of your grandfather’s will, which is deposited there.”
“I have seen it myself,” Boldero interrupted. “It is very straightforward. Save that it gives away my family’s inheritance to our odious cousin, it is of little interest.”
“That rather depends on what one is looking for,” said Holmes. “The will, I saw, had been drawn up by the firm of Valentine, Zelley and Knight, of Butler’s Court, Cheapside, and witnessed by two of their clerks there. The appointed executor of the will was a junior partner in the firm. What do you suppose his name was?”
“I really have not the remotest idea,” replied Boldero.
“Baker!” I cried.
“Very good, Watson!” said my friend, smiling. “You have the advantage, of course, of having witnessed ‘the unlikely’ occur with surprising frequency in the course of my work! Yes, the executor was a Mr R. S. Baker! You will imagine the satisfaction this discovery afforded me. But why, then, should Simon Boldero wish to see the executor of his grandfather’s will more than twenty years after that will was proved? It appeared from Simon’s aide-memoire that he had seen Baker at least once already, and intended to see him again on the Friday, having, as I believe, visited his cousin Silas on the Thursday evening. Two such surprising appointments in the space of twenty-four hours must surely be related, I argued, and there must, therefore, be some connection between Baker and Silas Boldero. Upon consulting the Law Society records, I discovered that your cousin’s own career as a solicitor, which he abandoned many years ago, as you mentioned last night, was spent entirely with this same firm, Valentine, Zelley and Knight, and that he and this man Baker had been contemporaries.”
“That is so, I believe,” remarked Boldero, “but Silas cannot have interfered with my grandfather’s will in any way, if that is the conclusion to which your argument is leading, for he had already left the firm a year or two before my grandfather died.”
“Quite so,” responded Holmes, “as I confirmed for myself from the records. He could not, therefore, have interfered personally with your grandfather’s will. But he could, of course, have bribed another to do so, especially if that other was someone he had known well for nearly twenty years.”
Boldero stopped abruptly and turned to Holmes.
“Is such a thing conceivable?” said he.
“Betrayal of his client’s implicit trust is the very worst crime a lawyer can commit,” said Holmes. “Regrettably, however, it is not unknown. But come, we must make haste, for it looks as if we are in for a heavy downpour!”
I glanced up at the sky as we hurried on. The clouds had built up into a single, dark grey mass, and the wind was colder than before. After a moment, Holmes continued his account:
“I was quickly able to establish that Baker was still in practice, and with the same firm, so I called round at their chambers late this morning. Baker is an elderly man, grey, wrinkled and distinguished in appearance, and his manner towards me was at first extremely supercilious.
“‘I understand from this note on your card that you consider your business to be both urgent and personal,’ said he in a peevish tone, ‘but I do not know you.’
“‘You know, at least, the man I represent,’ I returned: ‘Mr Simon Boldero.’
“At the mention of this name, the old man’s face lost what little colour it possessed, his jaw sagged and he appeared in an instant to have aged ten years.
“‘I have been expecting him for some time,’ said he eventually in a weak voice. ‘Has something prevented his coming in person?’
“‘Indeed,’ said I, ‘but I am acting for him in the matter.’
“‘I have had a long and honourable career,’ said he in a broken, defeated voice, ‘and had every hope of a respected retirement, but Mr Boldero found evidence of the one moral lapse of my life.’
“‘The business of his grandfather’s will is a very serious matter indeed,’ said I in a grave voice. Of course, I knew practically nothing of the matter, but if you have ever played cards, you will know that it is sometimes possible to give the impression that your hand is stronger than it really is.
“Baker nodded his head sorrowfully. ‘And now what is to be done about it?’ said he. ‘As you are probably aware, the will I executed after old Daniel Boldero’s death was one he made in a moment of stubborn anger, following a quarrel with his son, Enoch, who was Simon’s father. He soon repented of it, however, and before a month had passed he made a fresh, more equitable will, by which all his property passed to Enoch, as he had originally intended.’
“‘That was the will that Silas Boldero bribed you to destroy,’ I ventured.
“Again he nodded. ‘I was not a wealthy man, and he offered me a thousand pounds if I would do it. Many men would have been tempted.’
“‘And many men would have resisted that temptation. So you destroyed the will.’
“‘No, no!’ he cried in surprise, eyeing me with suspicion. ‘Was that not made clear to you? I could not do it! All my professional training – everything I held dear – rebelled at the thought of destroying a legal document! Instead, I concealed it where no one might find it, and after Daniel Boldero’s death, so far as the world knew, it had never existed. Of course, I have often regretted it bitterly, but what could I do?’
“‘You could have told the truth.’ At this he fell silent, his head in his hands. ‘You must do exactly what Mr Simon Boldero proposed,’ I continued, feeling that my position was now a strong one. ‘It is your only chance.’
“‘Mr Boldero was, I must say, surprisingly magnanimous considering the circumstances,’ Baker remarked after a moment. ‘He said – bless his kindness! – that he would rather there was no scandal, for the sake of the family. I gave him the will, and he said he would confront Silas with it and try to come to some arrangement with him. If Silas was amenable, then the whole matter could be dealt with privately and the world need never know of it, but if Silas refused to meet Simon’s terms, he would, he said, lay the matter before the authorities. This would, I need hardly add, mean ruin and disgrace for me. When Mr Boldero did not keep the appointment he had made with me, I feared the worst. But it seems, now that you are here, that everything will be all right.’
