"That is all, I think, at present," said Gilbert to Signor Vinci.

"Should some other point occur to you later," suggested the Deputy, "you will have an opportunity of putting it to him in Rome, whither we must proceed with all speed."

"I had thought of setting out for London at once," said Gilbert. "The information I have obtained should be acted on without delay. Besides, my father is very ill."

"If you could spare one day! You are a witness to the confession of Ucelli, and I desire you to make a deposition with respect to it before the Minister of Justice himself."

"I certainly owe you as much as that," acquiesced Gilbert.

Thereafter, the Deputy, leaving the bound man in Gilbert's charge, went out of the Syndic's house, to return in a short time with a couple of civil officers, who took Ucelli to prison. The Deputy now informed Gilbert that he had given orders to open up the reputed grave of Silwood, and late that evening they heard a coffin had been taken up and found to be filled with stones.

Next day the Deputy and Gilbert were in Rome, recounting to the Minister of Justice what had taken place. A deposition was drawn up and signed by Gilbert; at the same time, he acknowledged very heartily his great obligations to the Minister and the Deputy.

"Not at all," said the Minister; "you have really conferred a great favour on us. But there is one thing I should like to ask you, if it is not indiscreet."

"And that is, signor?"

"We know why Ucelli entered into this conspiracy with Silwood; it was because of the fifty thousand liras Silwood gave him. But we do not know what induced or compelled Silwood to act as he did. I can see, of course, that in all probability he is a great criminal. For that matter, the conspiracy itself was a crime of the gravest character. If I could arrest this Silwood, he would receive a heavy sentence, you may be sure."

While his superior was speaking, the Deputy had a little smile on his grim face. He had wished to ask Gilbert the question now put to him by the Minister, but, feeling tolerably certain of the truth, had refrained. Still, he listened eagerly to Gilbert's reply.

"Silwood is an absconder and a forger," said Gilbert. "To conceal his crimes, to cover up his tracks, he planned and carried out, with Ucelli's help, this infamous plot. There, that is all."

"And more than enough!" exclaimed the Minister. "You will, as soon as you return to England, proceed to have this man hunted down?"

"It will be the one object of my life until it is accomplished," said Gilbert, emphatically.

On his way back to London, Gilbert pondered what he should next do, and reflected on the occurrences of the last two or three days. The whole scheme of Silwood was now tolerably plain. To begin with, it was evident Silwood had long been leading a double life. There were the wife and child and the house at Stepney on the one hand; and, on the other, the private chambers in Lincoln's Inn. In the latter he was Cooper Silwood, solicitor; in Stepney he was James Russell, workman. And now Gilbert recalled very vividly the story told by the waster, the poor human wreck who spoke like a gentleman, the story of the workman seen issuing in the dead of night from the iron gate of the Stone Buildings' end of Chancery Lane.

"Of course, it was Silwood," argued Gilbert; "it must have been he. The waster said the workman was flurried, went away hurriedly, but returned in half an hour. What does that mean, taken in connection with the fact that next morning Silwood left London? It must have been no light thing which made _him_ flurried. He intended going to Stepney, started, and then changed his mind. Not like _him_ either, to change his mind in that way. Something must have happened."

Then the thought came leaping into his mind which explained everything.

"It must have been because Morris Thornton was lying dead in Silwood's room--that accounts for his agitation and indecision."

After that he asked himself the inevitable question--

"Had Silwood said or done anything to cause such a shock to Thornton as killed him? If so, what?"

But this was a question he could not answer now. The key to the mystery lay with Silwood, and it was possible, even probable, he had made good his escape to America, if it was to America he was gone. America was a wide word, Gilbert mused, but the arm of Justice was long. Yet the search all over America--was that not like looking for a needle in a haystack? And the time which would almost certainly be occupied in the quest--what might not happen in the interim?

With these questions, and such as these, Gilbert was distracted during his journey, and the news which met him on his arrival in London made his heart heavy as lead.

His brother Ernest was at the station when his train steamed in. Gilbert observed he looked pale and sad.

"How is father?" were Gilbert's first words.

"Oh, it is terrible!" exclaimed Ernest.

"Is he worse?"

"Yes, he is worse. He will never be himself again, I fear. He is out of his mind."

"Out of his mind!" cried Gilbert, but in his heart he was saying it was no wonder that his father had become insane, considering all he had borne during the past two months.

"Isn't it dreadful?"

"It may be only temporary," Gilbert suggested.

"The doctors who have seen him do not give us much hope."

"You have had specialists called in?"

"Certainly."

"What form does his trouble take?"

"He is not at all violent; indeed, he is gentleness itself. But his memory seems a blank, and he does not speak except to say one sentence, and it breaks one's heart to hear him say it."

"What does he say?"

"He asks, 'What o'clock is it?' but he does not know what he says. If you tell him the time, he does not comprehend you. That was how mother found his trouble out. One night he had a sort of fit in bed; when it pa.s.sed he asked, 'What o'clock is it?' and mother told him. He asked again, 'What o'clock is it?' and mother again told him. But he immediately inquired once more, 'What o'clock is it?' and then she began to surmise something was very wrong with him."

"Poor mother!" exclaimed Gilbert. "How is she?"

"She is a brave woman, and is bearing up wonderfully. Well, she waited till morning, and then sent me for a doctor, who, after seeing father, said his brain was affected. I got the best specialists to see him, and they declared his mind had given way, so far as they could judge, from overstrain. It seems that the gentle kind of melancholy madness which afflicts him is incurable. Isn't it sad?"

"Very sad; but doctors are sometimes wrong, and we must hope for the best. Is he at Ivydene?"

"Yes; with a nurse. The doctors thought it was prudent to have a nurse, though, really, he does not require one. He is just like a child. I have not allowed news of his trouble to get about."

The brothers now got into a hansom, and drove to Gilbert's chambers in the Temple. Gilbert could see that Ernest had more to tell him, and half guessed what it was. In the circ.u.mstances, too, Gilbert thought Ernest must now be told the true position of the firm of Eversleigh, Silwood and Eversleigh.

"When your letter to father came," continued Ernest, "he was already in the condition he now is, so I opened and read it. As I wired you, I was completely bewildered by what you wrote, but tried to puzzle out your meaning. Without the key, however, I could not succeed."

"I'll disclose everything to you, Ernie," said Gilbert.

"And, Gilbert, there is something more. The doctors said father's trouble came from his brain having been overstrained. I believe they are right, and I'll tell you why. I had to make out the position of our firm with respect to the securities of one of our clients, Mr. Archibald Johnstone, and, so far as I can see, we have not got these securities; at any rate, I cannot lay my hands on them anywhere in the office. I went to Archer Martin, the accountant, hoping he might throw some light on the subject; but he said I had better ask you, as you would know.

Gilbert, Gilbert, I don't know what to think, but it looks to me as if there's something very serious in this business."

"Yes, Ernie, there is," said Gilbert; "it is as serious as it can be.

It is so serious that I can almost feel glad father is not in his right mind."

"Gilbert!"

"It is true. Now let me tell you all I know. The main thing is that Cooper Silwood robbed the firm of a large sum of money. He absconded to Camajore, in Italy, where, in collusion with the Syndic of the place he gave out that he was dead."

Ernest stared at his brother wildly.