The Tenant of Cromlech Cottage

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18339, 16 December 1927, Page 14

The Tenant of Cromlech Cottage

“ STAR ” SERIAL

By

JOSEPH HOCKING

CHAPTER XXl.—(Continued). The doctor did not speak, but he looked at her scrutinisingly. Then he turned toward Gwithian. Perhaps he called to mind certain things which Gwithian had told him, and remembered his confusion at certain omissions in his narrative. But he was an understanding man, and did not ask awkward questions. “Naturally you were excited,” he said. “You had reason to be. Perhaps you suspected something?” “Yes,” and she caught eagerly at the opening his words gave her, “and last night I went to Cromlech Cottage.” “Last night?” queried the doctor. “Yes, it was Sunday night last night, wasn't it? When I got there I saw a light in the house; but I didn’t go in. When I heard voices inside I was afraid to knock, but I listened. I know it was w T rong, but I heard you and Mr Trewithen talking about Pendragon Hall. You are not angry, are 3*ou?” and she turned toward Gwithian wistfully. “Angry! ” replied Gwithian. “Why should I be?” “I have not been myself for days,” went on the girl. “I have been so sure that something was going to happen that 1 could not help myself, try as I might. That was why, when you left the house, I followed you. I was afraid you would hear me.—Did y r ou? I took great care.” “No, we heard nothing. I wish you had spoken: it might have helped us.” “I daren’t do that; I was too frightened. Besides, I didn’t hear much—just odd, disconnected sentences. But I watched you go into the church, watched and waited. I saw you flash the light on my father's grave, and I began to put things together—tried to understand. But I kept quiet. I saw the village sexton, too, and I was sure he had his suspicions. Then after you had gone that man came, and I saw him looking through the window in the direction of my father’s grave. I had seen him before—l remembered that he was one of the witnesses to my father’s will.” She spoke quietly, but with evident difficulty. At that moment she appeared to have forgotten that she had an audience, and was like one trying to visualise Avhat she had seen and heard. “I followed him,” she continued. “He stayed at the church a long while, but when he went away I followed him until he came to the Pendragon lodge gates, and then went up the drive. I knew then where he was going.” “And after that?” asked the doctor quietly. 1 “After that I went back to Roger. I haven’t been to the rrtine to-day—l couldn’t, I was too excited. You see, I remembered what you said.” Question followed question after that, the girl answering clearly and quietly, making what had hitherto been obscure plain. When she had finished Adam Chignoweth, who had listened as eagerly as a hunting-dog during the whole recital, burst into a half-angry, half-admiring exclamation. “What a brain! What insight!” he gasped. “No wonder I failed. But who would have thought that a chit of a girl like that would have beaten me ? ” “She’s her father’s child; that’s why,” Dr Borlase reminded him. “Her father’s child!” sneered the other. “No Pendragon I ever came across before had brains like that. Why, the girl must have been a sleuth-hound; she must have had eyes like a lynx! ” “Now we’ll have your story,” said the doctor, turning to him. “My story? I have nothing to tell—beyond what you know.” “There’s a great deal to tell.” “But I can’t. I am worn out. I am an old man, and I am feeling very ill What are you going to do with me? You will give me a bed, won’t you? lam very tired and faint”; but, in spite of the whine in his voice, he looked cunningly from one to another. “There are many things you will have to tell us,” said the doctor sternly. “Remember, I was at the reading of the false will, the will you forged.” “1 forged no will; it’s all conjecture on your part. It really is, doctor. Besides, you can’t prove anything.” “Tell us,” repeated the doctor sternly. “You can’t make me speak,” Adam defied him. “Do your worst; I don’t care. No power on earth shall make me tell more than I have been fool enoqgh to tell.” Evidently Adam had been busy scheming while Karenza was telling her story, and perhaps fresh courage had been given to him by the food and drink with which the doctor had provided him. “I will tell nothing! nothing!” he persisted. “How can I? I have nothing to tell.” There was a hard look in his eyes, and his lips were tightly compressed. Evidently Adam meant to fight to the last. “You persist in that?”—and Gwithian looked at him steadily’. “Of course I persist in it. I have nothing to say. Besides, you’ve got what you wanted, haven’t you?” And he pointed to the will which Gwithian had been reading. “A lot of good it will do you,” and he gave a sneering laugh: “but you’ve got it, for all it’s worth.” ‘‘Yes, we’ve got it,” replied Gwithian. “We’ve got it from you. You broke open the grave in order to steal it. That’s a very serious offence, Adam; it means penal servitude for life, even if there were nothing else against you.” “You daren’t make it known! ” snarled the old man. “Come to that, you are as deep in it as I am. Why were you there? Why did you break into the church with your bag of tools? Come now, you can’t get over me.” “So you are going to fight it out, are you?” “If you drive me to it—yes.” “That’s settled then. Have you got a warrant handy, Borlase. Yes. I see you have. —And Seccombe is in the kitchen, isn’t he?” The doctor nodded. He seemed relieved that Gwi’thian had taken the matter in hand. “Then sign a warrant for Adam Chignoweth's arrest right away, and send Seccombe at once to the village constable.” “You won’t do it! You daren't do it!”

For reply* the doctor look a piece of blue paper headed with the British coat of arms from a desk by’ his side. “You won’t do it! you daren't do it!” persisted the old man. “Besides, I'd

nothing to do with it, I will swear I hadn’t.” The doctor began to fill up the form. Name: Adam Chignoweth—Date: August 30, 192—. Place: Pendragon, Cornwall. "But you don’t mean it! This is only bluff,” he persisted, turning toward Gwithian again. “Unless you tell everything, you will be the lock-up within an hour from now, ’ the young man threatened him sternly. “But it would be murder! lam old, and I am cold, and I am—wet. Can’t you see how I am shivering?” and every word was a sob. “Are you ready-, Borlase?” asked Gwithian without seeming to notice him. “Then I will ring for Seccombe right away. “No, no, not yet!— not yet! Wait a minute, I am not going to tell you anything except on my own conditions.” “What are they?” That you give me a week to clear out of the country before y-ou take any steps.” “Not an hour,” replied Gwithian. “If you do not tell us everything, everything, mark you, you will .be arrested at once.” And if I tell you^—you will give me my liberty-, won’t you?” We promise you nothing. Perhaps—I don t know—but this young lady may be disposed to be merciful; but you must tell everything; everything, mind you. Otherwise the law must take its course. And we have a long account against you, Adam.” “It would be cruel,” the old man cried. -“Why, I am nearly seventy; I should die in a month, and what good would that do you ? Besides, you’d have murder on your consciences. Think of that.” Gwithian took out his watch. “I will give you one minute to decide, Adam,” he said. “And what if I promise to tell?” snarled the old man. “What will you do to me ? Mi'ss Pendragon, you will be merciful, won’t you? I never meant you any harm. I sefved your father for years and years, and many a kind word he has spoken to me. You’ll make it easy for me, won’t you?” “Half a minute more,” said Gwithian quietly, “the moments are flying, Adam.” The old man kept looking at Karenza, who did not speak, but there was a kind of horror in her eyes as she returned his gaze.

“Time’s up,” said Gwithian, putting hi's hand to the bell. “Stop ! I'll—tell! I don’t know much, but I’ll tell you what I know. W’hat is it you want?”

“First of all, why did you forge that false will?” Adam laughed; a low, cunning laugh. “Neither of you is married, I am told,” he replied; “therefore you don’t know what women can be. But you’ve both of you seen that she-devil. How pleasant she can be, can’t she? But she’s as cruel as hell. No sooner had she caught Roger Pendragon in her net than she began to scheme. You know to what purpose. But one thing she couldn’t do: she couldn’t persuade him to make a will after her own heart. He was just to her—generous for that matter, and left her a handsome annuity in the case of his dying before her. Then she got hold of me. I was old Lawyer Trefry’s confidential clerk, and did most of his work. He had been failing for years before Roger Pendragon died. And I knew him—knew him inside out. I told you, didn’t I, that she got to know things about me, and got me in her grip? I needn’t tell you what they were, but she had. You know what happened. W T hen the will was read at the funeral everything was left to her, the children weren’t mentioned.” By this time Karenza was eagerly alert, listening to every word, while the doctor and Gwithian, scarcely less excited, forgot everything in Adam’s recital. “That was the thing that set me doubting,” ejaculated the doctor. “Knowing Roger Pendragon as I did, I could not believe that he would forget his own children.” “Hadn’t I thought of that, too?” replied Adam craftily. * “I told her so, but she was adamant. She was as.cunning as the devil, and as greedy as a mongrel dog. She wanted everything for herself and her children. She put it this way .to me. Jf anything at all were left to the children—her husband’s children—questions with regard to administration would crop up. That might f lead to other questions, and the truth might eventually leak out. So she worked the oracle. They w r ere young, and knew nothing of the law. Besides, she had made her own plans. You pretty well know what they were. —So I gave in to her.” “You did exactly as she told you?” “I was not so easy to deal with as you think,” replied Adam, with a kind of boast. “I stipulated for a big sum down, and a yearly income. I had done practically all Trefry’s engrossing work for years; in fact, as I told you, he left nearly everything to me. I am an expert in handwriting, and found no difficulty about the signatures. Why, He ceased speaking for a few seconds and laughed a low, cunning laugh. Then he went on again. “All the same, I was in a terrible stew when Roger Pendragon died. You see, although Trefry’s powers were failing, he would never admit it, and his memory was good enough to know that the will I had drawn up was not according to the one he had prepared. That was why I was frightened. Still, I made provision for that, too.” “What do you mean by that?” A change had come over Adam Chignoweth during the last few minutes. He was no longer truculent and defiant; rather he seemed to take a pleasure in describing what he regarded as his own cleverness. “I made provision in this way, he went on. ‘T knew that Trefry had the original draft, from which the will was copied, stored away in his safe. So I got hold of his keys and by that means secured the draft. I also posse-ssed myself of the will. Then I put. the will I had prepared into the place where he kept such documents. Thus, you see. I had everything my own way.” and again he gave a. little laugh of satisfaction. “All the. same, I was in a fever throughout the whole day of the funeral.” “Why was that?” (To be Continued).