Chapter 2

CAREFULLY following his instructions, he consulted the third volume of
Gibbon's great History, and found, between the seventy-eighth and
seventy-ninth pages, something remarkable this time.

It was a sheet of delicately-made paper, pierced with a number of
little holes, infinitely varied in size, and cut with the smoothest
precision. Having secured this curious object, while the librarian's
back was turned, Dennis Howmore reflected.

A page of paper, unintelligibly perforated for some purpose unknown,
was in itself a suspicious thing. And what did suspicion suggest to the
inquiring mind in South-Western Ireland, before the suppression of the
Land League? Unquestionably---Police!

On the way back to his employer, the banker's clerk paid a visit to an
old friend--a journalist by profession, and a man of varied learning
and experience as well. Invited to inspect the remarkable morsel of
paper, and to discover the object with which the perforations had been
made, the authority consulted proved to be worthy of the trust reposed
in him. Dennis left the newspaper office an enlightened man--with
information at the disposal of Sir Giles, and with a sense of relief
which expressed itself irreverently in these words: "Now I have got
him!"

The bewildered banker looked backwards and forwards from the paper to
the clerk, and from the clerk to the paper. "I don't understand it," he
said. "Do you?"

Still preserving the appearance of humility, Dennis asked leave to
venture on a guess. The perforated paper looked, as he thought, like a
Puzzle. "If we wait for a day or two," he suggested, "the Key to it may
possibly reach us."

On the next day, nothing happened. On the day after, a second letter
made another audacious demand on the fast failing patience of Sir Giles
Mountjoy.

Even the envelope proved to be a Puzzle on this occasion; the postmark
was "Ardoon." In other words, the writer had used the postman as a
messenger, while he or his accomplice was actually in the town, posting
the letter within half-a-minute's walk of the bank! The contents
presented an impenetrable mystery, the writing looked worthy of a
madman. Sentences appeared in the wildest state of confusion, and words
were so mutilated as to be unintelligible. This time the force of
circumstances was more than Sir Giles could resist. He took the clerk
into his confidence at last.

"Let us begin at the beginning," he said. "There is the letter you saw
on my bed, when I first sent for you. I found it waiting on my table
when I woke; and I don't know who put it there. Read it."

Dennis read as follows:

"Sir Giles Mountjoy,--I have a disclosure to make, in which one of the
members of your family is seriously interested. Before I can venture to
explain myself, I must be assured that I can trust to your good faith.
As a test of this, I require you to fulfil the two conditions that
follow--and to do it without the slightest loss of time. I dare not
trust you yet with my address, or my signature. Any act of
carelessness, on my part, might end fatally for the true friend who
writes these lines. If you neglect this warning, you will regret it to
the end of your life."

To the conditions on which the letter insisted there is no need to
allude. They had been complied with when the discoveries were made at
the back of the milestone, and between the pages of Gibson's history.
Sir Giles had already arrived at the conclusion that a conspiracy was
in progress to assassinate him, and perhaps to rob the bank. The wiser
head clerk pointed to the perforated paper and the incomprehensible
writing received that morning. "If we can find out what these mean," he
said, "you may be better able, sir, to form a correct opinion."

"And who is to do that?" the banker asked.

"I can but try, sir," was the modest reply, "if you see no objection to
my making the attempt."

Sir Giles approved of the proposed experiment, silently and
satirically, by a bend of his head.

Too discreet a man to make a suspiciously ready use of the information
which he had privately obtained, Dennis took care that his first
attempt should not be successful. After modestly asking permission to
try again, he ventured on the second occasion to arrive at a happy
discovery. Lifting the perforated paper, he placed it delicately over
the page which contained the unintelligible writing. Words and
sentences now appeared (through the holes in the paper) in their right
spelling and arrangement, and addressed Sir Giles in these terms:

"I beg to thank you, sir, for complying with my conditions. You have
satisfied me of your good faith. At the same time, it is possible that
you may hesitate to trust a man who is not yet able to admit you to his
confidence. The perilous position in which I stand obliges me to ask
for two or three days more of delay, before I can safely make an
appointment with you. Pray be patient--and on no account apply for
advice or protection to the police."

"Those last words," Sir Giles declared, "are conclusive! The sooner I
am under the care of the law the better. Take my card to the
police-office."

"May I say a word first, sir?"

"Do you mean that you don't agree with me?"

"I mean that."

"You were always an obstinate man Dennis; and it grows on you as you
get older. Never mind! Let's have it out. Who do _you_ say is the
person pointed at in these rascally letters?"

The head clerk took up the first letter of the two and pointed to the
opening sentence: "Sir Giles Mountjoy, I have a disclosure to make in
which one of the members of your family is seriously interested."
Dennis emphatically repeated the words: "one of the members of your
family." His employer regarded him with a broad stare of astonishment.

"One of the members of my family?" Sir Giles repeated, on his side.
"Why, man alive, what are you thinking of? I'm an old bachelor, and I
haven't got a family."

"There is your brother, sir."

"My brother is in France--out of the way of the wretches who are
threatening me. I wish I was with him!"

"There are your brother's two sons, Sir Giles."

"Well? And what is there to be afraid of? My nephew, Hugh, is in
London--and, mind! not on a political errand. I hope, before long, to
hear that he is going to be married--if the strangest and nicest girl
in England will have him. What's wrong now?"

Dennis explained. "I only wished to say, sir, that I was thinking of
your other nephew."

Sir Giles laughed. "Arthur in danger!" he exclaimed. "As harmless a
young man as ever lived. The worst one can say of him is that he is
throwing away his money--farming in Kerry."

"Excuse me, Sir Giles; there's not much chance of his throwing away his
money, where he is now. Nobody will venture to take his money. I met
with one of Mr. Arthur's neighbours at the market yesterday. Your
nephew is boycotted."

"So much the better," the obstinate banker declared. "He will be cured
of his craze for farming; and he will come back to the place I am
keeping for him in the office."

"God grant it!" the clerk said fervently.

For the moment, Sir Giles was staggered. "Have you heard something that
you haven't told me yet?" he asked.

"No, sir. I am only bearing in mind something which--with all
respect--I think you have forgotten. The last tenant on that bit of
land in Kerry refused to pay his rent. Mr. Arthur has taken what they
call an evicted farm. It's my firm belief," said the head clerk, rising
and speaking earnestly, "that the person who has addressed those
letters to you knows Mr. Arthur, and knows he is in danger--and is
trying to save your nephew (by means of your influence), at the risk of
his own life."

Sir Giles shook his head. "I call that a far-fetched interpretation,
Dennis. If what you say is true, why didn't the writer of those
anonymous letters address himself to Arthur, instead of to me?"

"I gave it as my opinion just now, sir, that the writer of the letter
knew Mr. Arthur."

"So you did. And what of that?"

Dennis stood to his guns.

"Anybody who is acquainted with Mr. Arthur," he persisted, "knows that
(with all sorts of good qualities) the young gentleman is headstrong
and rash. If a friend told him he was in danger on the farm, that would
be enough of itself to make him stop where he is, and brave it out.
Whereas you, sir, are known to be cautious and careful, and farseeing
and discreet." He might have added: And cowardly and obstinate, and
narrow-minded and inflated by stupid self-esteem. But respect for his
employer had blindfolded the clerk's observation for many a long year
past. If one man may be born with the heart of a lion, another man may
be born with the mind of a mule. Dennis's master was one of the other
men.

"Very well put," Sir Giles answered indulgently. "Time will show, if
such an entirely unimportant person as my nephew Arthur is likely to be
assassinated. That allusion to one of the members of my family is a
mere equivocation, designed to throw me off my guard. Rank, money,
social influence, unswerving principles, mark ME out as a public
character. Go to the police-office, and let the best man who happens to
be off duty come here directly."

Good Dennis Howmore approached the door very unwillingly. It was
opened, from the outer side, before he had reached that end of the
room. One of the bank porters announced a visitor.

"Miss Henley wishes to know, sir, if you can see her."

Sir Giles looked agreeably surprised. He rose with alacrity to receive
the lady.