Chapter 14

MY WELCOME TO CANADA

The voyage across the Atlantic was long and uneventful. No whales,
no icebergs, no excitement of any sort. My fellow-passengers said
it was as dull as it was calm. But as for me, I had plenty to occupy
my mind meanwhile. Strange things had happened in the interval, and
were happening to me on the way. Strange things, in part, of my own
internal history.

For before I left England, as I sat with Aunt Emma in her little
drawing-room at Barton-on-the-Sea, discussing my plans and devising
routes westward, she made me, quite suddenly, an unexpected
confession.

"Una," she said, after a long pause, "you haven't told me, my dear,
why you're going to Canada. And I don't want to ask you. I know
pretty well. We needn't touch upon that. You're going to hunt up
some supposed clue to the murderer."

"Perhaps so, Auntie," I said oracularly: "and perhaps not."

For I didn't want it to get talked about and be put into all the
newspapers. And I knew now if I wanted to keep it out, I must first
be silent.

Aunt Emma drew nearer and took my hand in hers. At the same time,
she held up the other scarred and lacerated palm.

"Do you know when I got that, Una?" she asked with a sudden burst.
"Well, I'll tell you, my child.... It was the night of your father's
death. And I got it climbing over the wall at The Grange, to escape
detection."

My blood ran cold once more. What on earth could this mean? Had
Auntie--? But no. I had the evidence of my own senses that it was
Courtenay Ivor. I'd tracked him down now. There was no room for
doubt. The man on the wagon was the man who fired the shot. I could
have sworn to that bent back, of my own knowledge, among a thousand.

I hadn't long to wait, however. Auntie went on after a short pause.

"I was there," she said, "by accident, trying for once to see you."

I looked at her fixedly still, and still I said nothing.

"I was stopping with friends at the time, ten miles off from
Woodbury," Aunt Emma went on, smoothing my hand with hers, "and I
longed so to see you. I came over by train that day, and stopped
late about the town in hopes I might meet you in the street. But I
was disappointed. Towards evening I ventured even to go into the
grounds of The Grange, and look about everywhere on the chance that
I might see you. Perhaps your father might be out. I went round
towards the window, which I now know to be the library. As I went, I
saw a bicycle leaning up against the wall by the window. I thought
that must be some visitor, but still I went on. But just as I
reached the window, I saw a flash of electric light; and