A few days later, Dr. Banting told Philip that his wife was out of immediate danger.

  He said, “I also wish to inform you of a surprising, but I hope welcome piece of news. Lady Swaffham is with child.”

  It had been the knowledge of this fact that had made Renee decide not to leave her husband. It had steeled her heart against Thomas’s pleas to run away with him. She had long hesitated and had almost yielded to the feelings of her heart, but her unborn child was now more important than her happiness.

  Unfortunately for her, she had not revealed her condition to her husband and the news revived Philip’s suspicions. His face flushed red, his lips grew pale and his eyes blazed with fury.

  Without saying a word to the doctor he ran up the stairs. At the top of the stairs James, who had been informed by word of mouth of the condition of his Mistress, blocked his progress.

  “Out of the way,” Philip said in a rage.

  “Over my dead body,” said the servant.

  “I can do that too!”

  Philip’s fist went back, but before it could strike the sturdy servant in the face, he was lying on the ground and no matter how hard he fought, he was unable to get from under him. As the servants gathered around them, hesitating whether to help the one or the other, Philip at last gave up.

  “Alright!” he cried. “Enough!”

  James slowly let him out of his iron grip. Instead of going to his wife, Philip ran to his own bedroom and locked himself up. He needed to be alone in order to think over this unwelcome news. The more he thought, the more convinced he became that he had been duped by his infamous wife. He had doubted the allegations in the letter against her, but here was proof and he became convinced that the child was not his.

  “Am I to rear up as my own the child of Thomas St. Ives?”

  The child would grow up in his house, take his name and in the end inherit his title and fortune.

  “Never,” he cried. “I won! If I have to I will crush the life out of it with my own hands!”

  The more he thought about seeing the child growing up under his roof, being forced by the outside world to feign love for the little interloper, the more he felt that he would not be able to perform this task.

  The sudden and mysterious disappearance of Thomas St. Ives had created a lot of excitement in London and the letter, which had been posted by the solicitor from Bombay, instead of explaining matters, had only deepened the mystery. Suspicions were again raised in the minds of the baron’s family and friends. But the disappearance of the young man was only big news for a few days and as the police believed the letter from Bombay to be genuine, they ended their investigation into his disappearance. Soon the newspapers carrying his portraits became fish and chips wrappers. Other events occurred to excite the attention of the fickle public and Baron Thomas St. Ives once more disappeared from everyone’s mind.

  Philip breathed freely once more, because his secret was safe. Jane Bletchley had been gone for three months and had not sent him a single letter. A river of blood divided him and his wife. He had many acquaintances, but not one friend on whom he could rely. His past reckless life of debauchery did not give him the peace it once did. His thoughts were always on the child. He did not wish it anywhere near him. He spent his days and nights locked up in his library, thinking up new plans to get rid of the child. One kept coming back. This was to find an infant, it didn’t matter from where or by what means and to substitute it for the new-born child of his wife. As time went by and the time for a decision came nigh, he summoned James to him. For the first time, however, James, the faithful man, who served his master so truly out of a sense of duty and affection for the House of Swaffham, objected to his master’s proposal, declaring that such an act would bring shame and misery on all concerned in it. When he saw that Philip had made his decision and that, if he refused, his master would employ a less scrupulous agent, he promised to obey.

  A month later, James came to his master and suggested that it would be best to take the lady of the house to a more secluded place, where they could more freely enact their plan. The lord owned an estate in Dorset and they moved there almost immediately. Jane, who was a shadow of her former self, didn’t oppose the move out of London. She and Philip continued to live together in the house, but they were perfect strangers to each other. Sometimes a week would elapse without meeting and if they needed to communicate, it was done by letter.

  The estate to which Philip had taken his wife was admirably adapted for his purpose. The unhappy young woman was entirely alone and cut off the world.

  On the night of the birth of the child, James was able to substitute the child with another one from a local hospital without anyone noticing.

  “And that is all.”

  Joseph Kennan had talked with the complacency of a habitual winner, who was used to hearing his own voice aloud, but all the while he was watching Allen Acheson and the faces of his companions closely beneath his glasses. The effect, which his story had produced, was huge and exactly what he had anticipated. Allen Acheson, Earl Keresley and Whittaker Johnson looked at each other with faces in which astonishment at the strange story and the power of the man, who had gathered these facts together, were mingled. Whittaker Johnson was the first to speak. The sound of his voice slowly dispelled the vague sense of apprehension that hung around the office.

  “Aha!” he cried. “I always said that our old friend Joseph Kennan would make his mark in politics. As soon as his mouth opens the insurance salesman vanishes and we have no longer a summation of dry facts and proofs, but a story, which moves the soul.”

  “Do you really consider it a mere story?” asked Earl Keresley.

  “It sounds like one. You must give me that.”

  “Johnson,” said Joseph Kennan in his bitterly sarcastic tone “is best able to decide on the truth or falsehood of my story, because he’s the legal adviser of Lord Philip Swaffham.”

  “I won’t deny that there is some slight truth to it,” answered the solicitor.

  “Then what is it that you do deny?”

  “Oh, nothing. I merely objected, in jest may I add, to the romantic sentiment in which you argued your case.”

  “Mr. Johnson,” said Kennan, addressing the two others, “has received a lot of confidential communications from his aristocratic client, which he has not thought fit to report to us. He thought that we were standing on thin ice and gave us no warning to save us from the danger, we’re putting ourselves in, hoping, like a true friend, that this way he would get rid of us.”

  Whittaker Johnson stood up to protest and deny the allegation, but Kennan cut him short with an imperial gesture. He sat down again.

  “You must understand that this is only the basic story, because my work has chiefly consisted in putting fragments of letters together. Most of the words you heard were not mine, but rather Countess Bletchley’s and Philip Swaffham’s.”

  “Where did you get...,” began Whittaker Johnson.

  “You forget,” interrupted Kennan, “the correspondence, which Countess Bletchley has been preserving so carefully. She had both his letters to her and her own to him.”

  “And they are in our possession?”

  “Of course we have them. The basis of my case is built on the extracts from them. Apart from that, the man, who sold me the information regarding this dark intrigue was none other than one of the actors, Newton.”

  “The Weasel brought this case to your attention? Is he still alive?”

  “Certainly. It is too big for him to handle and besides he is involved and could easily be jailed as an accomplice. You know him. He doesn’t look like the man we used to know, jail has aged him considerably, but his intellect is as brilliant as ever.”

  Johnson grew serious.

  “This is a lot of information to take in,” he said.

  “I can tell you even more. We have been able to make Irwin Kirwan talk,” broke in Kennan. “The poor soldier was wounded in Ceylon and needed more help than the army doctors could offer him. The good looks of a few nurses and the persuasive tongue of a doctor induced him to go to a private clinic in Bath to recuperate. As long as his money lasted he was living there like a king, but he was thrown out of the clinic with the disappearance of his last hundred shilling. Starving and poverty-stricken, Irwin came back to London and to Lord Swaffham, who accepted his constant demands for money as even he could see the poor man’s wretched state of health. And he stayed faithful to his oath to keep his secret a secret. Had it not been for his terrible propensity for women, the Weasel would never have succeeded in extracting his secret from him. I think it won’t be long before our soldier understands that he has been duped by pretty Matilda and he will remember what he has told her about his source of income. If I read his character right, he will go straight to Lord Swaffham and tell him that his secret has passed into other hands.”

  Johnson stood up with a loud oath.

  “Did you think,” asked Kennan, “that I would feel at ease if I thought that there was the faintest of risk? Let us consider what Mr. Kirwan can attest to. Who is it that he can accuse of having stolen his secret? Only a pretty young woman named Matilda and her uncle named Newton. How can the lord possibly make any connection between them and you?”

  “You’re right,” said Johnson, calming down. “That would be a difficult task.”

  “Besides,” continued Kennan, “what have we to fear from Lord Swaffham? I say not a thing. He is as much in our power as the woman he used to love, Jane Bletchley. We have the letters, written by both of them and we also know where in his garden to dig to find the most damning piece of evidence of all. Remember that there will be no difficulty in identifying the skeleton. Baron St. Ives wore distinctive rings around his fingers, a fact, which was given to the police.”

  “Well,” said Whittaker Johnson, “you can rely on me. I will do my part. Tell me your plans and I will let you know what I hear from the lord.”

  For a moment a smile seemed to appear on Joseph Kennan’s lips, because this time he believed the solicitor.

  “Before we go further,” he said, “let me conclude my story. The murder happened five years ago. The Lord and Lady Swaffham have an unlimited amount of wealth and bear one of the oldest aristocratic names in England. This is what I have heard from their domestics. They are surrounded with every luxury known by humans and yet their lives are a perfect mess. They simply live and have lost all hope of happiness, but they are adamant to hide the murder in the darkest place and to never let it out of its hiding place. Renee Swaffham is in poor health and seldom goes out. The lord most of the time locks himself up in his library and reads.”

  “What about Countess Bletchley?” asked Acheson.

  “I’m coming to that,” said Kennan. “With the strange determination to destroy the men, who love them and run after men, who don’t, which fills the hearts of our women, she didn’t consider her revenge complete until she had told Philip that it was she, who sent him the anonymous letter and thereby was the reason for the unending sorrow in his life. She told him this on her return from Scotland. It was only then that the lord understood that his wife was telling the truth. The son they had discarded was his son after all.”

  “Why didn’t he strangle her with his bare hands?” cried Earl Keresley.

  “Because,” said Kennan, “she has all his incriminating letters and taunts him with them constantly. No, my dear friends, don’t let us flatter ourselves thinking that we have the sole monopoly on blackmail. Our high-born countess has been plundering the lord’s coffers, as if she had been a mere lady of the night. Only ten days ago she borrowed, that’s how she calls it, a large sum from him to settle the overdue account of her dressmaker. But let us now speak of the child, who took the place of the boy whom Lady Swaffham brought into the world. You know him, Earl?”

  “Yes, I’ve often seen him. He was a fine young fellow.”

  “He was educated and brought up without regard to expense. He was a thorn in the side of the lord and I believe that he felt relief, when he died at the age of four. The poor kid had been born sickly and had never recovered. His mother was inconsolable and was present at his death-bed, because she considered her sorrows as the just punishment of heaven for the death of her former lover. When the boy died, the family of Swaffham seemed to become extinct and it was then that Philip decided to do what his wife had long pleaded with him to do and that was to find and reclaim the child, which he had asked James to substitute for another at the hospital in Dorset. It was with hope in his heart and bringing every necessary document that he went back to Dorset for the first time in five years. He had no luck. The authorities of the hospital, on consulting the registers, found that four children had been born on that night. The hospital had only written down the first names, the town and the ages of the mothers as was the policy for this particular hospital as part of its charter was to provide refuge to unwed mothers. There was no clue to the boy’s or his parent’s whereabouts.”

  Johnson listened to these details with an unpleasant feeling gnawing at his heart, because he saw that his associates knew everything and he had relied on securing their confidence by providing them with those details. Kennan acted like he didn’t notice his surprise and went on explaining his plans.

  “The disappointment of not finding his real son will only add to shorten his life. After all the crimes and follies of his youth, he hoped to have some peace and quiet in his old age, with a son, who could bring some joy to his lonely fireside. The expression on his face, as he came home from his fruitless visit to Dorset, was enough to convince his wife Renee, who had been expecting his return in an agony of anguish and suspense that all hope had gone. A few days later the lord had recovered from the shock and had decided that for his wife’s sake he would continue with the search. The world may be big and a friendless boy, without a name, is difficult to trace, but he knows that with ample funds, almost anything can be done. So immense are his resources that it has been very easy for him to employ the most skilful detectives in the world. He has shied away from going to the police and asking for help as he fears his wife may say more than necessary and might reveal the murder secret behind the young boy’s disappearance. He has hired everyone of London’s detectives at one time or another. At last he was sent to a certain Jules Poiret.”

  To Allen’s surprise, the name produced a sudden and horrible impact on Earl Keresley. He sprang to his feet as if he had seen a ghost and took a small, but very sharp knife from his pocket. He gazed around with wild eyes.

  “Stop!” he cried. “If that fellow Poiret is on our case, I withdraw. I will have nothing to do with it, because it will certainly end in failure.”

  He looked thoroughly frightened. Johnson smiled.

  “Yes,” he said, “I can understand your concern, but Poiret has nothing to do with our business.”

  Earl Keresley, however, was not satisfied with Whittaker Johnson’s soothing words and looked for confirmation from Joseph Kennan.

  “Poiret has nothing to do with us,” repeated his friend. “The old fool declined the commission and gave as a reason that he did not take on cases of a private nature. I have investigated him and he was not lying. The lord offered him a huge sum to take on the case, but he refused. He said that he had retired and didn’t work for money, but only for the love of his profession.”

  “Which is quite true,” interrupted Whittaker Johnson.

  “When Poiret refused,” continued Kennan, “the lord decided to put more distance between the actual search and himself and applied to our friend Johnson in his role of solicitor.”

  “Yes,” answered the solicitor, “he came to me as I had worked for him many years ago, when I was still practicing law in Bombay.”

  “Has he provided you with any plan of action?”

  “Not at present. The lord just told me, “Ask every living soul in the world where my son is, if you have to.” That was the only order he has given me. Well,” he added with a shrug of his shoulders, “I can tell you that he has been a very profitable client ever since, although the search has been a fruitless one.”

  “Well,” answered Kennan coldly, “I’ve been successful in my search.”

  “Say what? Have you been to Dorset?” asked Whittaker Johnson.

  “Never mind that. I have been somewhere and at this very moment I can place my hand on the shoulder of the father of the heir to the title of Lord of Swaffham.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I have never been more earnest in my life. I’ve found the father, whose son was substituted at the hospital in Dorset. The lord got his son and he ended up with the lord’s son and he has been raising him ever since. I will delegate to you and Keresley the happiness of restoring the lost son to his father’s arms.”

  Johnson glanced from Kennan to Keresley and from them to Allen and seemed to wish to be certain that he was not being fooled.

  “Why don’t you tell the lord the happy news?” he asked at last, in a suspicious tone of voice. “Do you foresee risks and want me to bear the brunt?”

  Kennan shrugged his shoulders.

  “First of all,” he said, “I don’t betray my associates, because, as you know well enough, the safety of all of us depends on the safety of each and every one of us. Can one of us be compromised without endangering his associates? You know that this is impossible.”

  “But listen…”

  Joseph Kennan lost his patience and with a deep frown, he replied, “Alright, enough. Discussion has ended. I’m the senior partner in this firm and it’s for you to obey me.”

  When Kennan adopted this tone, resistance was out of the question and his partners knew this. Resistance was futile, so it was best to obey with good humor. Johnson kept his mouth and so did the others.

  “Alright, now take a pen and a piece of paper,” continued Kennan, “and take careful notes of what I now say. Success is inevitable, but I must have your full co-operation. You must obey my orders to the detail. One wrong step could ruin us all. You have been warned.”