SIR HUGO’S WILL.

Cromwell Argus, Volume L, Issue 2645, 20 October 1919, Page 2

SIR HUGO’S WILL.

A TALE OF AN OLD OAK CHEST. In a great gloomy, tapestried chamber in his ancestral home of Dacre Towers lay Sir Hugo Dacre, dying. There were three other persons in the room ; the family lawyer, who had just arrived in answer to a hasty summons sent by the dying man ; a professional nurse ; and a young man hearing a slight resemblance to Sir Hugo. For some time before the lawyer’s arrival the baronet had seemed to be sinking rapidly, but as soon as he knew the former was in the room a new strength seemed to come to him. Raising himself slightly on bis elbow, he addressed him in clear, firm tones ; “Put everyone out of the room, Thompson. I want to speak with you alone.” The nurse instantly quitted the apartment. A heavy frown darkened the young man’s face ; he made no attempt to move. The lawyer crossed over to where he stood by the oriel window. “Pardon me, Mr. Dacre, but your uncle wishes for a private talk with me. 'Will you kindly leave us for a little while ?” “Is it necessary ?” demanded the other, haughtily. “I am, as you are well aware, perfectly conversant with all my uncle’s affairs.” “It is his expressed wish, and' you are in duty and honour bound to respect it,” returned the lawyer, steadily. “I will summon you again us soon as possible.” The frown deepened on Leslie Dacre’s face, but there was nothing for him but to obey, and reluctantly enough he quitted the spacious antique chamber, where scarce a single modern luxury or ornament had teen permitted by its owner. The lawyer followed him to the door, and locked it after him. Then he returned to the bed and said quietly ; “We are quite alone now. Sir Hugo. What is it you wish to say to me ?” Sir Hugo looked up at him with a gleam of grim humour in his dimming eyes. “He did not want to leave me. He is an affectionate nephew, Thompson, is he not ?” “Very,” returned the lawyer, dryly. “He suspects treason. He has played the traitor himself, and it makes him suspicious. Well, well, I must make haste. I have no time to lose. I want to make a new will, Thompson. You will find all you want in the secretaire yonder. I will do justice before I die.” “To —Mr. Vivian ?” The question was scarce audible, so excited and anxious was the speaker. “Yes, to Vivian—my boy Vivian. I have been a fool, Thompson ; a blind, hardened fool. You always thought so, I know. The boy disappointed me sorely by his marriage and his outrageous Radical notions, but I think our quarrel would have been healed long ago but for Leslie. By his subtleties he widened the breach between us, till in my folly I vowed to give him my boy’s inheritance.”

“He has not got it yet though,” i interposed the lawyer, with a grim ! chuckle. "N’o, and he never shall. I have come to my senses in time. He shall have enough and to spare, but not [ what belongs to Vivian. When I am ! gone, you will seek my boy and | bring him back to his own, Thompson. I leave it all in your hands, old friend.” Within an hour the precious document, duly signed and witnessed, that restored Dacre Towers and all the broad lands thereto appertaining to Sir Hugo’s only son, lay safe in | John Thompson’s breast pocket. He would not trust it to any desk or drawer in the house. The effort bad greatly exhausted Sir Hugo, and an ominous change began to come over his warn face. The lawyer noted it, and quickly called in the doctor and the nurse. Leslie Dacre, who had been pacing impatiently up and down the corridor, also re-entered. He glanced sharply from his uncle’s face to that of Mr. Thompson, but the former was already grey with the pallor of death, and the latter was inscrutable. Very soon the end came. With a tranquil smile on his lips, Sir Hugo Dacre passed into the unseen, so quietly, so peacefully, that those about him did not know the moment when he died. “You will stay here, of course, till the funeral is over,” remarked Leslie Dacre to Mr. Thompson later on, as they sat together in the library discussing some arrangements. “I thought of returning to the inn. I left my bag there as I came along. There is no need for me to trouble you.” “Nonsense ! You were my dear uncle’s trusted friend and adviser, and I hope you will be mine. I will send for your bag and order a room to be got ready here for you.” “Well, if you wish it I will stay, thank you,” returned Mr. Thompson, rather abstractedly, turning over some papers in a drawer. Among them he came unexpectedly upon a I photograph, the photograph of a ; handsome, bright-faced young fellow j in college cap and gown. “Mr. Vivian !” ha exclaimed, involuntarily, and wiped his spectacles to examine it more closely. j “Yes, that is poor causin Vivian,” said Leslie, softly. “He will surely repent somewhat when he hears of his dear father’s death. He is away in the Last somewhere, is he not ?” “Repent of what ?” asked Mr. Thompson, curtly, ignoring the question. “Vivian Dacre has done nothing disgraceful. The quarrel between them was more his father’s »'fnilt than his.” “Did Sir Hugo admit that ? Did he mention his son to you at all ?” questioned Leslie, with suppressed eagerness. [ But the wary old lawyer was on his guard at once. j “He regretted at the last, the misunderstanding that had existed be-

tween them,” he answered, quietly ; and then put the photograph back and turned the talk to other topics. Inwardly he was thinking, “He suspects. I could almost fancy those hawk , eyes of his were oiereing through into my pocket and scanning its contents. He is shrewd and daring. I must be careful !” But whatever Leslie Dacre might suspect, he asked no more questions, and treated Mr. Thompson with a cordial hospitality which almost made thatTfiworthy man uncomfortable, under the circumstances. When the hour for retiring came, he was shown to a chamber furnished in the same handsome antique style as that in which the late owner of Dacre Towers had breathed his last. The walls were partly tapestried, partly panelled in carved oak. A great chest, also of oak, quaintly carved, stood against one of the walls. A huge press filled a recess on one side of the fireplace, while the four-post bed was fitted into the other. The chairs and tables were in perfect harmony with the rest. Mr. Thompson looked about him with keen, appreciative interest. Such a slcepingTroom pleased him better than the most luxurious of modern apartments could have done, for he had a decided taste for the antique as had Sir Hugo himself in his lifetime. When he was left alone, he took a leisurely and minute survey of his surroundings, tapping the oak panels every here and there, partly from idle curiosity, partly from a feeling of suspicion which he could not clear-* ly define or analyse. But not the slightest trace of a hollow panel or concealed opening rewarded him. He applied the same close scrutiny to the interior of the press, with a like result. Finally he lifted the lid of the great chest. It was quite empty. “Everything seems safe enough,” he said to himself at last. “The door would resist a dozen burglars, and the windows arc too narrow to admit anything much bigger than a cat. Besides, the room is—let me see—on the third storey. Yet, somehow, I feel uneasy and nervous. It is all on account of this precious document. I wonder where 1 shall put it for the night ?” This did not seem a very important, question, seeing that the room was in no likelihood of being invaded, yet the lawyer debated it for some time. At length, with a little laugh at his own indecision,, he dropped the will into the great chest, closed the lid, and placed upon it a variety of articles in such a way that if the lid were lifted they must fall and make a considerable noise. “There ! I think I have taken every possible precaution,” he mentally ejaculated, and forthwith betook himself to the stately fourposter and tried to sleep. But sleep delayed long to visit him and when she did arrive orought in her train a host of troubled dreams, from one of which he wakened with a start.

Surely some noise had disturbed him ! He sat up and listened intently. Was it fancy, or did he hear something like a low, muffled moan ? It did not come again, or else the sound of the wild autumn wind outside drowned it. Perhaps it was the wind, wailing through some cranny in the old building. After waiting and listening many minutes he slipped cautiously out of bed, struck a light, and looked round. The room was in precisely the same condition as when he went to sleep. A peep into the press assured him that no intruder lurked there. “What an old ass I am !” he muttered, and straightway clambered back into bed and slept soundly till morning. By the light of the clear October morning his fancies and investigations of the previous night put on a rather absurd aspect. “I gave myself an amount of trouble for nothing,” he soliloquised, smilingly, as he lifted off the things which he had piled on top of the chest. And so it proved, for when he raised the ponderous lid he received a shock that literally staggered him. The chest was empty ! For a full minute he stood gazing into it as if petrified. Then he sat down helplessly on a chair. “It is gone !’’ he said, dazedly ; “it is gone !” In a few seconds he rose again to his feet and peered into the chest. Then he got into it bodily, and groped about with his hands, as though he could not trust the evidence of his eyes. Not so much as the tiniest scrap of paper met his fingers. “What can this mean ? Where has it gone ?’’ he muttered, distractedly, emerging from the chest, and standing with one hand pressed to his forehead. “I know I put it there, and I could swear that no one has entered the room during the night. Yet the will is certainly gone, and as certainly some human hand must have removed it. It is the greatest mystery I ever came across ! The consequences too, if I cannot recover it ! Good heavens ! I never was in such a predicament in my life !’’ With the desperation of a forlorn hope, he began to search about the room. Needless to say, his search was fruitless. The will had completely disappeared.

After much troubled deliberation, he resolved to conceal the loss for the immediate present, hoping thereby to obtain a clue to the mystery. To say he suspected Leslie Dacre is saying little. He was as sure, in his own mind, that Leslie was the instigator of the theft, if not the actual thief, as he was sure that the sun was streaming in its morning splendour through his window. But how had the thing been managed ? That he could by no means make out. With a very sombre look on his face, he went downstairs and found his way to the breakfast-room. The great house was very still and solemn in the shadow' of death that had fallen upon it. “Has Mr. Leslie Dacre breakfasted yet ?” he inquired of the servant who waited on him. “Not yet, sir. He is unusually late this morning. He generally

rises rather early.” ‘‘Well, when he does come down, please tell him I shall be in the library”; and thither he retired immediately after breakfast, to wait impatiently the coming of the man whom in his heart he believed to be a dastardly thief. At the end of an hour Leslie’s own servant came to him with a perplexed face. ‘‘ls your master not up yet ?” demanded the lawyer, irritably, as soon as he saw him. ‘‘He has not been in bed, sir,” replied the man. “I knocked at his door twice, and getting no answer went in. There was no sign of him anywhere, and the bed had not been touched.” Here was a new development. Was it part of the plot ? John Thompson was inclined to think so. ‘‘Do you mean to say,” he asked, sharply, “that you do not know where Mr. Leslie is ?” “I know no more where he is than you do, sir. He never did such a thing before. When I left , him last night he was sitting by the fire in his dressing-gown. He never so much as hinted at going out.” “You left him in his room, apparently about to go to bed shortly ?” ‘‘Yes, sir.” “About what time ?” “Half-past eleven, as near as I remember.” “Has no one seen him since ?” “Not a soul, sir. He has vanished clean out of sight.” It was the lawyer’s turn now to look perplexed. What, he wondered, could Leslie Dacre hope to accomplish by this manoeuvre ? Aloud he said : “You had better make a search for your master over the house and the grounds. I-Ie may have been taken suddenly ill, and be unable to summon help. If you cannot find him, make a few quiet inquiries outside and in the village. But make no unnecessary talk. He may only have absented himself for a few hours on private business.” The man departed and the search was made, but -without success. Comment and conjecture ran high in the servants’ hall. John Thompson went hither and thither in a fever of unrest and anxiety. He knew not what to do, nor where to turn. Should he proclaim the loss of the will, the news, linked with the strange disappearance of the man whom it so nearly concerned might bring the shadow of a shameful scandal on the name of Dacre, and that he was most anxious to avoid. On the other hand, ought he to remain inactive while Vivian Dacre’s inheritance was at stake ? For once the man of strong will and swift action was completely at a standstill. The day wore away, bringing no tidings of Leslie, and no relief to the lawyer’s mind. Just as the twilight shadows were beginning to gather about the stately old mansion, the butler, followed by a troop of scared maid-servants, came to the library whore he sat among books and papers, which were, however, receiving very little real attention. “Well,” said he, grimly, surveying the small crowd, “what brings you all here ? Upon my word, to look at yon one would suppose you had seen a ghost.” “We have, sir,” responded the butler, with startling promptness. “At least, we’ve heard one,” corrected one of the maids, glancing backwards over her shoulder into, the dusky corridor. “It’s in the picture-gallery, giving the most awful groans ” “And moans ’ “And knocks.” ‘‘You can come and hear it for yourself, Mr. Thompson,” said the butler. “I didn’t believe till I went and listened. It’s most awful.” Mr. Thompson rose from his seat in anger.

“I am astonished at you, Burnet ; at all of you. To think that your good kind master has hardly been dead twenty-four hours before you are raising such senseless, wicked rumours ! Go back to your work, all of you, and, as you value your places, let there be no more of this idiocy.” But the little throng did not scatter and depart in confusion before his scathing words. Instead, the butler came a step or two forward. “Sir,” he said, impressively, ‘‘l am not silly or superstitious. I tell tell you I did not believe till I went and heard. I had to believe then. Will you not come and put it to the proof in the same way ?” Mr. Thompson laughed scornfully. ‘‘And suppose I do ‘hear it’ ? What then ? I have no warrant for apprehending ghosts.” None of the servants ventured to reply to this sarcasm, and with another denunciation of their folly, he headed the little party and made for the picture-gallery. It was imlighted, and looked dim and ghostly enough in the gathering gloom. He strode into the middle of the floor, followed closely by the rest. ‘‘Well, where is this wonderful ghost of yours ?’’ he asked, taunting-! ly. ‘‘l see nothing here but pictures and statues, and I don’t even hear —” His mocking words were suddenly silenced. Plain and clear there came the sound of a groan as of one in terrible agony. It was repeated two or three times, and ended in a wailing shriek. Then came a sound as of someone beating with clenched hands on the wall. At the first sound the maids had clutched at each other in'' terror. When the knocking came they all turned and fled. Only the butler lingered, drawing close to Mr. Thompson.

“What do you make of it, sir ?” he whispered, fearfully. “Isn’t it most awful ?” For all answer, the lawyer stepped softly across to where the knocking still sounded, though more feebly. The life-sized portrait of a dead and gone Dacre hung there. “Help me to remove this picture, Burnet,” he cried, imperiously, after harkening a moment. “Quick !” The butler hesitated. The idea of running a ghost to earth in this summary fashion did not quite com-

mend itself to his prudent mind. “Hadn’t I better light the chandelier first?” he suggested. “It-might not be safe to —to ” “Light up, by all means, but be quick about it. And then turn the key in the door to prevent those chattering maids from coming back.” Burnet obeyed with inward misgiving. It seemed to him’ most suicidal, j this locking of themselves up with a ghost. Then he went to assist w 7 ith the picture. The w 7 all behind it was ; panelled in wood, as was the case in so many of the rooms in Dacre Tow r ers. The law r yer began to search the panelling minutely, saying meanwhile : “Remember, whatever this business : turns out to be, you are only to say about it -what I tell you to say. Do you understand ?” | “Perfectly, sir,” returned the but--1 ler, with dignity. “I’ve been in the family many a year. Sir Hugo knew | he could trust me.” ! “Exactly. That is why lam trusting you. Ah ! I have it at last.” Almost by chance he had touched a concealed spring in the woodwork, | and saw the panel move a little, j With some difficulty, for it was very ; stiff, as though unused for many a year, he pushed the entire panel back, and the brilliant light of the chandelier streamed into the space thus revealed. j It was very narrow 7. On the left it I ended in a flight of narrow and exceedingly steep stone steps. On the ■ floor of it, in a strangely contorted 1 attitude, lay a man with a ghastly blood-stained face and v. 7 ild, wideopen eyes. Close by him, and all besmeared with blood and dirt, lay a long w r hite envelope. “Thank Heaven, it is safe !”

“Good Lord ! It’s Mr. Leslie !” The two exclamations burst simultaneously from the lips of the two men who had brought this strange scene to light. The former came from the law r yer as he sw'ooped down eagerly upon the envelope ; the latter from Burnet, as he stood staring with open mouth and horror-filled eyes.

“Yes, it is Mr. Leslie, and a pretty, pickle he is in,” said John Thompson, grimly. “He was always fond of adventure, Burnet. This one has been a little too much for him. Help me to get him out, and fasten this place up again ; it is one of the family secrets, I suppose, so we must! keep it from prying eyes. And then go for a doctor, and send the housekeeper here.” “His leg is broken, sir, and his arm. He might well groan. And his head is cut and bruised,” observed the butler, as with great difficulty, and not without causing agonising pain, they removed Leslie Dacre from his narrow prison. “Yes, poor fellow, he has suffered terribly,” said Mr. Thompson, pityingly. As soon as the butler had gone, Leslie ceased his moaning for a moment and gasped out : “You will not betray me —to Vivian ?” “No. You have had your punishment. Tell me, if you can, how you did it. That panel does not seem to have been moved for years. Besides, there was the picture.” “There is a corresponding panel on the other side —in the smoking-room. Your room is right over head. There 1 was a ladder hanging in there—no stairs.” He indicated the secret aperture by a look. “The whole bottom of that old chest slides back ; it is just a trap-door. Uncle Hugo showed me—long ago. I w’ent up and down many a time when I was a boy. I wanted the will—l wanted Dacre Towers. I got it without any trouble ; you had put it in the chest for safety. Coming back, the ladder broke clean away from the top. It was old and rotten. It went sliding down the steps. I, somehow, landed half way. Heavens ! what a day of I agony it has been !” | He told his story in disjointed sentences, writhing and moaning with I pain. “And those steps—whither do they lead ?” queried the lawyer. “Out into the grounds, by a little postern, now overgrown with ivy.” “Thank you. I quite understand now. Here is the housekeeper, and the doctor will be here to relieve you, presently. I will invent something to satisfy their curiosity. You need fear nothing.” A few weeks later Vivian Dacre came back from the East and took his place as the lord and master of Dacre Towers. The old lawyer kept his word. Sir Hugo’s son never knew of his cousin’s treachery.

HANDICAPPED. “What did Noah do in the Ark ?” asked the teacher. “He spent his time fishing,” said the small boy, adding ; “But he didn’t catch nothin’.” “Really !” said the teacher. “Why not ?” “Hadn’t enough bait,” answered the boy : “only two worms.” BOTH WRONG. The two brothers were being entertained by a rich friend. As ill-luck would have it, during the evening the . talk drifted away from ordinary topics, “Do you like Omar Khayyam ?” asked the host carelessly, by way of making conversation. The elder brother heroically rushed into the breach. “Pretty well,” said he, “but I prefer hock.” Nothing more' was said on the subject till the brothers were on their way home. “I say,” said the younger. brother, breaking a painful'* silence, “why can’t you leave the things you don’t understand to me ? Omar Khayyam ain’t a wine, you idiot ; it’s a cheese !” When darning stockings, hold the darning wool for a minute or two over the spout of a kettle of boiling water. This shrinks the wool, and when the stockings are washed there is no fear, of mended parts shrinking and so tearing away from surrounding parts.