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Updated: June 6, 2025
A few months after my mother’s marriage my aunt disappeared; a few weeks after that event, and my uncle Geoffrey dropped down dead, as he was playing at cards with Mr. Maryon, the proprietor of a neighboring mansion known as The Mere.
When I recovered I was told that terrible things had happened at The Mere. Mr. Maryon had been found dead in Sir Henry Benet’s room—an effusion of blood upon the brain, the doctors said—and the body of Colonel Bludyer had been discovered in the snow in an old disused gravel-pit not far from the house.
"In fact, I was under the impression she'd already made 'em," he added with a grin. "No, they're unsettled at present," returned Kitty. "She's not very keen about Maryon Rooke now." Kitty was of the opinion that you should never tell even the best of husbands more than he need know. "So we think she requires distraction," she pursued firmly.
I saw clearly the features in profile, and, swift as lightning, my memory was carried back to the unforgotten scene in the churchyard upon the Lake of Lucerne, and I recognized the white face of the young man with whom I there had spoken. “John Maryon,” said the voice, “this is the night upon which, a quarter of a century ago, you killed me. It is your last night on earth.
"You don't seem to understand the meaning of the word faithfulness. Perhaps you can't help it you're half a Varincourt! . . . Don't you realise what you've done? You've torn down our love and soiled it made it nothing! I believed in you as I believed in God. . . . And then you run away with Maryon Rooke! One man or another apparently it's all the same to you."
I should be sorry that you should be at the pains of putting on too hot a coat on my account; but, otherwise, you may put it on hind-side before, or inside-out, or with your legs in the sleeves, or your head in the skirts, for any objection that I have to offer to your thoroughly pleasing yourself." "Very good, Captain Maryon," says Pordage, in a tremendous passion. "Very good, sir.
"Oh, Maryon " She stretched her hands towards him gropingly, like a child that is frightened in the dark. . . . Half an hour later found them still together, standing with linked hands. In Rooke's eyes there was a quiet light of triumph, while Nan's attitude betrayed a kind of hesitancy, as of one driven along strange and unknown ways. "Then you'll come, Nan, you'll come?" he said eagerly.
And I don't understand it. Nan is so essentially attractive from a man's point of view." "How do you know?" queried Kitty whimsically. "You're only a woman." "Why, because I've used my eyes, my dear! . . . But in this case it seems we were all mistaken. If ever a man deliberately set himself to make a woman care, Maryon Rooke was the man. And when he'd succeeded he went away."
"She and Peter are decorating the tea-table smiles and things, you know" Penelope waved an explanatory hand. Kitty nodded. "I think my plan was a good one, don't you? Peter's been an excellent antidote to Maryon Rooke," she observed complacently. "I'm not so sure," returned Penelope with characteristic caution.
Our leader had opened the door of the room, and we were in the same chamber I had wandered to when I had slept at The Mere. The figure of Geoffrey Ringwood paused at the round table, and looked again at Mr. Maryon, who proceeded: “You went straight to the fifth panel from the fireplace, and then touched a spring, and the panel opened.
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