WHAT HARGREAVES KNEW

Hawera Star, Volume XLVI, 23 April 1927, Page 7

WHAT HARGREAVES KNEW

CHAPTER XXII. RUMPUS SHOWS HIS HAND. “There's something else I’m going to a-sk you" suddenly put m Jimmie, and a._. tlie gill iooki.tl into his eyes she tound no need to ask to what it -rererred. He hand went out impulsively to his, and her eyes sought Ids beseecningly. “Please don’t,” she implond in a whisper; “Please don’t ask me anytning of the kind, for there’s no possible chance ot jiiy agreeing to it. You tan never understand, Jimmie.” “I —I thought you Witre fond of me,” he stammered. “And—and I had hoped that perhaps you loved me, too, and J

. “Oh, Jimmie, perhaps 1 do,” she cried: then, nervous v, “But 1 don’t know’ my own self, these days, please, oh pl’asci don’t ask me auv more!” Jimniv relapsed into puzzled silence, -and shortly after they parted, Billie going to some relatives with whom she was spending the night, prior to her return to Melton Grang.. the following day. It was on the following day that- the resumed inquest was held, at which absoluite’.v nothing transpired. A verdict was returned of “Murder, by .some person or persons unknown,” and the mystery of Sir John’s death remained a mystery. The case caused considerable sensation and conjecture in the Press, and many theories were advanced as to how Sir John met his death in a room locked on the inside, murdered by a bul’et wound in which no bullet w’as found; but there was nothing to throw any light on the matter, and the death of Sir John Fairfield bade fair to become an unsolved crime.

During the days which followed, Jimmie “devotPd himself to a certain extent to his work. Meanwhile the other relatives had several meetings at Begger’s End. Individually, they had all spoken to Hargreaves, who, bv this time, was allowing his position to get the better of him. It was no unusual sight for a member of the Fairfield family to enter tlie llbrarv- and -to find Hargreaves -silting comfortably in- the d-ept-Hs of a leather chair, smoking a cigar. On more than onie occasion when: he had been thus ensconced, he. had rung the bell for Bumpus. “I think. Bumpus.” he sind. stroking his chin. ‘‘You might bring up a little Madeira.” , . - Bumpus. having recovered from his astonishment, fulfilled the order. “It s’-ems to me. young man.” he said, “that’ there’s something funny about all this. Tf I was one of the relatives of the late Sir John. I’d see you knocked out of Beggar’s End for behaving like this. When I had the honour of serving the- Du kb of Burmeiside. it was one of my points always to respect Quality when under their roof.” “And when I had the honour of serving the ‘Duke of Vellington’ it was always one of my points to understand if‘von can get the upper hand with anybody, well, get- it. Just at present I’ve got the upper hand here —why. or how, I’m not going to tell

you. This, conversation wa-s interrupted by the cutrv of Mr Harwell, who stopped ■be door with an explosive,

‘•Hell!” Presantlv K? advanced to Hargreaves • s Bninnus 'eft the room. ‘■What the devil’s ail this about. Harp reaves?” he demaiiiided. ‘‘You’ve no right to be lounging about here as though von were the owntr of the place. Tt-’« i.n our nowor to get you turned out.” ‘■Oh. no. it isn't!” rctpHyol the underbutler imoea-turbably. “You know better than that " “What do you mean?” snapped Harwell. . “1 m a.", this.” said Hargreaves, ‘T'mt T where Sir John’s will is., and that if vou’re not yn.refill it’d .neier lie l''»*ind. It’s a verv short will and wouldn’t take a. fire of London to make it cUsaonenr.” , “WJiv the devil don t you produce it. then, ais 1 promised to see you treated well.’ If you say my wife is still heir, that means I shad be Squire of Beggars Bird, and it will also mean that Hargreaves remains butler at .Beggar s End, with a nice, comfortable sum behind him as well. Now. come alon", Hargreaves, what are you going to do about it? X have debts to pay. Something’s got-to be done.” . As he spoke lie fiddled impatiently with Ins monocle, tapping it on the back of his liiand, but did not succeed in disturbing Hargreave s exasperating tranquility. “Might I press you to a. little Madeira:-'” asked the latter softly, reaching for another cigar. It was with difficulty that Harwell refrained from hurling himself upon Hargreaves. Instead, he managed to conceal his anger, and spoke in a conciliatory tone : “Very good, Hargreaves,” he said. “We will have a glass of wine together,”—and that was as far as Montague Dtarwll got with Hargreaves on that occasion. There had been similar episodes. I lie pious Mr Gales had spoken to Hargreaves, in what he had considered to lie a Christian spirit on such a. matter, Hargreaves had thoroughly agreed with Mr Gales that the will should be found, but was equally frank about bis intention not to find it until he hail enjoyed a longer spell of the flesh-pots of Egypt at Beggar’s End. “The only trouble ,is, Mr Gales, that people like you are too ’-asty. Patience, as you probably know, is a virtue, and I’m sorry to see it lacking in a circumspect gentleman like yourself.’ “It I were, my cousin Harwell !" ejaculated Gales, “X should probably say ‘Hell! Anyway” —recklessly—“consider it said.” With that, and am indignant sniff, he left the room. The position was indeed strange, and one which seemed likely to continue, for there was no relative who dared raise his voice or go against the underbutler. Nevertheless, there "J<as trouble in .store l for Hargreaves in a quartet where lie did not fully expect it. i was one evening, shortly after his interview with Air. Gales, when he had rung the hell for Mr Bumpus—which the latter diil wearing his customary expressionless countenance. “I’m boss here. Bumpus. announced Hargreaves. . “Verv glad to know it. said Bumpus. “i wa.S just going to suggest that you went downstairs and deanO<l tlioin leu i vos “Cleaning knives.” observed Hargreaves loftilv, “is a chapter In m.v cast which i bog of you not to refer.

“i confess you astonish me, young man,” murmured Mr Bum pus. “Precisely what has happened to make you take up this attitude?” “Well, qld sparrow, there's nothing like knowing things that other people want to know and can’t. That’s what’s behind it.” “And exactly what do you know, asked Bum pus. . ■ , “I know where Sir John’s will is, boasted Hargreaves, leaning back and regarding Bumpus triumphantly. “And further, there’s a little bit of something in it which would interest you, so I’m afraid-, old ’un, you’ll have to treat me with respect, for if that will is lost—or supposing it got burned by mo, accidentally—well, where would you be?’ “1 suppdse I’d still be here,” replied Bumpus, “much the same as J am now, for 1 don't see how the will can possibly effect me—in fact, I know it can’t.” Hargreaves sat up smartly. “What do you mean by that?” lie demanded. “[ just mean,” answered Bumpu.s slowly, “that even if you'd got the will it isn’t worth the paper it's.written on, T—me—Bumpus, knows the whereabouts of something better than the will.” A cold sweat broke out on Hargreave’s brow. “Tell me!” he cried hoarsely. “What do you mean?” “I mean,” said Bumpus, deliberately, “that if vou know where the will is—and I doubt it—the knowledge isn’t worth a, rabbit skin to you. I know where there’s some papers which will make it altogether void. . . . Now then, young man, will you be good enough to go downstairs and get on with them knives.” v CHAPTER XXIII. WHAT BUMPUS KNEW. The news which Mr Bumpus imparted to Hargreaves gave the under-but-ler—as he himself described it—the biggest blinking blow of his life. “Well, it can’t be the Madeira,” he said, regarding Bumpus, when he had regained his composure. “Because you haven’t had anything to make you muzzy. I’m wondering if it’s old age—gets some Like that.” Air Bumpus gave one of his wheezy coughs, which ended in a. .suspicion ot alaugh. ... “Young man,” be said, “the time is coming when your rudeness must cease. I. have lived many years and am past the prime of life. 1 have seen many tilings, but L have never seen success come to those who cannot behave themselves under quality’s roof.” A reply sprang to Hargreave’s lips,' but he suppressed it. There was something in the placidity of Bumpus which frightened him. The old beggar—he’d been sitting there in his blarsted rocking chair, and knowing things all the time. However, he, Hargreaves, must not let himself get windy. The old buffer may, after all, -be rambling—-or even trying it on. No, at all costs Hargreaves must be Hargreaves. “I wasn’t aware that I acted uu-.-eemingLy under quality’s roof,” lie •said. “Of course, it’s all a matter of how you look at it. You yourself, Bumpus, if 1 may say so, are so perfect in your manners with the gently that vou expect it in others. We can't all he like you.” “1 don’t know if you speak sarcastic,” observed Bumpus, “but I presume that you don’t. Will you go down to the cellar and bring up a- glass of Madeira.” r Lo Hargreaves, wliq was just beginning to enjoy ordering Bumpus about, these instructions were irritating, but he concealed his feelings, and presently reappeared with the wine. “Now, about this will,” lie said. “What papers have you got hold of?” “I didn’t say 1, had got hold of any papers,” answered Bumpus. “I said 1 knew where they were.” “You mean you got them out of Sir John’s desk?” suggested Hargreaves, with recollections of Billie’s burglary. After all, the girl had said that she had failed to get what she wanted. Could these papers, of which Air Bumpus knew the whereabouts, be those for which she came? Hargreaves became suddenly friendly. “I wish you’d tell me all about it. You see, it’s up to you and me if we’re to stay in Beggar’s Eind to play our cards right.” “You may be sure I can play mine all right,” asseverated Bumpus. “I hold such a good hand.” And that was as much as Hargreaves could get out of Mr. Bumpus on this occasion.', A little later the conversation turned 1 to Billie and Sir James. “I should like to have seen them get miarried,” said Hargreaves. “Yes, she is a nice young woman, replied Bumpus, “but a bit frivolous. What Sir James wants is simply quietening down a bit, he is frivolous enough himself.” For a time Hargreaves was silent, then he said: “There’s some mystery about her somewhere, which I should like to get to the bottom of. I suppose you don’t happen to know what the quarrel was between her father and old Sir John?’.’ Air Bumpus drew himself up haughtily. .and took a sip of his wine before replying. . ■ . “Young man, he .said, 1. would not refer to it even if I did. The affairs of our late master should not l>e our concern. When you. live under quality’s roof, you must hear much and say little.” “Quite right.” responded Hargreaves allably; then lie* added, speaking of Atiss Jloinaine. “1 hear she has gone off without letting anybody know where she is. All part of the mystery I suppose.” , , „ “Isn’t she hack yet."” asked Bumpus. . “Not to my knowledge,’ said Hargreaves. “Nobody knows Avheie she s gone.” . “1 don’t think you are quite right there.” put in Air Bumpus. “Why. what do you mean?” snapped Hargreaves. “T mean that f know where she went,” replied Bumpus. “She went to France.” . Ha rgreaves jumped from his chair. “Book here, old ’un,” he said, adopting his most friendly manner. “How have you got to know of this? You are as big a mystery as she is. As I said before, it’s our game to work together on this job. so can’t you put vour cards on the table.” “Not yet, not yet.” wheezed the head butier. “Meanwhile, young‘man, you had better go and clean them knives.” For a moment Hargreaves stood and confronted Bumpus; then he turned on his heel and went below to the butler’s pantry, and. applied- himself to the knives For a second time he com-

muned with his own reflection in the whining dish-covers on the wall before him. , ~ , “Hargreaves, old cook, he murmured, “there’s things going on that you know nothing about. This must not occur. It’s up to you to know everything—it’s also up to you to find out whar that fat Lump us knows. He seems to have found out Miss Billie went to France. How did the old bird know that?” ... Hargreaves asked himself tins question over and over again, and found it ia.n impossible one to answer. The more he thought of .it, the more uneasy he felt, for if Bumpus knew this there was no knowing what other information he might possess. Further, lie knew the whereabouts of some papers which, if he spoke the truth, were of highest importance, since they proved the will to be of no use. During the next two- days, he made many attempts to extract the inner thoughts of Bumpus, but failed, and not only did he fail, but he had a. disturbing sense of being in a weaker position, though he was careful not to show this. Meanwhile, several conferences had taken place among the relatives and Mr. Naylor. The latter was firm in his belief that the will was not to be found, for none of the relatives had dared to tell him what Hargreaves knew-—or at least what they thought Hargreaves knew as to the whereabout!? of the will. The result of this tit-hit being withheld from Mr. Naylor was that he was insistent upon its being taken for granted that the will was lost, and that he should apply for letters of administration to deal with Sir John s •affairs as an intestate estate. This would probably mean that the whole place would be sold up, and proceeds divided among the next-of-kin, according to ; the law. This .suited none of them individually, unless one excepted Mr 'Montagu Harwell, whose Creditors by now were sceptical of his wonderful story whispered in their ears as to his wife being sole heir to Sir James Fairfield. “I see your point, Naylor,” he. said dismally at one ®f their gatherings. “Something’s got to be done. This position must not be allowed to continue I want money, and my wife wants money—land—l might say—my creditors want money. Speaking for my wife I should be agreeable to you getting letters of administration. After all. half a loaf is better than no bread.” Having thus delivered himself with ,a. certain measure of profundity, Daiwell swung his monocle nonchalantly on its cord, and awaited Naylor’s reply. Mr. Gales, however, was the first to answer. 4 “Don’t be ridiculous, Harwell!” he exclaimed. “It’.s quite possible that the. estate was left to one of us, and surely we can wait and see who it is. Personally, 1 feel sure that we shall find the will. We’re not all in such desperate straits a s yourself, and we can’t alloiv you to force the issue.” * Harwell, gave a pseudo-aristocratic-laugh, and shrugged his shoulders. “As you will,’.’ he sia.id succinctly. “Only don’t blame me if things go wrong.” Although he spoke in this manner, lie decided to get Mr. Naylor alone as soon ns possible and urge him to have the estate divided. Frankly, he was beginning to distrust Hargreaves’s story; and .if Hargreaves’s story was untrue, then the best card which the Harwells could play was to- make, sure of a share of that which Sir John left behind. Tt was a day or so after this meeting which had been held at Naylor’s offices, that Jimmie Fairfield arrived at Beggar’s End. He had decided to interrogate Bumpus. for be felt that the old man might know something of value. Hargreaves had so impressed his personality upon everyone that Bumpus had almost been forgotten. Jimmie, therefore, had the intention of asking Bumpus a few questions. Before he had the opportunity of doing so, however, an incident occurred—small in itself—which was destined to have considerable bearing on the mysteries of Beggar’s End. He was walking up the heavily-carpeted staircase, when he saw lying upside down a postage stamp, which he instinctively picked up. To hi.s mild surprise, be saw that the. stamp was a French one, and that it had been used, and .had evidently become detached from the envelope. Now, so far as be knew', there was no one at Beggar’s End who collected foreign stamps, and as he continued his journey upstairs into the library, be wondered exactly how that stamp came to be there. When he. reached the library lie examined the stamp more closely, and discovered that it bore l a recent date! This was interesting! Someone at Beggar’s End had evidently received a letter from France during the past week. Of course, it might have been dropped by some of the other relatives who had paid periodical visits to the mansion, but this . was hardly likely, for the staircase at Beggar’s End Iliad not ceased to receive its morning sweeping since the death of Sir John. The .inference was, therefore, that the stamp had been dropped that day. Possibly it had become detached when someone had drawn it from a pocket—it was not unusual for a stamp, particularly foreign ones, to be insecurely gummed. To whom could the stamp belong ? This was the question which Jimmie asked himself several times, and then he suddenly gave a. low whistle. Billie Bomaine had ju.st made a flying dash to France. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? There might be some connection between the French stamp and Billie’s spectacular flight. He spent some time sitting in quiet thought in the library, reflecting oil the possibilities of his new find. His first impulse, was to question Har-m-eaves. but since lie had first decided to interview Bumpus, he thought he would continue with this .intention. He rang for the head butler to present himself. (To ho continued.)