human
I found, among other things yesterday, when I was looking for the will in your father's desk, after having appropriated his keys first, a bundle of old love-letters, written upon paper which I ascertained had been bought in the village, and bearing a post-mark which was local, and signed with the name 'Jeannette.' I confess I did not know just where these entered into the case at all, but something told me that they were a big factor. My intuition--policeman's sixth sense--call it what you will. I looked into the matter, and then discovered, after some probing through my man Dollops (who, by the way, Mr. Narkom, deserves high commendation in this case), that they were actually written by James Tavish's sister, Jeannette, and that--to put it baldly, for which I trust you will forgive me--that your father had been carrying on a secret liaison with this girl for some years, upon promise of marriage, and had, in fact, got her into very unfortunate trouble.
gpt
But he never married her--he married _me_-- I am his legal wife, I swear that! struck in Lady Paula, in a high-pitched, terrified voice.
human
I knew nothing of this woman at all--everything in our marriage was in order----
gpt
Of that there is not the smallest doubt, Lady Paula, returned Cleek gravely.
human
I said only 'under _promise_ of marriage.' That is where man is unfortunately so unfaithful. He merely left her to bear her trouble alone--after, of course, providing for her and the possible issue of their unhappy union--and, being a faithful woman, it broke her heart, and both she and her child died as a consequence of this neglect. When the wish to live is gone, there is little else to bind one to this earth at such times, my friends, and so she and her unwanted little one passed out to a happier realm. Much of this I have gleaned from those same letters; much I have deduced in the natural course of events. The final clue was discovered in James Tavish's own room, where this photograph, bearing the date of her death and that of her child, and having one word written across the face of it, was discovered in a box on his dressing-table.
gpt
AS A TALE THAT WAS TOLD
human
My God! It was Ross Duggan who spoke.
gpt
Just to think of it! Just to think! That _my_ father----
human
Don't forget he's dead, Ross, and beyond all chance of your remonstrating with him, and that the dead cannot speak up for themselves! cried Maud Duggan, in a wrung voice.
gpt
Don't say anything you will be sorry for, I beg of you! Mr. Cleek, this has come as something in the nature of a shock to my brother and me, and--and it's going to take some time to let this part of your story sink in. It seems dreadful that one's own father....
human
And yet there are many who have done worse--far worse, threw in Cleek, with uplifted hand, as she paused and looked at him out of anguished eyes.
gpt
Youth must learn to forgive, Miss Duggan. That is a lesson which both you and your brother have got to learn, and don't forget, will you, in the learning, that this thing took place more than seventeen years ago--before your father was married to his present wife. Raking up dead ashes is a poor sort of game, and an unprofitable one. I would never have spoken only that therein lay the motive of James Tavish's crime, and for seventeen long years he has worked for it. The unutterable patience of the man! the appalling sense of revenge! For at the end of that time his bitterness to the man who had wronged his sister was even greater than when the thing itself took place. How long has he been in your father's employ?
human
Twelve years.
gpt
And I take it he was well known locally before that?
human
The family was certainly an old local one, Mr. Cleek, and, in fact, I have heard the story go that they were descendants of the original Peasant Girl on her mother's side.
gpt
Oho! Well, that may or may not be. Vendettas are not only carried out in southern climes, Miss Duggan. I've learned that lesson to my cost many times since I took up this profession. And the Scotch temperament is a dour one, and not forgiving. A grudge is a grudge, even if it lasts through several centuries--and who knows but that this belief lent colour to his hatred of your father? At any rate, whether it is true or not, James Tavish killed Sir Andrew because he was the betrayer of his sister--and took seventeen years to bring his vengeance to full maturity. Gad! what a character to bear! It makes one's blood run cold!... Constables, I think you may remove your prisoner now to the nearest lock-up. We've done with him for the present, thanks.