I could never explain to
them now, and they would never believe you. Besides, it's all for the
best. Yes, the train went over them and I'm armless for the second time. But--not for long!" I knelt by his side and sobbed. It all seemed so dreadful, and yet, I
don't think that then I would have tried to stay his passing. I knew it
was best for him. He looked at me very affectionately. "I'm so sorry that this should happen on your wedding-day," he said. "But it would have been so much worse for you if _she_ had not helped." His voice grew fainter and died away. There was a pause for a time, and his breath came in great sighing sobs. Then suddenly he raised himself on the cushions until he stood upright
on his feet, and a smile broke over his face--a smile so sweet that I
think the angels in Paradise must look like that. His voice came strong and loud from his lips. "Darling!" he cried. "Darling, your arms are round me once again! I
come! I come!" *       *       *       *       *

"One of the most extraordinary cases I have ever met with," the doctor
told the coroner at the inquest. "He seemed to have all the symptoms of
excessive hæmorrhage." III

THE TOMTOM CLUE


I had just settled down for a comfortable evening over the fire in a
saddle-bag chair drawn up as close to the hearth as the fender would
allow, with a plentiful supply of literature and whisky, and pipe and
tobacco, when the telephone bell rang loudly and insistently. With a
sigh I rose and took up the receiver. "That you?" said a voice I recognised as that of Jack Bridges. "Can I
come round and see you at once? It's most important. No, I can't tell
you now. I'll be with you in a few minutes." I hung the receiver up again, wondering what business could fetch Jack
Bridges round at that time of the evening to see me. We had been the
greatest of pals at school and at the 'Varsity, and had kept the
friendship up ever since, despite my intermittent wanderings over the
face of the globe. But during the last few days or so Jack had become
engaged to Miss Glanville, the daughter of old Glanville, of South
African fame, and as a love-sick swain I naturally expected to see very
little of him, until after the wedding at any rate. At this time of the evening, according to my ideas of engaged couples,
he should be sitting in the stalls at some theatre, and not running
round to see bachelor friends with cynical views on matrimony. I had not arrived at a satisfactory solution when the door opened and
Jack walked in. One glance at his face told me that he was in trouble,
and without a word I pushed him into my chair and handed him a drink. Then I sat down on the opposite side of the fire and waited for him to
begin, for a man in need of sympathy does not want to be worried by
questions. He gulped down half his whisky and sat for a moment gazing into the
fire. "Jim, old man," he said at length, "I've had awful news." "Not connected with Miss Glanville?" I asked. "In a way, yes. It's broken off, but there's worse than that--far worse. I can hardly realise it; I feel numbed at present; it's too horrible. You remember that when you and I were at Winchester together my father
was killed during the Matabele War?" I nodded. "Well," continued Jack, "I heard to-day that he was not killed by the
Matabele, but was hanged in Bulawayo for murder. In other words, I am
the son of a murderer." "Hanged for murder!" I exclaimed in horror. "Surely there's some
mistake?" "No," groaned Jack, "it's true enough. I've seen the newspaper cutting
of the time, and I'm the son of a murderer, who was also a forger, a
thief, and a card-sharper. Old Glanville told me this evening. It was
then that our engagement was broken off." "Your mother?" I asked. "Have you seen her?" Jack nodded. "Poor little woman!" he groaned. "She has known all along, and her one
aim and object in life has been to keep the awful truth from me. That
was why I was told he died an honourable death during the war. I've
often wondered why the little mother was always so sad, and so weighed
down by trouble. Now I know. Good God, what her life must have been!" He rose from his chair and paced up and down the room for a minute; then
he stopped and stood in front of me, his face working with emotion. "But I don't believe it, Jim," he said, and there was a ring in his
voice. "I don't believe it, and neither does the little mother. It's
impossible to reconcile the big, bluff man with the heart of a child,
that I remember as my father, with murder, forgery, or any other crime. And yet, according to Glanville and the old newspapers he showed me,
Richard Bridges was one of the most unscrupulous ruffians in South
Africa. In my heart of hearts I know he didn't do it, and though on the
face of it there's no doubt, I'm going to try and clear his name. I am
sailing for South Africa on Friday." "Sailing for South Africa!" I exclaimed. "What about your work?" "My work can go hang!" replied Jack heatedly. "I want to wipe away the
stain from my father's name, and I mean to do it somehow. That's why
I've run round to see you, old pal, for I want you to come with me. Knowing Rhodesia as you do, you're just the man to help me. Say you'll
come?" he pleaded. It seemed quite the forlornest hope I had ever heard of, but Jack's
distress was so acute that I hadn't the heart to refuse. "All right, Jack," I said, "I'm with you. But don't foster any vain
hopes. Remember, it's twenty years ago. It will be a pretty tough job to
prove anything after all these years." During the voyage out we had ample time to go through the small amount
of information about the long-forgotten case that Jack had been able to
collect from the family solicitors. In the year 1893, Richard Bridges, who was a mining engineer of some
standing, had made a trip to Rhodesia with a view to gold and diamond
prospecting. He had been accompanied by a friend, Thomas Symes, who, so
far as we could ascertain, was an ex-naval officer; and the two, after a
short stay at Bulawayo, had gone northward across the Guai river into
what was in those days a practically unknown land. In a little over a
year's time Bridges had returned alone--his companion having been, so he
stated, killed by the Matabele, and for six months or so he led a
dissolute life in Bulawayo and the district, which ended ultimately in
his execution for murder. There was no doubt whatever about the murder,
or the various thefts and forgeries that he was accused of, as he had
made a confession at his trial, and we seemed to be on a wild-goose
chase of the worst variety so far as I could see; but Jack, confident of
his father's innocence, would not hear of failure. "It's impossible to make surmises at this stage," he said. "On the face
of it there appears to be little room for doubt, but no one who knew my
father could possibly connect him with any sort of crime. Somehow or
other, Jim, I've got to clear his name."