Into the Mists

Otago Witness, Issue 3769, 8 June 1926, Page 66

Into the Mists

By

E. Phillips Oppenheim.

Author of “The Wrath to Come,** “The Hillman,” “The Tempting of Tavernake,” Ac., Ac.

iCopybight.—Fob tub Witness.)

CHAPTER XXXIL The vagueness had entirely departed from Joseph’s manner on the following morning when he had studied the list of “Klask’s Remedies,” admired the Ford motor car, been conducted to the newly-acquired factory, and been allowed a cursory examination of Reuben’s much-prized ledger. “We make a little business together, me and you two boys?” They were seated on cases in the, as yet, uufurnished office. “That’s all right, dad,” Reuben declared. “We’ll make use of you very likely,- Samuel and S, we’ve got some money in this.” “And why not, indeed?” Joseph exclaimed. “You two boys don’t think I’d propose coming in with you unless I brought my share, do you? I’ve got money, too,” lie went on, tapping the place where his pocket book obviously reposed. “As much as you lads verv likely.” “That makes it easier,” Reuben acknowledged. “Makes the thing sound better to me,” Samuei echoed. “\ou see, dad,” Reuben continued, “relatives are relatives and all that, but business is business. I started this first —made up small bottles in a fourroomed cottage down in the city, aud took them out to sell on a bicycle with a wicker trailer behind. Then I married Bessie, and she had money. We made more money. Then Samuel arrives. He brings money. Samuel has worked very hard. We make good profits. The business is good.” “I can make it better,” Joseph assured them. “There was never anyone who knew how to sell medicines better than I did—and as for money —well let’s hear about it. What have you bovs got?” “Samuel brought £200,” Reuben confided, “and I reckon that his share of the profits up to date conies to close on another £IOO. You might put Samuel down at £300.” “What's his share of the profits, and how much does he draw a week?” Joseph asked. “He gets a third, and he draws £2 a week, out of which he pays Bessie 30s for board and lodging,” said Reuben. “And what about you, Reuben?” his father inquired. “My own capital was £200,” Reuben explained, “but as well as that I put £2OO of Bessie’s in. That’s £4OO, and I got my twe-thirds of the profits to add to that. How muck money have you got, dad?” “I got £SOO. I’ll put that in with you other boys, and we all go together, eh? You keep me at home, Reuben, and I draw £1 a week.” “And ine 10s!” Samuel protested loudly. “ Not likely! ” “ You’ve forgotten the goodwill, dad,” he pointed out. “ I worked like a slave to start this business. After me comes Samuel, and lie works, too. He got a small share in the goodwill, but I got a bigger. You haven’t any.” “ Ain’t I to stand in a third? ” Joseph asked. “ Not likely,” Samuel objected once more. “ Seems to me a quarter would be fairer,” Reuben propounded. Joseph looked thoughtful. There were some things he ought to be able to say —some things from the past of which he ought to he able to remind Reuben, but they were gone. There was that black pool which remained just behind, and a lot of things down at the bottom of it. Reuben was a little hard. Had he been like that when lie was young? Still, it was the principle he had taught them. Every man must look after himself. “ Maybe I make it £050,” he announced. “ VVliat, you got more than £SOO, dad ?” “Cheese it, uncle!” Samuel cried. “Trying to come it over us! ” “ How much have you got, dad ? ” “ I got £BOO, less the price of a cup of coffee, a. bun, and a fourpenny cigar,” he confessed, spreading it upon the table. “ You don’t want to be too hard on me, you toys. I’m not so young as I was, and I like to keep a five-pound note tucked away in case of a doctor being needed. I get giddy fits, and I have ail empty feeling at the liack of my head.” “ Sure you want to work at all, dad ?” Reuben asked. “ With that bit of money you could stay with us quite a long time. Bessie’d be glad of someone to take the baby for a walk now and then.” Joseph was silent. Reuben laid hie, hand upon his shoulder.

“ Sorry, dad. What’s the good of your talking sick? You’re as strong and well as we are.” “ I’m agreeable to let the old man have his third,” Samuel conceded. “ After all, it’s in the family.” “ A third it shall be,” Reuben pronounced. “ We’ll go down to the bank now, and afterwards we’ll buy some wood cheap—l know where there’s a factory being broken up—and we’ll get this place into shape ourselves. Then we’ll plan our rounds. We’ll make some money here, dad. You wateli our banking account. We none of us ain’t going to spend. You watch! ” Joseph passed liis hand across his forehead. He seemed worried. “f\ll the time I keep thinking it's the second time. Ain’t that queer, lads?” * * * It was a little later thau the usual hour when the evening meal was served at the house of Klask. The three men were tired but cheerful. Bessie was still as neat and attractive as ever. .She smoothed back her abundant hair anc drew the teapot towards her. “Wait!” Joseph enjoined. “You got any wine glasses?” “There’s tive belonged to my aunt in that cupboard there,’’ Bessie replied. Joseph stooped down, and from between his feet lifted up a black bottle which he placed upon the table. “Port!” he announced reverently. “Bought it at the best wine shop in the city. Fetch the glasses, Bessie.” His daughter-in-law obeyed promptly, and Reuben produced a corkscrew, whilst Samuel eyed the bottle. “You boys don’t need to worry,” Joseph assured them as he filled the glasses. “I bought this out of that livepound note you let me keep. I ain't going to be sick, and this day when we all start in business together, I got a new daughter and a new grandchild there —why, it’s a great day ! Y"ou don’t need to fear, Reuben, that I’m extravagant. This is the first and last time, and I got a' gold watch and a diamond ring we ain’t said anything about yet.” “That’s all right, Dad,” Reuben assented, as lie stretched out his haud for Ills glass 4 of wine. “I tell you what, Bessie, if you just put that tea into a bottle and cork it up tight it will do for breakfast, just as though it had never been made.” “You don’t suppose I was going to waste that, Reuben Klask I hope!” she observed. “Not you, my dear,” Reuben rejoined. “Anyway, I feel more comfortable about it now 4 .” Joseph raised his glass. He looked at them all, hut longest at tho infant. “To Klaak's Remedies.’ ” he proposed. “May we make money!’’ CHAPTER XXXIII. Joseph, appointed orator for the day, paused for breath, to remove his hat and wipe the perspiration from his forehead. As usual the stall-holders were almost in a state of revolt. Practically every lounger and most of the purchasers in the Fakenham weekly market were gathered around the Ford car, from the back of which Joseph was addressing the crowd. In the intervals of his eloquence, Samuel and Reubeu were fully occupied in dealing with a line of customers on either side. Presently, the oracle recommenced. “I want you all to understand this,” Joseph proceeded. “I want you to get it right here,” tapping his forehead. “I am anxious to make my living, and to ! help my son and nephew make their livings, but believe me, there’s more than that to it. Ancestors of mine have sold medicines—sold them to the rich and given them to the poor—since the days when we Jews lived in Palestine. We make a living by it, but w r e sell you good medicines, and we sell you medicines which do what we claim for them. Why, I could cover the sides of this car with testimonials received in the morning from people who’ve been rheumaticky all their life, and who’ve thrown away their sticks now, and given thanks to the Lord and '‘Klask’s Remedies.’ It ain’t miracles we work, but it’s something like it. We’ve kept the secret in our family of how to mix these tilings, and / there ain’t nobody else can do it just like we do. Is there anyone' here with corns? »S}>e&k to my son Reuben there, and you need never have another. Anyone with a bilious attack? Well, we’ll keep you free from biliousness for a month. Have you got any form of nerve trouble? We’re handling a little preparation which beats all the pliosphcrine which was ever made—something which will make a new man of you. Tell us what’s the matter with you. Stick to us, and

we’ll cure it. We ain’t hucksters. We’ve been medicine men since the days of the Old Testament, and we’re proud of A quaint figure Joseph was in the spring sunlight, as, for a moment, he lifted his hat—a silk liat which had lost its first glossiness. His u lit rimmed l>eard gave him an almost patriarchal appearance, his cheeks sagged no longer, he was thinner by a couple of stone! his pause was the signal for a rush towards the car. Just at that moment a great touring car turned the corner, and swung into the London road. Joseph stood there still, one hand stroking his beard, the other holding liis hat. Across the little crowd of people Judith looked at him from the car, with eager, penetrating eyes. She leaned forward. The last glimpse she caught as the car turned the corner out of the Square was of the two young men dispensing their bottles on either side, and of an elderly huckster of pleasing appearance, who strongly resembled Joseph Fern! ham, second Baron Honerton. ‘A ou saw something that interested you?” Paule asked politely. I thought that I saw a vision—a quaint vision, too, in this old market place.” He held her hands under the wrap. She leaned back. “You will laugh at mo when I tell you,” she continued. “The old man there and the two young men in the car—they seemed to me like what I have heard of my grandfather and mv father when ’they started selling drugs forty years ago. They were nothing but hucksters, you know.” “The allegories of life are full of Imrnour " I’aule declared. “These three, the father and two sons, probably are striving to amass what yon to-dav have made up vour mind to dissipate’." “Tou think that I am right?” “For your greater ease'of body and mind, without a doubt.” "Toil will keep your word?” “I shall keep my word,” lie promised. They sped on between (lower-starred iiedges and hedgerows, past the meadows ripe for the hum of the reaping machine across a network of streams fringed with marigolds, on to the open countrv, the land of gorse and heather. The paused for luncheon—a picnic meal—by the side of the road between XewmaVket and Royston, in a spot near some village garden where the bees droned. As thev drew near the outskirts of the city and approached the suburb where the great works were situated Judith showed her first sign of nervousness. “ You’re coming to see me through it.” “ I am coming. You know that 1 cannot stay long. I must catch the boat train to Paris.” “And after Paris?” she murmured. He made no immediate reply. It was not until they reached the great entrance gates to the huge plot of land on which the factory stood that he spoke again. His tone amazed her. It seemed to her, thirsting so long for something of the sort from him during the last few days, exquisitely human, full of the promised all that she desired in life. “ After Paris 1 set myself to keep my word to you, dear Judith,” he announced. “ If I fail there will lie grave things upon my head. If I fail we shall probably not meet again.” “ If you fail! ” she laughed joyously with the supreme confidence of the woman who believes. * * * It was a specially summoned conference in the great board room of the works to which they had come. Samuel was there, very frail but gently acquiescent, two members of a famous firm of accountants, the representative of a bank, together with the usual heads of departments, managers, and sub-managers. It was Judith who spoke. She stood by Samuel’s side, her slender w'hite fingers resting for a moment upon his shoulder, marvellously at her ease, without the least throb of nervousness in her voice. Her tone was entirely conversational. “ I want to tell you all that Mr Samuel Fernham—my LTicde Samuel—and I, who at the present time seem to have become the sole representatives of the firm, have decided to wind up this business. When I told my friend, Mr Lirmsden, here,” she went on, glancing towards the accountant, “ that we wished to wipe our hands of it for ever ami ever and take our chance of being scolded if what we still ventured to hope should take place, he laughed at me. lie wanted us to turn it into a company. He assured me we could get £5,000,000 for the business as a going concern, and that this was the proper thing to do. If the business is worth £5,000,000 we do not want the money. It belongs to you who have helped with those others to make it what it is.” There was a moment's spellbound silence. Then Judith continued: “Of course, I haven’t any head for details, and I shall not attempt to offer them to you. Mr Lumsden has drawn up the scheme. Every brick and stone of this place, every ounce of drugs, and every penny of book-debts, belongs to you all in proportion to your length of service. We Fernhams have all the money we need or ought to have. Mr Lumsden tells me that thero is a balance of assets over liabilities of nearly a million nd a-half, which, ho says, will easily be sufficient working capital. There is a gentleman from the bonk here who will assure you that anv more capital you need will be yours. 1 wish you all prosperity. You are, every one of you, going to be better off by a great deal when you leave this room* It is very much better that two thousand of you should be better off in

vaiious degrees than that any more money should cou.*e to my Uncle Samuel, to me, or to those others who are not here. The business is a present to you from us all. Work for it. do your best for it, but tiy to remember, if you can, what some of ns have forgotten—that the money you make and the wealth which grows is worth having, not for itself, hut for what it brings you. And now, Mr Lumsden is going to explain the scheme to you.” Judith s offer was so amazing that, for the most part, everyone was stunned. Tho accountants very wisely began to deal with the figures alm<»st at once, and Judith slipped away. Paule followed her. “The newspapers the du v after to-mor-row should explain everything to you,” ho told her, as they stood for a moment in the circular hall outside the cunferenco chamber. “I shall follow them within twenty-four hours.” “You are very serious,” she said, as he walked with her to the entrance. “1 hu\c meddled with a very serious affair. I shall be anxious until the time comes.” He watched her drive off and went back to his rooms, where Futov was packing Ills clothes for Paris. “I go with you, master?” he asked. “kou go with me,' Paule assented. “I may need you. Telephone for a taxi. ’ At Victoria thev had a qu-arter of an hour to wait. Paule was on his way to the barrier when he felt a touch on his arm—a touch, light but ominous. It was the one dreaded eventuality—the hundredth chance. He remained outwardly unmoved. ‘ Can I have a few words with you, «Sfr Lawrence ?” Rodes asked. “Have you a warrant this lime?” “Nothing. I am in a position, however ” Paule pointed to the clock. "I must go to Paris by this train,” he insisted. “To-morrow I have to speak at a World Congress of Scientists. Y r ou may have heard of' it—the greatest meeting which has ever been held in Europe. When I have said what I have to say, all those things which you do not understand at present will he made clear to you. Listen! If you interfere now you will do incalculable liarni to everybody concerned. Travel down with liie to | Folkestone, and hear my proposition.” “There’s a twenty thousand pounds reward,” Rodes said thoughtfully, “and I know the man who is responsible for their absence.” “I give you my word of honour.” Paule promised, “that you shall earn that twenty thousand pounds within ten days.” “f will travel with you to Folkestone,” Rodes decided. CHAPTER XXXIV. Thers were three Pullmans on the Folkestone train, and in one of them Paule found the private compartment at the end disengaged. He ordered refreshments, and closed the door. By this time the train was gathering speed. “How much exactly do you know?” Paule asked. “I was at Fakenham when you passed through this morning,” Rodes confided. “I have spent quite a lot of time lately in those parts. I wa© there amongst the crowd, facing the ridiculous, the impossible, when I saw Lady Judith’s expression as the car passed by. Then I knew that so far as my twenty thousand pounds was concerned. I was home.” “Why have you waited, then?” “Because I hate to be beaten. The twenty thousand pounds is offered for the discovery of Lord Honerton, liis son Ernest, and his nephew Samuel. Well, there they all are, selling patent medicines under the name of ‘Klask’—their own name, by-tlie-l>ye, before they changed it. I’ve found them all right, but it’s an incomplete job.” “Have you spoken to them?” Paule inquired. “I spoke to them this morning, after your car had passed,” Rodes admitted. “I can tell you I didn’t get much for my pains. They wouldn’t listen, seemed to think I was out to rob them. They swore they’d never heard of Honerton Chase or the name of Fernham, and either pretended to think or really did think that I wanted to get at ‘their drug business. Anyway, they packed up and drove off. I kudw where they live in Norwich.” “ I am sorry you spoke to them.” Paule said. “ What else have you found out ? ” “Just what I have already disclosed to you and Lady Judith. You were only the adopted son of John Paule, the schoolmaster, although you took liis name, and he was more than a father to you. You were the son of Cecil Fernham and Margaret Hcggs. Cecil was murdered, the girl died when you were born, and her father was hanged. It was a stormy entrance into life.” “ My adopted father,” Paule explained, “was a connection of the Ileggses. He had no children, and he lived a solitary life. Fortunately I had gifts which appealed to him. He kept my history from me until I went to college.” .

“This was all ordinary detective work,” Rodes continued. “ It was easy with the motive discovered. One by one they had disappeared, descendants of old Israel Fernham, who, without a doubt, sent your grandfather to hang. There wasn’t tho faintest doubt-but that you were responsible for their disappearance. What had you done with them? Somehow or other I never believed that you had murdered /them. I expected to discover them somewhere in confinement, victims of some melodramatic passion for revenge. As you know, I discovered nothing of the sort. I discovered them at last, living apparently in the greatest

contentment and some apparent prosperity, as quack drug vendors. I have spent months of my time and of my ingenuity trying to trace a single occasion upon which you have communicated with them, and I can’t do it. I can’t even discover that you have ever been seen with one of them from the moment they left their homes. I can’t associate you with their abduction or disappearance in any way. You have beaten me, Sir Lawrence Paule. lam going to get that £20,000, and I shall hand in my report as to your origin, but arrest you, I can’t—even if I wanted to. There isn’t evidence enough evert for a Bow street magistrate to keep you for a night.” Paule roused himself. “ Your natural course. Mr Rodes, is to return to Norwich, attach yourself to these three men and bring them, by hook or by crook, into contact with either Lady Honor ton or Lady Judith Fernham. That, at any rate insures your £20,000.” “ It is the only finish of the business that I can see,” Ifodes admitted; “ but there’s something extraordinarily crude about it.” ‘‘There is also something extraordinarily dangerous,” Paule assured him earnestly. ‘ This affair has always been more or less a sort of duel between us. Whatever faults I may have, or however much of a criminal I may be, I am a teller of the truth. I will sign a paper at this minute, acknowleding that you have discovered the three missing people and are entitled to the reward. I give you my word of honour that you shall have the reward, but if you will bring the matter to an end my way you may save grave trouble.” “Go on,” Rodes invited. ‘‘You will get back to London to-night. Motor down to Honerton to-morrow, and repare Lady Judith, but more especially ler mother, for the return of the three missing people. Samuel, the old man, I know, was expected there to-day for a month. You had better also drop him a hint. Then go into Norwich and keep your eye upon the Klasks, and on Wednesday morning read the newspapers.” “The newspapers’’ Rodes repeated. ‘•Read mv address to the Congress in Paris,” Paule enjoined deliberately. You will understand ir a minute. Then wait at ‘The Maid’s Head Hotel’ until I arrive. It may be two days, it may be three. I shall come at the earliest possible moment.” “You give me an idea, of course,” Rodes admitted. “You weren’t even presentwhen two of them disappeared.” “Wait for the papers,” Paule insisted. “You want them back sane and whole, don’t you—not lunatics? Therefore do as 1 he s-” They were jolting along down to the docks now. “Well,” the detective observed, “it's an amazing wind-up to what promised to be one of the most sensational cases in the world. You seem to have got just a little ahead of the law, Sir Lawrence—discovered a crime which isn’t entered in the statute book.” Paule was handing his things out of the window to a porter. “The money is yours, but wait until you understand,” was his last injunction to Rodes, as the two men parted. (To be concluded.)