Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (249 page)

"Show
him
in,"
cried
Mr.
Twiss,
and
for
his
own
ear
he
added: "Now
I
shall
know."

Humphreys
entered
the
room
with
a
letter
in
his
hand.
He
laid
the letter
on
the
office
table.
Mr.
Twiss
saw
at
a
glance
that
it
was
addressed
in
Archie
Cranfield's
hand.
He
flung
himself
upon
it
and snatched
it
up.
It
was
sealed
by
Cranfield's
seal.
It
was
addressed
to himself,
with
a
note
upon
the
lefthand
comer
of
the
envelope:

To
be
delivered
after
my
death.

Mr.
Twiss
turned
sternly
to
the
man. "Why
did
you
not
bring
it
before?"

"Mr.
Cranfield
told
me
to
wait
a
month,"
Humphreys
replied.

Mr.
Twiss
took
a
turn
across
the
room
with
the
letter
in
his
hand.

"Then
you
knew,"
he
cried,
"that
your
master
meant
to
kill
himself?
You
knew,
and
remained
silent?"

"No,
sir,
I
did
not
know,"
Humphreys
replied
firmly.
"Mr.
Cranfield
gave
me
the
letter,
saying
that
he
had
a
long
railway
journey
in front
of
him.
He
was
smiling
when
he
gave
it
me.
I
can
remember
the words
with
which
he
gave
it:
'They
offer
you
an
insurance
ticket
at the
booking
office,
when
they
sell
you
your
travelling
ticket,
so
there
is always,
I
suppose,
a
little
risk.
And
it
is
of
the
utmost
importance
to me
that,
in
the
event
of
my
death,
this
should
reach
Mr.
Twiss.'
He spoke
so
lightly
that
I
could
not
have
guessed
what
was
on
his
mind, nor,
do
I
think,
sir,
could
you."

Mr.
Twiss
dismissed
the
man
and
summoned
his
clerk.
"I
shall
not be
in
to
anyone
this
afternoon,"
he
said.
He
broke
the
seal
and
drew some
closely
written
sheets
of
note
paper
from
the
envelope.
He spread
the
sheets
in
front
of
him
with
a
trembling
hand.

"Heaven
knows
in
what
spirit
and
with
what
knowledge
I
shall
rise from
my
reading,"
he
thought;
and
looking
out
of
his
pleasant
window
upon
the
barges
swinging
down
the
river
on
the
tide,
he
was
in half
a
mind
to
fling
the
sheets
of
paper
into
the
fire.
"But
I
shall
be plagued
with
that
question
all
my
life,"
he
added,
and
he
bent
his head
over
his
desk
and
read.

"M
y dear
F
riend
,—I
am
writing
down
for
you
the
tacts. I
am
not offering
any
explanation,
for
I
have
none
to
give.
You
will
probably rise
up,
after
reading
this letter, quite
incredulous,
and
with
the
conviction
in
your
mind
that
you
have
been
reading
the
extravagancies
of a
madman.
And
I wish with all my heart that you could he
right. But you are not. I have come to the end to-day. I am
writing
the last
words
I
ever shall write, and therefore I
am
not
likely to write a lie.

"You
will
remember
the
little
manor
house
on
the
borders
of
Essex, for
you
were
always
opposed
to
my
purchase
of
it.
You
were
like
the Biitish jury,
my
friend.
Your
conclusion
was
sound,
but
your
reason for
it
very
far
from
the
mark.
You
disliked
it
for
its
isolation
and
the melancholy
of
its
dripping
trees,
and
J
know
not
what
other
town-bred
reasonings.
I will give
you
a
more
solid
cause.
Picture
to
yourself the
billiard
room
and
how
it
was
furnished
when
J
first
took
the
house —the
raised
settee
against
the
wall,
the
deep
leather
chairs
by
the
fire, the
high
fender,
and
on
the
mantelshelf—what?—a
little
old-fashioned clock
in
a
case
of
satinwood.
You
probably
never
noticed
it.
I did
from the
first
evenings
which I
passed
in
the
house.
For
I
spent
those
evenings
alone,
smoking
my
pipe
by
the
fire.
It
had
a
queer
hick.
For
a while
it
would
tick almost
imperceptibly,
and
then,
without reason, quite
suddenly,
the
noise
would
become
loud
and
hollow,
as
though the
pendulum
in
its swing
struck
against
the
wooden
case.
To
anyone sitting
alone
for
hours
in
the
room,
as
I
did,
this
tick
had the queerest
effect.
The
clock almost became endowed with human qualities. At one time it seemed
to wish to attract
one's
attention,
at
another
time to
avoid
it.
For
more
than
once,
disturbed
by
the
louder
knocking,
I rose and
moved
the
clock.
At
once
the
knocking
would
cease,
to
begin again
when
I
had
settled
afresh
to
my
book,
in
a
kind
of
tentative, secret
way,
as
though
it
would
accustom
my
ears
to
the
sound,
and
so pass
unnoticed.
And
often
it did so pass, until one
knock
louder
and more
insistent
than
the
rest
would
drag
me
in
annoyance
on
to
my feet
once
more,
fn
a
week,
however,
J
got
used
to
it,
and
then followed the strange incident which set
in motion that chain of events of which
to-morrow
will
see the end.