The Classic Mystery Collection - Arthur Conan Doyle [4494]
"I had Mark's clothes on my hands. I might have left them in the passage, but the secret of the passage was now out. Miss Norris knew it. That was the weak point of my plan, perhaps, that Miss Norris had to know it. So I hid them in the pond, the Inspector having obligingly dragged it for me first. A couple of keys joined them, but I kept the revolver. Fortunate, wasn't it, Mr. Gillingham?
"I don't think that there is any more to tell you. This is a long letter, but then it is the last which I shall write. There was a time when I hoped that there might be a happy future for me, not at the Red House, not alone. Perhaps it was never more than an idle day-dream, for I am no more worthy of her than Mark was. But I could have made her happy, Mr. Gillingham. God, how I would have worked to make her happy! But now that is impossible. To offer her the hand of a murderer would be as bad as to offer her the hand of a drunkard. And Mark died for that. I saw her this morning. She was very sweet. It is a difficult world to understand.
"Well, well, we are all gone now--the Abletts and the Cayleys. I wonder what old Grandfather Cayley thinks of it all. Perhaps it is as well that we have died out. Not that there was anything wrong with Sarah--except her temper. And she had the Ablett nose--you can't do much with that. I'm glad she left no children.
"Good-bye, Mr. Gillingham. I'm sorry that your stay with us was not of a pleasanter nature, but you understand the difficulties in which I was placed. Don't let Bill think too badly of me. He is a good fellow; look after him. He will he surprised. The young are always surprised. And thank you for letting me end my own way. I expect you did sympathize a little, you know. We might have been friends in another world--you and I, and I and she. Tell her what you like. Everything or nothing. You will know what is best. Good-bye, Mr. Gillingham.
"MATTHEW CAYLEY.
"I am lonely to-night without Mark. That's funny, isn't it?"
CHAPTER XXII
Mr. Beverley Moves On
"Good Lord!" said Bill, as he put down the letter.
"I thought you'd say that," murmured Antony.
"Tony, do you mean to say that you knew all this?"
"I guessed some of it. I didn't quite know all of it, of course."
"Good Lord!" said Bill again, and returned to the letter. In a moment he was looking up again. "What did you write to him? Was that last night? After I'd gone into Stanton?"
"Yes."
"What did you say? That you'd discovered that Mark was Robert?"
"Yes. At least I said that this morning I should probably telegraph to Mr. Cartwright of Wimpole Street, and ask him to--"
Bill burst in eagerly on the top of the sentence. "Yes, now what was all that about? You were so damn Sherlocky yesterday all of a sudden. We'd been doing the thing together all the time, and you'd been telling me everything, and then suddenly you become very mysterious and private and talk enigmatically--is that the word?--about dentists and swimming and the 'Plough and Horses,' and--well, what was it all about? You simply vanished out of sight; I didn't know what on earth we were talking about."
Antony laughed and apologized.
"Sorry, Bill. I felt like that suddenly. Just for the last half-hour; just to end up with. I'll tell you everything now. Not that there's anything to tell, really. It seems so easy when you know it--so obvious. About Mr. Cartwright of Wimpole Street. Of course he was just to identify the body."
"But whatever made you think of a dentist for that?"
"Who could do it better? Could you have done it? How could you? You'd never gone bathing with Mark; you'd never seen him stripped. He didn't swim. Could his doctor do it? Not unless he'd had some particular operation, and perhaps not then. But his dentists could--at any time, always--if he had been to his dentist fairly often. Hence Mr. Cartwright of Wimpole Street."
Bill nodded thoughtfully and went back again to the letter.
"I see. And you told Cayley that