he exclaimed.
'Let us do the Countess justice,' Lord Montbarry persisted.
'There are not half a dozen lines more that I can make out!
The
accidental breaking of his jar of acid has burnt the Baron's
hands
severely. He is still
unable to proceed to the destruction
of the head--and the Countess is woman enough (with all her wickedness)
to
shrink from attempting to take his place--when the first news
is received of the coming
arrival of the
commission of
inquirydespatched by the insurance offices. The Baron feels no alarm.
Inquire as the
commission may, it is the natural death of the Courier
(in my Lord's character) that they are
blindly investigating.
The head not being destroyed, the
obviousalternative is to hide it--
and the Baron is equal to the occasion. His studies in the old library
have informed him of a safe place of
concealment in the palace.
The Countess may
recoil from handling the acids and watching the process
of cremation; but she can surely
sprinkle a little disinfecting
powder--'
'No more!' Henry reiterated. 'No more!'
'There is no more that can be read, my dear fellow. The last page
looks like sheer delirium. She may well have told you that her
invention had failed her!'
'Face the truth
honestly, Stephen, and say her memory.'
Lord Montbarry rose from the table at which he had been sitting,
and looked at his brother with pitying eyes.
'Your nerves are out of order, Henry,' he said. 'And no wonder,
after that
frightful discovery under the hearth-stone. We won't dispute
about it; we will wait a day or two until you are quite yourself again.
In the
meantime, let us understand each other on one point at least.
You leave the question of what is to be done with these pages of
writingto me, as the head of the family?'
'I do.'
Lord Montbarry quietly took up the
manuscript, and threw it
into the fire. 'Let this
rubbish be of some use,' he said,
holding the pages down with the poker. 'The room is getting chilly--
the Countess's play will set some of these charred logs
flaming again.'
He waited a little at the fire-place, and returned to his brother.
'Now, Henry, I have a last word to say, and then I have done.
I am ready to admit that you have stumbled, by an
unlucky chance,
on the proof of a crime committed in the old days of the palace,
nobody knows how long ago. With that one
concession, I dispute
everything else. Rather than agree in the opinion you have formed,
I won't believe anything that has happened. The supernatural
influences that some of us felt when we first slept in this hotel--
your loss of
appetite, our sister's
dreadful dreams, the smell that
overpowered Francis, and the head that appeared to Agnes--I declare them
all to be sheer
delusions! I believe in nothing, nothing, nothing!'
He opened the door to go out, and looked back into the room.
'Yes,' he resumed, 'there is one thing I believe in. My wife has
committed a
breach of confidence--I believe Agnes will marry you.
Good night, Henry. We leave Venice the first thing to-morrow
morning.
So Lord Montbarry disposed of the
mystery of The Haunted Hotel.
POSTSCRIPT
A last chance of deciding the difference of opinion between
the two brothers remained in Henry's possession. He had his own
idea of the use to which he might put the false teeth as a means
of
inquiry when he and Ms fellow-travellers returned to England.
The only surviving depositary of the
domestic history of
the family in past years, was Agnes Lockwood's old nurse.
Henry took his first opportunity of
trying to
revive her personal
recollections of the
deceased Lord Montbarry. But the nurse had never
forgiven the great man of the family for his
desertion of Agnes;
she
flatly refused to
consult her memory. 'Even the bare sight
of my lord, when I last saw him in London,' said the old woman,