"Oh! go on, Harry. Tell me all. Hide nothing."
"I will tell you all," he replied.
"First, where is that poor man whom the doctor brought here and Fanny
nursed? And where is Fanny?"
"The poor man," he replied carelessly, "made so rapid a recovery that
he has got on his legs and gone away--I believe, to report himself to
the hospital whence he came. It is a great triumph for the doctor,
whose new treatment is now proved to be successful. He will make a
grand flourish of trumpets about it. I dare say, if all he claims for
it is true, he has taken a great step in the treatment of lung
diseases."
Iris had no disease of the lungs, and consequently cared very little
for the scientific aspect of the question.
"Where is my maid, then?"
"Fanny? She went away--let me see: to-day is Friday--on Wednesday
morning. It was no use keeping her here. The man was well, and she was
anxious to get back to you. So she started on Wednesday morning,
proposing to take the night boat from Dieppe. She must have stopped
somewhere on the way."
"I suppose she will go to see Mrs. Vimpany. I will send her a line
there."
"Certainly. That will be sure to find her."
"Well, Harry, is there anything else to tell me?
"A great deal," he repeated. "That photograph, Iris, which frightened
you so much, has been very carefully taken by Vimpany for a certain
reason."
"What reason?"
"There are occasions," he replied, "when the very best thing that can
happen to a man is the belief that he is dead. Such a juncture of
affairs has happened to myself--and to you--at this moment. It is
convenient--even necessary--for me that the world should believe me
dead. In point of fact, I must be dead henceforth. Not for anything
that I have done, or that I am afraid of--don't think that. No; it is
for the simple reason that I have no longer any money or any resources
whatever. That is why I must be dead. Had you not returned in this
unexpected manner, my dear, you would have heard of my death from the
doctor, and he would have left it to chance to find a convenient
opportunity of letting you know the truth. I am, however, deeply
grieved that I was so careless as to leave that photograph upon the
table."
"I do not understand," she said. "You pretend to be dead?"