“You are right, but I can be satisfied with nothing less than the whole truth.”
Francis sighed. “Very well, between these four walls, then, let us lay bare the whole truth. As I fancy you have already guessed, my lamentable parent is the somewhat inexpert schemer you have been trying to-unmask.” He paused, but Carlyon only continued to regard him steadily. He sighed again. “One sees why, of course.”
“Does one?”
“Oh, I think so! His fortune was never large, you know, and he has not the least notion of management. That peerage which affords him such satisfaction was unfortunately unaccompanied by a grant that might have enabled, him to have supported his new dignity in the style he thought proper to it. My dear Edward, have you ever seen the enlargements he saw fit to undertake at Bedlington Manor? Quite dreadful, I assure you! I have only to tell you that he had the Regent for his architectural adviser to make it unnecessary for me to say more.” He covered his eyes with one hand and shuddered eloquently. “There is even a Chinese drawing room. You might almost fancy yourself in poor Prinny’s little summer residence at Brighton. The only consolation is that when it is put up for sale, as it assuredly must be, I have not the least doubt of its fetching a fantastic sum. It is just the thing to appeal to some city merchant with social ambitions.”
“And does your father mean to sell it?” inquired Carlyon politely.
“Yes,” said Francis. “Yes, dear Edward, he does. I have prevailed upon him to see the wisdom of this course. Happily I have a certain influence over him. Not always as much as I could wish, but if I exert myself, enough, I trust. He is not as young as he was, you know, and it must be acknowledged that prolonged intercourse with the Regent is rarely conducive to health or prosperity. When you add to that a turn for playing whist at Oatlands with the Duke of York, which my poor father has lately developed, I cannot think that you need seek further for a reason why he should be endeavoring to recruit his fortunes in this very foolish fashion. He has not the head for such a dangerous game. In fact, he has not the head for meddling in public affairs either, and I am happy to be able to tell you that he has been brought to own as much. Yes, he is retiring. His gout, you know, has been very troublesome. He will retire full of years and honors, and from my knowledge of his buoyant temperament I do not doubt that the events of the past few months will rapidly fade from his memory.”
“How came you to learn of his activities?” Carlyon asked.
“He told me of them himself,” replied Francis.
“What?”
“Oh, yes! Upon inquiry, you know. To be sure, I had already begun to feel just a trifle uneasy about him. You see, I am on such gratifying terms of intimacy with so many of his colleagues! I am sure you may meet me everywhere in polite circles: I am very good ton, you know; Indeed, I have often wondered if I should not challenge Brummell, for there is a set which holds that my way of tying a cravat is superior to his. The younger dandies are already much inclined to follow my lead.”
“Shall we return to the point of this discussion?” Carlyon suggested.
“Ah, forgive me! How very right of you to recall me to it! Yes, the point! The point is, my dear Edward, that being blessed with a large circle of acquaintances I hear quite a number of things which I expect I should not hear at all. I knew that a little pucker was being caused at the Horse Guards, for instance. Leakage of information is not, alas, quite unprecedented. One is forever hearing of lapses, but I was induced to give this particular pucker more than passing attention. One or two circumstances, into which I need not drag you, had caused me to feel that all was not quite well with my parent. I told you that he is wholly unsuited to a life of intrigue. It had begun to prey upon his mind. A devoted son, you know, cannot be insensible of uneasiness in his father. My devotion led me to keep a filial eye upon his activities—so far as I was able. I even began to visit him with a frequency as trying to my nerves as I have no doubt it was to his. Alas, we have never agreed quite as one would wish! Our tastes, you see, are so dissimilar. But I don’t grudge my visits, however much they may have lowered my spirits. For if I had not formed the habit of calling to see how he did I might never have known of his sudden journey into Sussex. I presented myself in Brook Street to be met by the intelligence that his lordship had been called away suddenly, and the merest lift of an eyebrow elicited the further information that poor Mr. Eustace had met with an accident and was dead. That in itself did not surprise me: one had always felt that poor Mr. Eustace would, sooner or later, meet with an accident. It was with only polite interest that I inquired how this news had come to his lordship. It was then that I learned of Louis de Castres’s visit to Brook Street. The butler thought that he had brought the sad tidings.” Francis paused, and frowningly regarded the nails of his right hand. “Well, you know, I did find that surprising. So far as I was aware, Louis was not acquainted with my father. Of course, you may say that it was very natural in him to carry the tidings to one who had a value for Eustace. But what—I confess—I was at a loss to understand was how Louis, who had positively informed me only the previous day that he was going into Hertfordshire for a night, to visit his estimable parents, came to be in Sussex.”
“What I am at a loss to understand,” interrupted Carlyon, “is why Eustace was ever employed in the business if De Castres was aware of the identity of the man who stood behind him?”
“My dear Edward, Louis was no fool! I dare say he guessed from the start, for who in the world but my father would have dreamed of using such a doubtful tool? Possibly he had the truth out of Eustace any time Eustace was in his cups. But Louis had such tact! such exquisite perception! He would be the first to appreciate that my father’s little whims must be indulged. But when Eustace died so inopportunely and he discovered Eustace’s widow in possession at Highnoons, and failed so signally to effect an unobtrusive search of the house, then it was no longer the moment to be considering poor father’s foibles. By the way, I cannot but be thankful that Nicky missed his shot. Really the scandal that must have ensued had he not missed would have been more than either you or I could have averted.”
“I had rather, certainly, that he met his end at your hands than at Nicky’s,” Carlyon replied.
Francis’ eyes lifted swiftly to his face, very wide open. “So you know that, do you?” he said softly. “Now, how do you know that, Carlyon?”
“You told me so.”
“Did I indeed? And how did I do so?”
“A slip of your too ready tongue,” Carlyon said. “You informed us that De Castres had been stabbed and his body left under a bush. But it was not so stated in the journal from which you said you had culled the tidings. I discovered it to be the precise truth.”
“Yes, you know, this habit of yours—I have referred to it before—of fastening on trivial points is scarcely endearing,” said Francis with a slight edge to his voice. “How glad I am that at least you had the good taste not to introduce a third person into this interview! It is quite true, of course: I did dispose of poor Louis. I regretted the necessity; indeed, the whole episode was most painful, but what else was to be done? One could not permit an enemy agent to continue his vocation; one had no means of ascertaining how much that was in that memorandum he already knew; and one shrank from laying information against a dear friend. Indeed, it would be unthinkable to do so! Every feeling must be offended by such a notion!”