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Updated: May 1, 2025
On approaching nearer, this light changed into the distinct and visible form of his master, Sir Philip Derval, who was then abroad, supposed to be in the East, where he had resided for many years. The impression on the steward's mind was so strong, that he called out, "Oh, Sir Philip!" when looking still more intently, he perceived that the face was that of a corpse.
But, as I came to that conclusion, I was seized with an intense curiosity to examine for myself those chemical agencies with which Sir Philip Derval appeared so familiar; to test the contents in that mysterious casket of steel.
Rohan did not stir; his eyes were fixed on the ground, but his features worked convulsively. "Forward now, all of you to the inn!" said Corporal Derval, when the cheering was over. "We will drink the health of Number One!" As everybody was moving towards the door, Rohan started as if from a trance. "Stay!" he shouted. All stood listening, and his widowed mother crept up and clasped his hand.
I started, looked again; it was the face of Sir Philip Derval! He was lying on his back, the countenance upturned, a dark stream oozing from the breast, murdered by two ghastly wounds, murdered not long since, the blood was still warm. Stunned and terror-stricken, I stood bending over the body. Suddenly I was touched on the shoulder. "Hollo! what is this?" said a gruff voice. "Murder!"
Sir Philip Derval, according not only to report, but to the direct testimony of his servant, had acquired in the course of his travels many secrets in natural science, especially as connected with the healing art, his servant had deposed to the remarkable cures he had effected by the medicinals stored in the stolen casket.
Derval, one of Napoleon's veterans, who had been pensioned after losing his leg at Austerlitz, looked at his pretty niece, Marcelle, with a strange pallor on his furrowed, sunburnt face. "Rohan was too ill to come," said Marcelle, with a troubled look in her sweet grey eyes. "I will draw in his name."
Without mentioning the visit I had paid that morning, I turned the conversation on the different country places in the neighbourhood, and then incidentally asked, "What sort of a man is Sir Philip Derval? Is it not strange that he should suffer so fine a place to fall into decay?" The answers I received added little to the information I had already obtained. Mrs.
"My question need not offend you, Dr. Fenwick. I put it in another shape: Did Sir Philip Derval so boast of the secrets contained in his casket that a quack or pretender might deem such secrets of use to him?" "Possibly he might, if he believed in such a boast." "Humph! he might if he so believed. I have no more questions to put to you at present, Dr. Fenwick."
When at Derval Court his house had been filled with gay companions, and was the scene of lavish hospitality; but the estate was not in proportion to the grandeur of the mansion, still less to the expenditure of the owner.
When he was about sixteen, Philip Derval had begun to read the many mystic books which the library contained; but without other result on his mind than the sentiment of disappointment and disgust. The impressions produced on the credulous imagination of childhood vanished.
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