Colonel Thorndyke's Secret by G. A. Henty (intellectual books to read .txt) 📗

“You see, we did not know,” Cotter went on, “any more than Adam, to whom the box belonged. Fortunately, the agent sent in his communication a sealed letter, on the outside of which was written, 'This is to remain unopened, but if no one before that date presents himself with the token and password, it is to be read on the 18th of August, 1789.' That was yesterday, you know.”

“Yes, that was my cousin's eighteenth birthday. We thought if my uncle had left the box in anyone's charge he would probably have given him some such instructions, for at that time there was hard fighting in India, and he might have been killed any day, and would therefore naturally have made some provisions for preventing the secret dying with him.”

“We did not think of it until this morning early, though we have been rather curious over it ourselves. When we opened it, inside was another letter addressed 'To be delivered to John Thorndyke, Esquire, at Crawley, near Hastings, or at Crowswood, Reigate, or in the event of his death to his executors.'”

“I am one of his executors,” Mark said; “Mr. Prendergast, the lawyer, is the other. I think I had better go round to him tomorrow and open the letter there.”

“Oh, I should think you might open it at once, Thorndyke. It will probably only contain instructions, and, at any rate, as you have the coin and the word, you could come round tomorrow morning and get the chest out if you want it.”

“I won't do that,” Mark said; “the coffer contains gems worth over 50,000 pounds, and I would very much rather it remained in your keeping until I decide what to do with it. How large is it?”

“It is a square box, about a foot each way; and it is pretty heavy, probably from the setting of the jewels. Well, anyhow, I am heartily glad, Thorndyke. I know, of course, that you are well off, still 100,000 pounds—for the money has doubled itself since we had it—to say nothing of the jewels, is a nice plum to drop into anyone's mouth.”

“Very nice indeed, although only half of it comes to me under my uncle's will. To tell you the truth, I am more glad that the mystery has been solved than at getting the money; the affair was a great worry to my father, and has been so to me. I felt that I ought to search for the treasure, and yet the probability of finding it seemed so small that I felt the thing was hopeless, and that really the only chance was that my uncle would have taken just the course he did, and have fixed some date when the treasure should be handed over, if not asked for. I rather fancied that it would not have been for another three years, for that is when my cousin comes of age.”

“What cousin do you mean?” Philip Cotter asked. “I did not know you had one.”

“Well, that is at present a secret, Cotter—one of the mysteries connected with my uncle's will. For myself, I would tell it in the market place tomorrow, but she wishes it to be preserved at present; you shall certainly know as soon as anyone. By the way, I have not seen you at Mrs. Cunningham's for the last week, and you used to be a pretty regular visitor.”

“No,” the young man said gloomily; “I don't mind telling you that Miss Conyers refused me a fortnight ago. I never thought that I had much chance, but I had just a shadow of hope, and that is at an end now.”

“Perhaps in the future—” Mark suggested for the sake of saying something.

“No; I said as much as that to her, and she replied that it would always be the same, and I gathered from her manner, although she did not exactly say so, that there was someone else in the case, and yet I have never met anyone often there.”

“Perhaps you are mistaken,” Mark said.

“Well, whether or not, there is clearly no hope for me. I am very sorry, but it is no use moping over it. My father and mother like her so much, and they are anxious for me to marry and settle down; altogether, it would have been just the thing. I do not know whether she has any money, and did not care, for of course I shall have plenty. I shall be a junior partner in another six months; my father told me so the other day. He said that at one time he was afraid that I should never come into the house, for that it would not have been fair to the others to take such a reckless fellow in, but that I seemed to have reformed so thoroughly since that affair that if I continued so for another six months they should have no hesitation in giving me a share.”

It was too late to go up to Islington that evening. In the morning Mark went with the still unopened letter to the solicitor's. The old lawyer congratulated him most heartily when he told him of the discovery that he had made.

“I am glad indeed, Mark; not so much for the sake of the money, but because I was afraid that that confounded treasure was going to unsettle your life. When a man once begins treasure hunting it becomes a sort of craze, and he can no more give it up than an opium smoker can the use of the drug. Thank goodness, that is over; so the capital amount is doubled, and you are accordingly worth 70,000 pounds more than you were this time yesterday—a fine windfall! Now let us see what your uncle says.”

He broke the seal. The letter was a short one, and began:

“My DEAR JOHN:

“If you have not, before you receive this, got my treasure, you will get it on the 18th or 19th of August, 17??89. I have made a will which will give you full instructions what to do with it. I may say, though, that I have left it between a little daughter who was born six months ago, and your son Mark. My own intentions are to stop out here until I get the rank of general, and I have taken the measures that I have done in case a bullet or a sharp attack of fever carries me off suddenly. I hope that you will have carried out the provisions of my will, and I hope also that I shall have come home and talked the whole matter over with you before I go under.

“Your affectionate brother.”

“A singular man,” Mr. Prendergast said, as he laid the letter down on the table beside him. “What trouble these crotchety people do give! I suppose you have altogether put aside that folly of his about the jewels?”

“Well, no, I can't say that I have, Mr. Prendergast. Do you know that I have a fancy—it may only be a fancy, but if so, I cannot shake it off—that I am watched by Lascars. There was one standing at the corner of the street as I came up this morning, and again and again I have run across one. It is not always the same man, nor have I any absolute reasons for believing that they are watching me; still, somehow or other, I do come across them more frequently than seems natural.”