COUSIN BERNARD.

Otago Witness, Issue 3764, 4 May 1926, Page 85

COUSIN BERNARD.

By

FRANK R. AYBES.

(Copyright.—Fob the Witness.)

Rarely does lawyer Judd tell a tale against himself. A widower, he had accepted an invitation from a newiymarried niece to make his home with them. He knows better now r . One morning at breakfast, Fred startled the little lawyer by jumping excitedly to his feet. “Listen!” he exclaimed, almost upsetting the table, w’hile ominous coffee stains splashed and spread over the spotless white cloth. “Really, Fred, your breakfast-table manners are disgusting,” admonished Enid. Uncle Judd coughed discreetly. “Just hear me patiently,” soothed Fred, anxious to impart his wonderful news before relations became too strained. “Carry on,” murmured Enid, abstractedly. “You’ve heard me speak of an uncle in Australia ?” “I don’t remember. Well?” “It appears he has made a fortune sheep farming,” explained Fred, with a touch of pride. “He desires his only son, Bernard, who, he writes, is a bit wild—l presume he means uneducated—to learn a profession in the Old Country. He offers me five hundred a year to train him as an accountant and later to purchase him a partnership at a generous figure. He has taken our consent for granted. His son left on the mail boat, so should be here any day now. Just what I required to set me on my feet!” Fred concluded, handing the letter to Enid, who immediately consulted Uncle Judd. “I’d better see about that car you have been longing for,” bribed Fred, shyly. “How nice, dear,” beamed Enid sweetly, the coffee episode forgotten. “I never knew you had an uncle in Austral!*—or anywhere else.” .

“Did you not? Almost everyone has a rich uncle in some part of this old world. I remember mother often spoke affectionately of a brother who ran away to sea, finally settling in Australia.” * “I suppose it’s all right, although I hardly like the idea of a permanent lodger—if he is a relation,” murmured Enid, doubtfully. “Never mind, darling,” coaxed Fred, seizing her by the waist and waltzing round the room. “Just think! A car, five hundred a year, and a wealthy partner to follow, we ” “Don’t,” gasped Enid, breaking away from his excited embrace. “You’ll have Jane here.* Uncle Judd, having the deciding vote, cast for Fred. An hour later he left Enid enthusiastically having her first driving lesson. Next day at lunch time Enid met Fred at the gate, excitedly waving a telegram. “He’s come —I mean, he’s arriving by tlie four o’clock train from London,” she corrected herself hastily. Four o’clock saw Fred patiently, awaiting the London express. As the train rolled in he espied a sprightly, handsome, tall young man jump lightly from a first-class compartment. Clean shaven and the picture of health, he stood gazing round with keen, anticipating eyes. Usually shy, Fred took to him at once, boldly advancing with outstretched, welcoming hands. “Mr Thorpe?” he queried. “That’s me,” laughed the Australian. “I’m Bernard, the bad egg, right enough. You must be cousin s’red. You got dad’s sermon, I expect?” “The motor is outside,” smiled Fred, ne really could not help a little emphasis on the “motor.” “I’ll ask a porter to put your luggage on.” “Don’t worry. I’ve only this bag and a change.” Bernard grinned. “Luggage following on. The shipping agents are attending to that—too much fag, you know.” Enid, ravishing in a new dinner frock, met them in the hall. Fred had hardly introduced Cousin Bernard before he had his arms around her, implanting a resounding kiss on either cheek. Enid coloured as her laughing eyes met her husband’s shocked gaze. “Welcome to our home, Cousin Bernard,” she gasped, quickly recovering her composure. “I expect you are tired and hungry. Jane will show you your room. Dinner will be served in* ten minutes.” “A bit wild!” he ejaculated. “Uncle was right. We shall have to be firm with him.” “He knows how to kiss,” laughed Enid saucily. “ He’ll keep you up to scratch.” They spent a very enjoyable evening discussing family history and ancestors in general. Cousin Bernard was remarkably well informed for a stranger. He had them shaking with laughter relating amusing family anecdotes quite new to them. He was an extremely interesting conversationalist, but, judging by the decanter of whisky, evidently required frequent encouragement. To Fred’s surprise and Enid’s ill-con-cealed delight, Bernard again amorously saluted her before retiring. The following evening they w r ere giving a dinner party in honour of Uncle Judd. Several of Fred’s best clients were expected, and Bernard would be no disgrace if form was anything to go on. 'Secretly, Fred hoped he would show as great affection for their wives as he did for Enid. As the previous night, Bernard soon bad everyone in excellent humour—all except Mr Burns, who was not used to having his own presence eclipsed. “ Your father is very wealthy ? ” queried Mr Burns pointedly, apparently tired of being left out in the cold. “Oh, so-so,” laughed Bernard, helping himself to some choice port Fred had provided for the occasion. “He’s always kept me pretty well supplied.” “ I don’t hold w ith it,” snorted Bums aggressively. “ Young men should make tlieir own way in the world. Were you my son I ” “ Thank goodness I’m not your son,” interrupted Bernard, smiling blandly. “ What do you mean, sir ? ” thundered Burns turning purple. “ I’d have you know had” I a son I could well afford to give him everything he could wish for.” “Oh, nothing,” replied Bernard lingeringly caressing liis empty glass. “Only you just now said you wouldn’t —and i’m afraid we might quarrel.” Burns collapsed whilst Fred hastened to change the subject, trembling for the loss of a good client. Lawyer Judd drew Barnard into conversation. “Do you play cards—tricks?” he “You bet! Can a duck swim? In the bush w • “ Burns considers himself hot stuff. I’ll get you a pack,” said Judd, deliberately winking. A few minutes later Bernard suddenly produced a pack of cards, and kept the company uproariously amused with some clever conjuring. He then started the three-card trick, at Which he appeared very smart. Someone suggested penny bets. Bernard enjoyed himself, rakmg in the coppers rapidly. “ It seems to me,” whispered one lady to Enid, “that most of these husbands of ours are more versed in gambling than we suspected/?

Fred was about to remonstrate with Bernard when Burns, who had been a contemptuous onlooker, whispered in his ear. “ Leave him to me. He thinks he’s clever. I’ll not accept any winnings from him. You watch me.” Burns elbowed his way through the group encircling the small tabl^ “ You’re very ’cute, young man,” he sneered. “ Are you prepared to back your skill with real money. I don’t mind informing you I’ve met smarter men than you before.” “ Certainly,” smiled Bernard quite at ease. Fred was now resigned to the inevitable. “ Will you take the cards? ” “ Oh, no. Pray continue. I’ll lay you five shillings I find the lady next time,” replied Burns surveying the room with his knowing complacent air. “ Done,” said Bernard. All immediately crowded round to w’atch developments. Bernard operated the cards clumsily. Burns won, to his evident enjoyment and the company’s disappointment. Five shillings changed hands. “ Shall we double the stakes ? ” asked Burns grandiosely. “ As you like,” replied Bernard hesitatingly fingering the pack. The silence was tense as the cards again fluttered to the table. Once more Burns’s choice proved correct. “ Are you satified ? ” he queried. “ Oh, as you please,” smiled Bernard. “ I’m not particular as to the stakes.” “ Very well. A pound then,” snapped Burns nettled. “ I don’t want to take your spending money, young man; you seem very confident.” “ I am,” smiled Bernard manipulating the cards slightly quicker. Burns lost, and his opponent smilingly pocketed five shillings profit. - “ Are you satisfied ? ” mocked Bernard. “ Five pounds,” replied Burns furiously. “ Six if you like ? ” Burns nodded assent. Again the latter’s choice proved disastrous. His face matched the crimson curtains as he silently tossed Bernard an open cheque for £6. _ Contemptuously crushing it between his hands Bernard threw it into the fire. Everyone watched the little drama with bated breath. Fred wished he had never seen his uncle’s son. To-night’s proceedings would cost him many future pounds through lost audits. He cursed Bernard long and deep. For while the men still remained the firm friends he had assiduously cultivated, their wives regarded him and his as abandoned gamblers. “Come, Elspeth,” said Burns breaking the silence.. “ This shark’s den is no place for respectable people! ” In more or less constrained silence tlie guests quickly departed, wishing their host a furtive “ Good night.” The men apologetic, the ladies, for the most part, extremely cold. Directly the last couple had vanished Enid collapsed in a perfect abandon of grief. Fred tackled Bernard at once. “ Don’t wbrry, old chap,” was all he could drag from him. “ You are unfortunate in your choice of friends, that’s all. The pater will see you do not suffer from to-night’s fiasco. That old gasbag w r as simply searching for a fall.” “ I am the one who is to blame,” confessed the little lawyer. “It was my idea—the card business. I couldn’t resist a joke at Burns’s expense when Bernard told me he knew a trick or two.” “By the by,” interrupted Bernard suddenly. “ I have not heard from London. I’m sorry I destroyed that cheque. I could have done with some ready. Neither the letter of credit or my rags ha\%-deigned to materialise.” Fred hastily explored his pockets. Uncle Judd came to the rescue with £25 in notes. Bernard carelessly pocketed the money, murmuring w’ords of thanks. “ Seeing our guests have departed earlier than anticipated we may as well take advantage of the circumstances and retire early,” he said. “It is almost midnight, and I have much to' do tomorrow. We’ll have a nightcap first,” he continued crossing to the sideboard and filling four glasses. “Here’s to our happy and prosperous future.” His bon camaraderie was so infectious that the others could not help recovering their spirits, returning the compliment heartily. Fred awoke next morning with a violent headache. Glancing at the bedroom clock he was amazed to find it was 10 o’clock. Rubbing liis eyes he looked again—it must have stopped the previous night, he thought. No, it was still ticking. He jumped out of bed to consult his watch;» it had mysteriously disappeared. ’ Hastily arousing Enid, who also appeared dazed, he threw on a few clothes and went in search of Jane for an explanation. Heavens above! The girl was not yet down. Despatching Enid in search of her, he opened Bernard’s door with the idea of chaffing him on his good intentions of the night before. To his increased bewilderment, Bernard was not there, neitbr had his bed been slept in. “I found Jane still sleeping,” called Enid from the landing. “She says it must have been the wjne Mr Thorpe gave her last night. _

Suddenly a dreadful thought gripped Fred. Brushing roughly past Enid, he rushed hack into their bedroom. Feverishly he searched for his gold watch and chain. Gone! As were also Enid’s rings, bracelets, brooches, studs, goldmounted ’ toilet set—everything had vanished. Frenziedly, he flew downstairs—too true! All their cherished silver spoons, tea set and tray—in fact, every portable article of value had disappeared. Enid stood watching him in speechless amazement. “Looks as if Bernard was a fraud,” he gasped. “Where is he?” she asked facetiously. “Keeping our valuables company, I expect,” Fred retorted rudely. “I’m off to the police station.” • Breathlessly, he poured out his incoherent tale to the sergeant-in-charge. “Did you say he was your cousin,” asked the latter. “He was supposed to be. Look, here is his letter, or rather his father’s, from Australia. The sergeant left the room, returning in a few minutes with another man in plain clothes. They were examining the letter and conversing in low tones. “You’ve been duped, sir, by a clever rogue,” said the new-comer. “This letter has never seen Australia. The stamp, as you will see if you examine it carefully under this glass, was franked over a year ago. Probably, it has been taken from some old letter by the thief himself and stuck on his own forgery before he gave some boys a few coppers to deliver it for him. He learned from some source you had relations in Australia you have never seen, and hit upon the idea of robbing you in comfort. Must have a nerve.” “He had,” observed Fred, ruefully. “It appears so,” said the detective, thoughtfully. - “However, your friend, Burns, has suffered more than you.” “What do you mean?” ejaculated Fred, jumping to his feet. “I mean, that while he worked your house, a confederate ransacked Burns’s place—skinned it clean, in fact. They broke the garage open, loaded up the car, and drove away like lords. They’ll have cashed that cheque by now.” Cheque ?” queried Fred. “What cheque ?” “Burns gave him an open cheque for six pounds last night when he was fooling you with the three-card trick.” “He burnt that,” said Fred. “We saw him throw it in the fire.” “I doubt it,” was the snappy retort. “A piece of scrap paper,'most likely.” It was so. Cousin Bernard altered the six to sixty, and got clear away. Finding his conscience troublesome, Lawyer Judd refunded Burns his money.