Part 1: The Fool Leaves England

Auckland Star, Volume XLVI, Issue 147, 22 June 1915, Page 10

Part 1: The Fool Leaves England

CHAPTER XXVI I. A DEAD MAN'S KiCVS. Orme wasn't quite euro if lip wore •tanding ..it his head or hecK It was a long while before he managed to speak. '"But v.ni ilon't expeot " Sharply she broke in ou him; the preen eyes were greener than he ever remembered them before. "But I A"'-" she said. Thafe just il—l expert half." ''But it'n—it'e preposterous! What can you have that " ••I liave debts to pay." ehe said, quietly, "debts of w.liicli Sir .Mm and 1-idy Orm<> know nothing. 1 can't help my expensive taetes. It's a disease that was Wn with mc. T"iii not goinj: into details, except in so far as to inform you that it will take your 'two thousand a year' a long thin* to dear off my obligations." He didn't hesitate for long. After oil, two thousand :i year for himself was better than having to work for his living, or. what was worse, living on the charity of fricn.ls! "Hl*do it." he said. '•Xlioupht you would." She went over ■to the flat-topped desk in the middle of the apartment, and pointcl, "There are pene and i.ik." "What for?"' "Oh"—sweetly—"l'd take a little black-and-white agreement—just a mrre matter of form, you know." •Do you think I'm going to commit myeelt to paner!" ITe was inclined to Wueter. Linda Pane shrugged her shouldere. Tlien tho bargainee oil, dear man!" She was movinjr from tke desk. A word lrom him drew _her up. She thought he •would speak it. "Rut if I give you my word of honour to " "Your word of—what?'"—mockingly. "You marked cards: you sent your brother away. 'Honour?' Oh. dear, no!" "But by doing what you I am putting a halter round ray neck." ho expostulated. "It's quite true." t>he admitted, "to « certain extent; but yon can frame the document with care. I must have some sort of security." "It's stupid and melodramatic."' He was taking a seat at the desk. "Very effective, however!" TW silence was unbroken save for the Rggreswivp scratching of Richard's pen. The.woman was looking over his shoulder as he wrote. This is what slip read: — "1. Richard Orme. agree to pay T/m<]a Fane, the sum of C2OOO per annum, on her successfully fulfilling her part of a bar-g-ain. — Signed. Richard Orme." She folded it u;> with a smile of satisfaction, then she placed it in the bosom of her dress. And all this time, not many yards away from them, a man lay dying. "Now —I'm waiting!" (Inne said eagerly. His cheeks were flushed. There ■was a glitter in his eyes. "When a man makes a will." the woman said, slowly, ''he does one of two things with it. He either scuds it to lite lawyer or locks it away in his safe. Your ■father's will its in the safe in the room beyond the bookcase door"—pointing. '■•Welir ■■Tluit will muet be destroyed!' . There was a strange smile upon the woman's ■features. "'Your lather had no affection for you. my friend, but lie laboured under a sense of moral duty. In one of his confiding moments he told mc that perhaps he had lieiMi too hansh with you: that ■he'd frive you a chance to reform, and if you did " "If I did?" Orme could srarcely give utterance to the words, so great "was his mental anxiety. ''Then you'd t-till have the four thousand .' year his earlier will provided fur." "In plain words, both wills are in existence':" "Precisely—ln that safe I spoke of. One or—the other was eventually to lie destroyed, according tq yuur future behaviour." Orme was striding ii-[i and down the 3ihrary-floor: great, drops of moisture on hie forehead. "Well? ,- at Inst be questioned. Tjiuda Fane raided lier eyebrows in snild inquiry. "llow do I stand ?" —impatiently. "Except that I know that Ihcrse two ■wills arc in existence. I'm no further advanced than lmforc!" 'Aren't you? Haven't I told you that the later will must be destroyed?"' '•Jlow' How?"' His patience was ■nearly exhausted. "One would think it ■were the easiest thing imaginable to get at the contents of a safe." "So it, is—with its key' - —quietly. The man stared at her, then he ■whittled softly. "And the key?" he asked. "How is that to Vv procured':" "I'll get it fnr you." "You!" Ilih jaw dropped and he eta red fooli-hly at her. "Yes. I'ooo it .-urprwe you very much'; I want to do something for my two thou«and a year, don't I ?"' lie opened liits mouth to reply, but ho didn't; instead, he looked at the lihrary<iotii — it wins opening. There, on its t'tr.-sh-ild. wa* Lady Orme. Her features were set. a cold light Tva-i iv her eye-, and they were fixed upon IM-moii.' ,- \ou lire *ti!l in the house?' , uhe fail. "You will leave it at once. Do you hear At once!" Lady Orme didn't niovii into the room; »he btill stood at it? door pniiitinjf! •1 would have liked a few words with Linda, mother, iirht." ■ At wire: ,, she repeated, in those Minx i-'dd tunes. "It would .he a painfid ia.-k to have to ask ray servants to jr.it .Mill out !" iliriinrd winced: his mother saw it, liniiipvr I. Then lie Lowed hi..* head and 5.,i-:-,.| i.v the women. He looked into I.in.la l-'nne'a eyes a.s lie did to. lie sa« her lips movinjr; words were issuing fr<mi them, a whisper so low that only his ears caught it. "Return to your rooms," she aaid, The library-door was shut; the women were alone. There was something strange in L/ad,v Urine's demeanour; her features were a mask that the younger •woman tried in vain to penetrate. Then Lady .Onue. spoke. "Wliat was lip doing iii lip.ro with you?" she asked, suddenly. Linda Kane was not the .person to be caught ofT her guard. "I'm a hit sorry for Dick," she said. "Don't you t'link. Lady Orme, you are too haj'bli with him!" "t

"Harsh!" ahe laughed, bitterly. I Linda moved. "Where are you going!" the elder woman demanded. "Into Sir John's room." "You needn't!" —sharply. There seemed a peculiar chilliness in the atmosphere, as though the library had suddenly gone cold. The girl took ii half-step toward? 1/idy Ormc, then drew m>. "WTiy?" she neked. "Because he'd dead! , ' There was something horribly tragic in the simple words —tragic because they were spoken iv so emotionless a tone, betraying grief too deep for cxpreesion. '"And j'uii sent RicJiard away!" There woe just the suggestion of reproach in the words. "1 sent him away." The voice brokt upon the stillness o f the room. "This house is no place for my son —now or ever" "Explain.!" "There is nothing to explain, beyond what I've eaid." The girl was moving towards the telephone. "'What are you going (o do?" —sharply. "Ilis father is dead; it's only right that Richard should know. 1 shall send a message through to his rooms to lie given to him as soon as he arrives." "You will do nothing of the kind." The instrument was in the girl's hand. "I'nderstand —1 mean this. If you aek Richard to come here, two , things will happen: lie will he refused admittance. and TOM will leave this house, never to retunil" The instrument dropped from the girl's hand. .She came away from the telephone: she left the library, There was a resolute light in her eves, and they were greener thau ever. That night a strange tiling happened. A form moved swiftly, -iilently. through the dark house. It hesitated ouh-ide a certnin door. Inside lay all that, remained of Sir John Orme. The door was opened elowly, noiselessly, and the form crept through the aperture. There was something horribly ghoulish about the whole business. A quarter of an hour passed. There was the faint jangle of keys, and the room '.vas empty again, save for that inanimate clay lying stiff and cold. But another room was not empty — the room beyond the bookcase door. That same form was in front of an open safe: in the centre of the ceiling a solitary globe shed a ghostly light about the small apartment. The figure went about its ta-k in no apparent hurry. Soon she held a document in her hand; she gave a little cry. then went beneath) the electric globe. •■The Last Will and Testament," she read. She opened out the form. Us date told the woman at once that this was the older will. When she returned If the safe she resinned the search with feverish anxiety. An hour later the keys were oneo more in that silent chamber, and Linda Fane was in her bed. her pyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. The next morning Miss Fane left the hou-e in Kensington very early. She was Boon in a taxi: she might have used one of the late Sir John's cars, ;>ut servant? had a habit of talking. The address she had given the chauffeur was in Knightsbridge. Richard Orme was not up, so the woman waited for him. "What's wrong:" were his first words. "Yon told mc to return here as T left you in the library yesterday. I returned immediately—for nothing." "I meant to telephone through to you. Lady Orme wouldn't let mc. Did you see the evening papers yesterday V ''Xα. You seem strange. What is it?" "Your father's dead." '"When'" There was surprise In the question: no grief. "!!» was dv.nl when Lady Orme told you to dear out yesterday!" "But she didn't'-—" 'lie'began. ''No. N'l-it'her of your parents has been particularly attached to you, have they, dear':" ITe was not listening: he was moving towairds the bell. "Wait a moment!"—peremptorily. "What are you going to do?" "I'm to Kensinjrton." "I shouldn't. La-dy Orme has iriven instructions to the servants not to admit you." He earne away from the bell. "1 wonder what it is you've done?" she said, en Hiving] v. "I wonder what it-was your fatJier paid you fort There's something else 1 wonder, too— what Sir Joilin told Lady Orme before she came into the library last night." Orme did not ppeak for a time; he was brought to Mmpelf by the woman in hin prreence. "We were talking about the destruction of a will yesterday?" she said. quietly. "You spoke about scouring the key «if the Rafe. ,, Ihe replied. "I trot it last night." "You wen.t into that room!" She shivered. "Don't remind mc of it!"- harshly. "Well," be demanded, "what was the result':" "That I've earne.l my twin a yrar very easily." She emiled into hip puzzled eyes. 'Sir John had evidently repented nf this action," she explained. "There was only one will in the safe— the one that left you provided for." (To be continued daily. 1