Part 24 (1/2)

Once more, Emily felt the necessity of controlling herself.

Alban had said that he had ”reasons of his own for going to London.”

Could she venture to ask him what those reasons were? She could only persist in restraining her curiosity, and conclude that he would have mentioned his motive, if it had been (as she had at one time supposed) connected with herself. It was a wise decision. No earthly consideration would have induced Alban to answer her, if she had put the question to him.

All doubt of the correctness of his own first impression was now at an end; he was convinced that Mrs. Rook had been an accomplice in the crime committed, in 1877, at the village inn. His object in traveling to London was to consult the newspaper narrative of the murder. He, too, had been one of the readers at the Museum--had examined the back numbers of the newspaper--and had arrived at the conclusion that Emily's father had been the victim of the crime. Unless he found means to prevent it, her course of reading would take her from the year 1876 to the year 1877, and under that date, she would see the fatal report, heading the top of a column, and printed in conspicuous type.

In the meanwhile Emily had broken the silence, before it could lead to embarra.s.sing results, by asking if Alban had seen Mrs. Rook again, on the morning when he left Sir Jervis's house.

”There was nothing to be gained by seeing her,” Alban replied. ”Now that she and her husband had decided to remain at Redwood Hall, I knew where to find her in case of necessity. As it happened I saw n.o.body, on the morning of my departure, but Sir Jervis himself. He still held to his idea of having his pictures cleaned for nothing. 'If you can't do it yourself,' he said, 'couldn't you teach my secretary?' He described the lady whom he had engaged in your place as a 'nasty middle-aged woman with a perpetual cold in her head.' At the same time (he remarked) he was a friend to the women, 'because he got them cheap.' I declined to teach the unfortunate secretary the art of picture-cleaning. Finding me determined, Sir Jervis was quite ready to say good-by. But he made use of me to the last. He employed me as postman and saved a stamp. The letter addressed to you arrived at breakfast-time. Sir Jervis said, 'You are going to London; suppose you take it with you?'”

”Did he tell you that there was a letter of his own inclosed in the envelope?”

”No. When he gave me the envelope it was already sealed.”

Emily at once handed to him Sir Jervis's letter. ”That will tell you who employs me at the Museum, and what my work is,” she said.

He looked through the letter, and at once offered--eagerly offered--to help her.

”I have been a student in the reading-room at intervals, for years past,” he said. ”Let me a.s.sist you, and I shall have something to do in my holiday time.” He was so anxious to be of use that he interrupted her before she could thank him. ”Let us take alternate years,” he suggested.

”Did you not tell me you were searching the newspapers published in eighteen hundred and seventy-six?”

”Yes.”

”Very well. I will take the next year. You will take the year after. And so on.”

”You are very kind,” she answered--”but I should like to propose an improvement on your plan.”

”What improvement?” he asked, rather sharply.

”If you will leave the five years, from 'seventy-six to 'eighty-one, entirely to me,” she resumed, ”and take the next five years, reckoning _backward_ from 'seventy-six, you will help me to better purpose. Sir Jervis expects me to look for reports of Central American Explorations, through the newspapers of the last forty years; and I have taken the liberty of limiting the heavy task imposed on me. When I report my progress to my employer, I should like to say that I have got through ten years of the examination, instead of five. Do you see any objection to the arrangement I propose?”

He proved to be obstinate--incomprehensibly obstinate.

”Let us try my plan to begin with,” he insisted. ”While you are looking through 'seventy-six, let me be at work on 'seventy-seven. If you still prefer your own arrangement, after that, I will follow your suggestion with pleasure. Is it agreed?”

Her acute perception--enlightened by his tone as wall as by his words--detected something under the surface already.

”It isn't agreed until I understand you a little better,” she quietly replied. ”I fancy you have some object of your own in view.”

She spoke with her usual directness of look and manner. He was evidently disconcerted. ”What makes you think so?” he asked.

”My own experience of myself makes me think so,” she answered. ”If _I_ had some object to gain, I should persist in carrying it out--like you.”

”Does that mean, Miss Emily, that you refuse to give way?”

”No, Mr. Morris. I have made myself disagreeable, but I know when to stop. I trust you--and submit.”

If he had been less deeply interested in the accomplishment of his merciful design, he might have viewed Emily's sudden submission with some distrust. As it was, his eagerness to prevent her from discovering the narrative of the murder hurried him into an act of indiscretion.