The Wiles of the Wicked Part 24

"Yes, yes, I know," he answered, patting me on the shoulder with a familiarity curious when I reflected that I had never set eyes upon him till half an hour before. "But take my advice, and don't reflect upon it."

"If you know, then perhaps you'll kindly give me some explanation?" I said, resenting his manner. He was treating me as he would a child.

"I only know what you've told me," he responded. "It's a strange story, certainly. But don't you think that it is, greater part of it, imagination?"

"Imagination!" I cried, starting up angrily. "I tell you, Doctor Britten--or whatever your name is--that it is no imagination. The wound on my head is sufficient proof of that."

"The wound was inflicted by yourself," he answered calmly. "You accidentally ran against the statue."

"I don't believe it," I said, bluntly. "It's all a confounded conspiracy, and, moreover, you are staking your professional reputation by a.s.sisting in it."

He shrugged his shoulders and raised his grey eyebrows with an expression of regret.

"I have been called to you, my dear sir, because you have met with an accident," he said. "I have merely given you the best of my advice-- namely, to remain quiet, and not trouble about anything that has pa.s.sed.

Your brain requires rest after the severe shock it has received."

"Doctor Britten," I said determinedly, "I quite understand the meaning of your vague words. You believe that I'm not quite right in my mind."

"No, no," he a.s.sured me quickly. "I did not say that. Pray do not misunderstand me. I merely advise rest and perfect quiet. Indeed, you would be far better in bed for a few days--far better."

"I know my own feelings best, thanks," I replied, for his manner, although it might impress nervous old ladies, aroused within me a strong resentment.

"Exactly. But surely you should, for your own sake, attend to the suggestions of your medical adviser?"

"You have formed wrong conclusions--entirely wrong conclusions," I laughed. "Is it likely that I shall take notice of anything you say when you believe that I'm not responsible for my actions?"

I had watched his face carefully, and I knew that, like the dark-faced young man and Gill, the servant, he believed my brain unbalanced.

"I a.s.sure you, my dear sir, you entirely misunderstand me," he protested. "I merely say--"

"Oh, enough!" I cried angrily, turning upon my heel and leaving the room abruptly. I was sick of the chattering old idiot, who evidently believed that I was not responsible for my actions.

Down the wide oak stairs I pa.s.sed, and in the great hall, which seemed to run the whole length of the house, and was filled with stands of armour, tattered banners, and trophies of the chase, I encountered the pale-faced man who had sent for old Britten.

I was pa.s.sing him by, intent upon exploring this strange house in which I found myself, when, approaching me, he said--

"Would you please come into the library for one moment?"

"The library?" I asked, looking at him, puzzled. "Where is it?"

He opened a door close by, and I followed him into a comfortable study, lined with books from floor to ceiling. In the centre was a large writing-table littered with papers, while close beside was another smaller table, very severe and business-like.

"Well?" I inquired. "What do you want?"

"This telegram has just arrived," he answered excitedly, unlocking a drawer in the smaller writing-table, and taking out a telegram, which he handed to me.

Puzzled, I took the flimsy paper and read the words written thereon, as follows:--

"We are to-day in receipt of following telegram from our Vancouver branch--`Inform Wilford Heaton that Charles Mawson, Dawson City, has struck it seven dollars to pan.' Bank of British North America, London."

Such a message was utterly unintelligible to me.

"Well?" I inquired, raising my eyes and looking at him, surprised. "I don't see why this Charles Mawson, whoever he is, need hasten to tell me that. What does it matter to me?"

"Matter? My dear sir? Matter?" he cried, staring at me, as though in wonder. "There must, I think, be something the matter with you."

"Well, perhaps you'll kindly explain what it means?" I said, "I have, I a.s.sure you, no idea."

"Why, it means," he said, his face betraying his intense excitement--"it means that Woodford's report is correct, that there is, after all, rich gold on the concession; in short, that, being owner of one of the most valuable placer concessions, you are a millionaire!"

"That's all very interesting," I remarked with a smile, while he stood staring at me in abject wonder.

"I fear," he said, "that you're not quite yourself to-day. The injury to your head has possibly affected you."

"No, it hasn't," I snapped quickly. "I'm quite as clear-headed as you are."

"Then I should have thought that to any man in his sane senses such a telegram as that would have been extremely gratifying," he observed.

"Now, tell me," I said; "do you know who I am?"

"I think I do. You are Mr Wilford Heaton."

"And you tell me that I'm a millionaire?"

"I do, most certainly."

"Then, much as I regret to be compelled to say it, young man," I answered, "I am of opinion that you're a confounded liar."

"But Mawson has struck the gold seven dollars to the pan," he pointed out in protest.

"Well, what in the name of Fortune has it to do with me if he's struck it a thousand dollars to the handful?" I cried.

"I should be inclined to say it had a great deal to do with you as holder of the concession," he answered quite coolly.

"Oh, bother the concession," I said hastily. "I don't understand anything whatever about it, and, what's more, I don't want to be worried over any mining swindles." Then I added, sinking into the padded chair before the writing-table. "You seem to know all about me. Tell me, now--what's your name?"

"My name?" he echoed, staring at me blankly, as though utterly puzzled.

"Well, I thought you knew it long ago. I'm Gedge--Reginald Gedge."

"And what are you, pray?"

"I'm your secretary."

"My secretary!" I echoed, gasping in amazement. Then I added, "Look here, you're trying to mislead me, all of you. I have no secretary-- I've never had one. All this chatter about mines and concessions and such things is pure and simple rubbish."

"Very well," he answered with a slight sigh. "If you would have it so it must be. Britten has already said that you are somewhat confused after your accident."

"Britten be hanged!" I roared. "I'm no more confused than you are.