HERITAGE

Taranaki Daily News, 10 September 1934, Page 13

HERITAGE

BY

HEDLEY RICHARDS

(Author of “The Telegraph Call,” “The Deputy Avenger,” etc.)

CHAPTER 7 (continued). As he gazed at her he seemed to know her, the face was strangely familiar. Where had he seen her? Then it flashed across him, she was the counterpart of a portrait that hung in the picture gallery at Dalrymple Court. The original of it was his grandmother, who had been noted for her beauty. He drew in a deep breath, there was no need for the girl to tell him who she was—he knew. In an instant he was himself, and bowing he said: “You are the lady who spoke to me over the telephone. May I ask your name? But, pardon me, won't you sit down?’’ “No, thanks, I prefer to stand. I am called Mary Drury, my real name is Mary Dalrymple, the daughter of your brother Hugh.” There was not a change in his face, he had himself well in hand, and he spoke in a cold cynical tone as he said: “My brother Hugh died unmarried, so if you are his daughter you have no legal claim to his name. Her face flushed hotly; she wanted to tell him he lied, that his words were an insult to the dead as well as the living, but she controlled herself and spoke calmly. “Mr. Dalrymple, yfeu know that is not true, you know that my father married my mother, Leslie Ord, and that after they were dead you bribed the Drurys to adopt me and conceal the truth so that you could have the Dalrymple estate, but it is mine and I mean to claim it.” For a moment there was silence. He recognised that the girl was not one i to be brow-beaten, that she had firmness and capacity to hold her own, then spoke. “This is a wonderful story you are telling me. May I ask who told you all this?” “My adopted mother, on her deathbed, and she gave me the proofs, a statement of the past and the certificates of my parents’ marriage and my birth.” At that moment Francis Dalrymple nearly lost his composure, it was only by the exercise of his iron will that he kept from swearing as he realised that the dead woman had been one too many for him. He had done his level best to get the certificates into his own ' hands, but she had refused to part with . them, and Tom Drury had assured him i that he’d get them from her later and bum them. But now the girl had them. If only Tom Drury had been living he’d have had his revenge. 1 “You spoke of the Drurys. Did Mr. i Drury back his wife up in this marvel- < lous story?” he asked. J ■ “Mr. Drury is dead; he died eighteen months ago.” Again there was silence, then he said: ' “May I ask what is your reason for ] telling me this story, which I can as- j sure you is a fabrication.” ' i “I came to you, Mr. Dalrymple, to * give you the chance of setting the wrong 1 . you have done me right, giving up the ; estate which was my father’s, the f mortgages were redeemed with his ] mother’s money. You are clever enough to invent a story to account for my a sudden appearance.” 1 “Thank you for your consideration, f but I have no intention of giving up the r estate to an imposter, and I’ll go a bit I further and say that even..f your story j were true I wouldn't yield the Dal- t rymple estate.” I r “I understand, then I must fight for it; s I am auite determined as you are.”

J. am quxic He smiled cynically. “You’ll find it an expensive job, an: I shouldn’t say you are rich, while I’v money enough to brief the best'counse in the country, then if you won—” anc he paused. “What if I won?” she asked. “I’d appeal against the verdict; a riel b'*' man can afford to go to law, but i 1 means beggary to those who haven’l much” “Are you trying to frighten me?” sh< asked. “Oh, dear, no, I was just warning you I suppose the first move in the gam< will be for your solicitor to lay you proofs before mine?” , “I expect so. I am in Mr. Carey’: hands.” “Did he send you here?’ “No, I came against his advice, bu I thought you might consider it worthwhile to avoid exposure.” “Not at all, I shall not be the first whc has had a spurious claim made to his estate.’ ■■ She bowed. “I see it has been a useless interview,” and as she spoke she went towards the door. He moved quickly across the room and held the door open. “Good evening,” she said. He - bowed. “Good evening, Miss Drury.” A second later he shut the door and went back to his seat. “The girl is very determined, and she’s got proofs. Carey of Lincoln’s Inn is a good lawyer. He won’t move in it unless it’s a good case. Well, I shall hear what Britain has got to say about it. If there is proof that she is Hugh’s daughter he won’t want to fight, but either he or another lawyer will fight to the bitter end. Nurse Barnes will have to swear Hugh’s child died. I must run down and see her, I’m not going . to be beaten by a girl.” CHAPTER 8. THE TALE OF A TRAGEDY. Mary had finished her breakfast and was looking out of the window as she thought of her interview with Mr. Dalrymple. She knew it had done no good, only put him on his guard, and she felt sorry she had gone. There was a tap at the door, and the maid, a bright looking country girl, entered. “If you please, miss, Mrs. Reay thought you’d like to look at .he paper, ’ she said as she laid it on the table. Mary turned from the window, and taking up The Times, she seated herself near the fire, then opened it. She glanced’ casually down the columns and her eye was arrested by the words in big letters: “Murder of a Millionaire." Then she read: “Last night Mr. Dalrymple, the wellknown millionaire, was shot while sit-

i ting at the writing-table in his library. The bullet had entered the back of his r I head . causing instantaneous death; ap/■1 patently the murderer had stolen into ? the room and fired from behind. Mr, j Dalrymple was well known in the City i as a clever financier; the saying was . that everything he touched turned into , gold. Certainly he had been a singu- > larly fortunate man. It is an awful I thing that he, a man scarcely past the j prime of life, should have been shot , dead in his own house, surrounded by servants and those who could have > come to his aid, but th 6 murderer : neither gave him a chance to defend ! himself or call for help. It is for the police to discover who he was, and we i hope they will sOon bring the guilty i man to the bar of justice. Men in a ■ prominent position, like Mr. Dalrymple, often make enemies, and it is for the police to inquire into his past as well as the present.” Mary’s face had become very white and her eyes were full of horror as she laid the paper down. Francis Dalrymple dead! Gone to give account.of the deeds he had done! His voice, cynical and defiant sounded in her ears just as. he had spoken the previous night. Who could have killed him? Someone evidently hated him so bitterly that . only his death would satisfy that hatred. At last she rose. She must see Mr. Carey and tell him that she had been to Park Lane the night before. She must talk to him about what had happened. In a few minutes she was ready, and seeking Mrs. Reay in her little back sittingroom she inquired what ’bus she must take ■ to get to Lincoln’s Inn, . and having received explicit directions she set off. During the ride she could not think of anything but the murdered man, and when she entered Mr. Carey’s office she looked pale and troubled. Mr. Carey was disengaged, and the clerk took her at once to his private room. “You know about Mr. Dalrymple?” he said as they shook hands. “Yes, it’s awful; I saw him last night,” she' added, dropping her voice. “You saw him?” sold the lawyer in amazement. “Yes, after I’d had my tea I felt that I must go and tell him I knew aIK I spoke to him over the telephone, and he agreed to see me. Of course I didn’t tell him who I was until we met.” ’ “What did he say?” “Oh, he denied everything, and pretended he thought I was an imposter. When I left war was declared; we were each going to fight—l to get my rights, he to hold what he’d got.” “What time did you leave him?” “About half-past seven.” Mr. Carey looked worried. “I’ve heard that the doctor say death took place before eight. I suppose the servants saw you leave?” “Oh, yes, Mr. Dalrymple touched the bell then he opened the door for me, and when I passed into the hall the footman was waiting to show me out. Did you think I might be suspected?” “You never know whom the police will suspect; however, you’re all right. The footman knew that his master rang for him to show you out. Of course now nothing can be done till after he is buried, then, if I can get hold of the papers I shall move in the matter. By . the way, I sent a man yesterday after- ' noon to Mrs. Burley's. He was selling sewing machines ostensibly, and he

made friends with the servants and learned that the Missis was in a fine state about something that was lost, and she seemed to blame the window cleaner. He got to know where the man came from and went to the office, where he discovered that Mrs. Burley had been before him. Finally he found out that the man—a casual help—had disappeared! From what he told me I’m inclined to think the window cleaner has got the papers. My theory is that Mrs.- Burley appropriated them, taking the case to her own room, that the man saw what she did and formed the opinion that the contents of the case were valuable. I mean to put and advertisement in some of the principal papers, offering a reward. I think that will fetch them.” ' “If we don’t get them soon I shall go and see Nurse Barnes,” said Mary. “Wait a bit,” said Mr. Carey, and at that moment a clerk asked if he could see Mr. Taylor. . “Certainly. Well, good-bye, Miss Drury, I'll look in to-morrow,” said Mr. Carey. (To be continued).