Part 18 (1/2)

The speaker went into some details, discussing the case with gusto. A miner from Nevada? Queer h.e.l.ls often, those mining camps, whether on the Canadian or the American side of the border.

”You were acquainted with his family? Canadian, to begin with, I understand?”

”Yes. He applied to me for help. Did he tell you much about himself?”

”No. He boasted a lot about some mine in the Comstock district which is to make his fortune, if he can raise the money to buy it up. If he can raise fifteen thousand dollars, he says, he wouldn't care to call Rockefeller his uncle!”

”That's what he wants, is it?” said Anderson, absently, ”fifteen thousand dollars?”

”Apparently. Wish he may get it!” laughed the doctor. ”Well, keep him from drink, if you can. But I doubt if you'll cheat the undertaker very long. Good night. There'll be a train along soon that'll pick me up.”

Anderson went back to the cabin, found that his father had dropped asleep, left money and directions with Mrs. Ginnell, and then returned to his own lodgings.

He sat down to write to Delaine. It was clear that, so far, that gentleman and Mrs. Ginnell were the only other partic.i.p.ants in the secret of McEwen's ident.i.ty. The old man had not revealed himself to the doctor. Did that mean that--in spite of his first reckless interview with the Englishman--he had still some notion of a bargain with his son, on the basis of the fifteen thousand dollars?

Possibly. But that son had still to determine his own line of action.

When at last he began to write, he wrote steadily and without a pause.

Nor was the letter long.

CHAPTER IX

On the morning following his conversation with Anderson on the Laggan road, Delaine impatiently awaited the arrival of the morning mail from Laggan. When it came, he recognised Anderson's handwriting on one of the envelopes put into his hand. Elizabeth, having kept him company at breakfast, had gone up to sit with Philip. Nevertheless, he took the precaution of carrying the letter out of doors to read it.

It ran as follows:

”DEAR MR. DELAINE--You were rightly informed, and the man you saw is my father. I was intentionally deceived ten years ago by a false report of his death. Into that, however, I need not enter. If you talked with him, as I understand you did, for half an hour, you will, I think, have gathered that his life has been unfortunately of little advantage either to himself or others. But that also is my personal affair--and his. And although in a moment of caprice, and for reasons not yet plain to me, he revealed himself to you, he appears still to wish to preserve the a.s.sumed name and ident.i.ty that he set up shortly after leaving Manitoba, seventeen years ago. As far as I am concerned, I am inclined to indulge him.

But you will, of course, take your own line, and will no doubt communicate it to me. I do not imagine that my private affairs or my father's can be of any interest to you, but perhaps I may say that he is at present for a few days in the doctor's hands and that I propose as soon as his health is re-established to arrange for his return to the States, where his home has been for so long. I am, of course, ready to make any arrangements for his benefit that seem wise, and that he will accept. I hope to come up to Lake Louise to-morrow, and shall bring with me one or two things that Lady Merton asked me to get for her. Next week I hope she may be able and inclined to take one or two of the usual excursions from the hotel, if Mr. Gaddesden goes on as well as we all expect. I could easily make the necessary arrangements for ponies, guides, &c.

”Yours faithfully,

”GEORGE ANDERSON.”

”Upon my word, a cool hand! a very cool hand!” muttered Delaine in some perplexity, as he thrust the letter into his pocket, and strolled on toward the lake. His mind went back to the strange nocturnal encounter which had led to the development of this most annoying relation between himself and Anderson. He recalled the repulsive old man, his uneducated speech, the signs about him of low cunning and drunken living, his rambling embittered charges against his son, who, according to him, had turned his father out of the Manitoba farm in consequence of a family quarrel, and had never cared since to find out whether he was alive or dead. ”Sorry to trouble you, sir, I'm sure--a genelman like you”--obsequious old ruffian!--”but my sons were always kittle-cattle, and George the worst of 'em all. If you would be so kind, sir, as to gie 'im a word o' preparation--”

Delaine could hear his own impatient reply: ”I have nothing whatever, sir, to do with your business! Approach Mr. Anderson yourself if you have any claim to make.” Whereupon a half-sly, half-threatening hint from the old fellow that he might be disagreeable unless well handled; that perhaps ”the lady” would listen to him and plead for him with his son.

Lady Merton! Good heavens! Delaine had been immediately ready to promise anything in order to protect her.

Yet even now the situation was extremely annoying and improper. Here was this man, Anderson, still coming up to the hotel, on the most friendly terms with Lady Merton and her brother, managing for them, laying them under obligations, and all the time, unknown to Elizabeth, with this drunken old scamp of a father in the background, who had already half-threatened to molest her, and would be quite capable, if thwarted, of blackmailing his son through his English friends!

”What can I do?” he said to himself, in disgust. ”I have no right whatever to betray this man's private affairs; at the same time I should never forgive myself--Mrs. Gaddesden would never forgive me--if I were to allow Lady Merton to run any risk of some sordid scandal which might get into the papers. Of course this young man ought to take himself off!

If he had any proper feeling whatever he would see how altogether unfitting it is that he, with his antecedents, should be a.s.sociating in this very friendly way with such persons as Elizabeth Merton and her brother!”

Unfortunately the ”a.s.sociation” had included the rescue of Philip from the water of Lake Louise, and the provision of help to Elizabeth, in a strange country, which she could have ill done without. Philip's unlucky tumble had been, certainly, doubly unlucky, if it was to be the means of entangling his sister further in an intimacy which ought never to have been begun.

And yet how to break through this spider's web? Delaine racked his brain, and could think of nothing better than delay and a pusillanimous waiting on Providence. Who knew what mad view Elizabeth might take of the whole thing, in this overstrained sentimental mood which had possessed her throughout this Canadian journey? The young man's troubles might positively recommend him in her eyes!