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Ellis Parker Butler - "Pigs is Pigs"

H. de Vere Stacpoole - "A Romance"

Jules Verne - "Michael Strogoff"

William Shakespeare - "Twelfth Night; or, What You Will"

That Mainwaring Affair

M >> Maynard Barbour >> That Mainwaring Affair




"Where are the beneficiaries of that will that was destroyed?" Scott
suddenly inquired.

Hobson looked sharply at him. "Dead, long ago. Why do you ask?"

"I was thinking that if they or their heirs were living, it would
be better to go to them with this information. They would probably
pay a good price for it."

"You're right, they would," Hobson replied, approvingly; "but they
are all dead."

"Were there no heirs left?"

"None whatever, more's the pity. However, I've got a good hold on
these English chaps and will make them hand over the sovereigns yet."

The contempt which Scott had hitherto concealed as Hobson unfolded
his plans was now plainly visible on his face as he rose from his
chair.

"Don't hasten, my young friend," said Hobson, eagerly. "Sit down,
sit down; we have not laid our plans yet."

"No, nor will we," was the reply. "If you think to make a cat's-paw
of me in any of your dirty, contemptible pieces of work, you are
mistaken. If you think that I came here with any intention of
listening for one moment to any of your vile propositions, you are
mistaken. I came here simply to satisfy myself on one point. My
errand is accomplished, and I will remain no longer."

Hobson had sprung to his feet and now faced Scott, barring the way
to the door, while fear, anger, defiance, and hate passed in rapid
succession across his evil countenance, making his appearance more
demon-like than ever.

"You lie!" he exclaimed, in a hoarse whisper. "I have not given
you one word of information!"

"No," Scott interrupted, "you have given me no information, and you
could give me none, for the reason that I know more concerning this
whole affair than you do. I also have knowledge of certain other
matters regarding one Richard Hobson, alias Dick Carroll, and his
London adventures."

Hobson's face had become a livid hue, and Scott detected a sudden
movement of his right hand towards his desk.

"None of that!" he cried, warningly, at the same time springing
quickly upon him with two well-aimed blows, one of which knocked a
revolver from Hobson's hand, while the other deposited him in a heap
upon the floor. While the latter was recovering from the effect of
the stunning blow he had received, Scott picked up the revolver and,
having examined it, slipped it into his pocket, saying,-

"I will keep this for a while as a souvenir of our interview. It
may be needed as evidence later."

Hobson crawled to his feet and stood cowering abjectly before Scott,
rage written on every lineament of his face, but not daring to give
it expression.

"Who in the devil are you, anyway?" he growled.

"That is none of your business whatever," Scott replied, seizing
him by the collar and dragging him to the door. "The only thing for
you to do is to unlock that door as expeditiously as possible,
asking no questions and making no comments."

With trembling fingers the wretch complied, and Scott, still
retaining his hold upon his collar, reached the door of the outer
room, where, with a final shake, he released him.

"Wait a moment," Hobson whispered, eagerly, half-paralyzed with fear,
while his eyes gleamed with malign hatred. "You've got no hold on
me by anything I've said, and you've no proof of that Carroll
business, either."

Scott looked at him an instant with silent contempt. "You cowardly
scoundrel! all I have to say to you at present is, be careful how
you interfere with me! I'm only sorry I soiled my hands with you,
but I'll do it again if necessary; and the next time you will fare
worse!" and, opening the door, he passed quickly through the outer
room, conscious of the amazed stare of the office boy, who had
overheard his last words. Hobson did not attempt to follow him, but
paced up and down his room, trembling with fear and rage combined,
and vainly striving to imagine who his visitor might be. At last
he sat down to his desk and began to write rapidly, muttering to
himself,-

"I half believe - only that he's too young - that he is some hound
over here trying to scent out the whole thing. But," he added, with
an oath, "whoever he is, if he crosses my track he'll be likely to
follow Hugh Mainwaring before long, that's all!"



CHAPTER XII

X-RAYS


On the morning following Scott's interview with Hobson, he awoke at
an early hour, vaguely conscious of some disturbing influence,
though unable to tell what had awakened him. He lay for a moment
recalling the events of the preceding day, then suddenly remembered
that this was the day fixed for the funeral of Hugh Mainwaring.
None of the servants were astir about the house, but Scott soon
became conscious of the sound of stealthy movements and subdued
voices coming through the open window, and, rising, he looked out.
At first he could see nothing unusual. It was just sunrise, and the
river, at a little distance shimmering in the golden light, held
him entranced by its beauty. Then a slight rustling in the
shrubbery near the lake attracted his attention. The golden shafts
of sunlight had not yet reached that small body of water, and it
lay smooth and unbroken as the surface of a mirror, so clear at
that hour that one could easily look into its depths. Suddenly a
light boat shot out from the side nearest the grove, breaking the
smooth surface into a thousand rippling waves of light. In the boat
were two men, one of whom Scott instantly recognized as the
detective; the other, who was rowing and had his back towards the
house, seemed to be a stranger. Some one concealed in the shrubbery
called to the boatmen, whereupon they rowed across in that direction,
stopping a few yards from shore. Here they rested a few moments
till the surface was again smooth, when, both men having carefully
peered into the depths of the little lake, the detective proceeded
to let down a drag into the water.

"By George!" Scott ejaculated, "the sly old fox is improving the
opportunity, while every one is asleep, to drag the lake in search
of whatever the coachman threw in there. All right, my dear sir,
go ahead! But I'm somewhat interested in this affair myself, and
I don't intend that you shall monopolize all the facts in the case."

Keeping an eye on the boat, he dressed quickly and, letting himself
out at the front entrance, he hastened down the walk through the
grove to the edge of the lake, keeping himself concealed among the
trees. The boat was moving slowly back and forth, and was now in
such a position that Scott could see the face of the man rowing,
who proved to be, as he had thought, a stranger. On the other side,
seated under the flowering shrubs and trees bordering the lake, was
Joe, the stable-boy, watching proceedings with intense interest.
With a smile, the young secretary followed his example, seating
himself at the foot of an ancient elm whose branches drooped nearly
to the ground.

"All right, Mr. Detective!" he said, "I can stay as long as you.
If you fail to make a success of your work this morning no one will
be the wiser, but in case you find anything I propose to know
something about it myself."

The sun was now shining brightly, but the hour was yet so early that
there was little danger of any one else appearing on the scene,
especially as it was Sunday morning.

For nearly an hour Mr. Merrick and his companion rowed slowly back
and forth in constantly widening circles, meeting with no success
and saying little. Suddenly, while Scott was watching the face of
the stranger, wondering who he might be, he heard a low exclamation
and saw that the drag had fastened itself upon some object at the
bottom of the lake. He watched eagerly as they drew it to the
surface, and could scarcely restrain a cry of astonishment as he
saw what it was, but before either of the men could secure it, it
had slipped and fallen again into the water. With language more
forcible than elegant, the drag was again lowered, and the boat
once more began its slow trailing.

This time they had not so long to wait for success. The drag was
brought to the surface, but carrying in its clutches an entirely
different object, and one with which the young secretary was totally
unfamiliar, - a somewhat rusty revolver.

Mr. Merrick's back was now towards Scott, but the latter saw him
take something from his pocket which he seemed to compare with the
revolver, at the same time remarking to the stranger, who was
watching with an appearance of great interest,

"A pretty good find, Jim, pretty good! However, we'll have another
try for that box, whatever it is. It may amount to something or it
may not, but it will do no harm to make a trial."

Having let down the drag once more, he glanced at the house, then at
his watch, saying, "No signs of any one astir; we're all right for
another hour yet."

After a few more turns, Scott saw them suddenly pulling in the
ropes, and once more the box appeared, rusty and covered with slime,
but still familiar. He at once sprang to his feet and sauntered
carelessly down the walk, humming a tune and watching the occupants
of the boat with an air of mild curiosity. The stranger was the
first to see him, and with an expression of evident disgust gave
Merrick warning of his approach. If the detective felt any
annoyance he did not betray it as he turned and nodded to Scott in
the most nonchalant manner possible, as though dragging the lake
were an every-day occurrence.

"You've been fishing, I see," said Scott, pleasantly. "How did you
make out?"

"Well, I've made this find which you see here," answered Mr. Merrick,
as the boat headed for shore. "I don't know yet what it is, but it
has not lain long in the water, and it may be worth looking into."

Scott made no reply until the detective had sprung ashore; then, as
the latter proceeded to examine the box, leaving his companion to
take care of the boat and drag, he said, in a low tone,-

"That is likely to prove an important discovery, Mr. Merrick."

"You are familiar with it then?" queried the latter.

"I have seen it in Mr. Mainwaring's safe. That was the box in which
he kept the old jewels that were stolen on the night of the murder."

Mr. Merrick whistled softly and studied the box anew. "Well, there
are no jewels in it now, but we will open it. There is no one up
yet to let us into the house, so suppose we go to the stables; we'll
be safe there from intrusion."

They proceeded to the stables, and, arriving there, Scott was puzzled
to see Merrick's companion at work and evidently perfectly at home.

"We are going to use your room a while, Matthews," said Merrick,
carelessly. Then, noting the surprise on Scott's face, he added,
"This is Matthews, the new coachman, Mr. Scott. I thought you knew
of his coming."

"At your service, sir," said Matthews, respectfully lifting his cap
in response to Scott's greeting, while the latter inquired, as he
and the detective passed up-stairs together,-

"When did he come?"

"Yesterday afternoon. He applied for the position, and, as he
happened to be an acquaintance of mine, Mr. Mainwaring hired him
upon my recommendation. Now," as he locked the door of the room
they had entered, "we will open this box as quickly as possible.
I suppose there is no key to be found, and, if there were, the
lock is too rusty to work."

With the aid of a file and chisel the box was soon opened. The
satin linings were somewhat water-soaked and discolored, and the
box appeared to be empty, but on opening an inner compartment there
were exposed to view a pair of oddly shaped keys and a blood-stained
handkerchief, the latter firmly knotted as though it had been used
to bandage a wound of some kind.

"Ah!" said the detective, with peculiar emphasis, examining the
handkerchief, which was of fine linen, with the initials "H. M."
embroidered in one corner. "Did Mr. Mainwaring carry a handkerchief
of that style?"

"Yes; he carried that, or one precisely like it, the last day of
his life."

"Very good!" was the only reply, as the detective carefully folded
and pocketed the article with an air that indicated that he wished
to say no more about it. "And these keys, do you recognize them?"

"They were Mr. Mainwaring's private keys to his library and the
southern hall."

"The ones the valet said were missing?"

"The same."

Mr. Merrick, after studying them curiously for a moment, consigned
them to his pocket also, and then began a careful inspection of the
interior of the box. Scott watched him in silence, thinking
meanwhile of the old document which he had found hidden away in its
depths, and inwardly rejoicing that it had not been left to be
discovered by the detective. Nothing in Mr. Merrick's manner or
expression betrayed the nature of his thoughts, and, so long as he
chose to remain silent, Scott refrained from questioning him.

At length he closed the box, saying, indifferently, "Well, I don't
know as there is any reason why I should detain you any longer, Mr.
Scott. We have satisfied ourselves as to the contents of the box,
and you have identified the articles. For the present, however, I
would prefer that you say nothing of this."

"Certainly, Mr. Merrick. The discovery, whatever its import, is
your secret, and I shall make no mention of it whatever."

"I don't know that it is of any special importance," said the
detective, carelessly, as they prepared to descend the stairs; "but
it only confirms the opinion that I have had all along."

"Don't you think that this tends to show that the murder and robbery
were connected, notwithstanding Mr. Whitney's theories to the
contrary?" Scott inquired, as they were about to separate.

"Possibly," replied the other, gravely. Then added, with a smile,
"Mr. Whitney has his own preconceived ideas of the case and tries
to adapt the circumstances to suit them, when, in reality, one must
first ascertain whatever facts are available and adjust his theories
accordingly."

They parted company at the door of the stables, but Scott had not
reached the house when the detective, with a peculiar smile,
returned to the room up-stairs, and once more opening the box, drew
forth from underneath the satin linings a folded paper, yellow with
age and covered with closely written lines; which he read with great
interest, after which he remained absorbed in thought until aroused
by the entrance of his friend, the coachman.

Several hours later Scott stood alone beside the casket of the
murdered man. The head had been turned slightly to one side and a
spray of white blossoms, dropped with seeming carelessness within
the casket, concealed all traces of the ghastly wound, their snowy
petals scarcely whiter than the marble features of the dead.

It lacked more than an hour of the time set for the funeral. None
of the few invited friends would arrive for some time yet. The
gentlemen of the house were still in the hands of their valets, and
the ladies engrossed with the details of their elegant mourning
costumes. Scott, knowing he would be secure from interruption, had
chosen this opportunity to take his farewell look at the face of his
employer, desiring to be alone with his own thoughts beside the dead.

With strangely commingled emotions he gazed upon the face, so
familiar, and yet upon which the death angel had already traced many
unfamiliar lines, and as he realized the utter loneliness of the
rich man, both in life and in death, a wave of intense pity swept
across heart and brain, well-nigh obliterating all sense of personal
wrong and injury.

"Unhappy man!" he murmured. "Unloved in life, unmourned in death!
Not one of those whom you sought to enrich will look upon you to-day
with one-half the sorrow or the pity with which I do, whom you have
wronged and defrauded from the day of my birth! But I forgive you
the wrong you have done me. It was slight compared with the far
greater wrong you did another, - your brother - your only brother!
A wrong which no sums of money, however vast, could ever repair.
What would I not give if I could once have stood by his side, even
as I stand by yours to-day, and looked once upon his face, - the
face of your brother and of the father whom, because of your guilt,
I have never seen or known, of whom I have not even a memory!
Living, I could never have forgiven you; but here, to-day, in pity
for your loveless life and out of the great love I bear that father
in his far-away ocean grave, - in his name and in my own, - I
forgive you, his brother, even that wrong!"

As Scott left the room, he passed Mr. Whitney in the hall, who,
seeing in his face traces of recent emotion, looked after him with
great surprise.

"That young man is a mystery!" he soliloquized. "A mystery! I
confess I cannot understand him."

A little later the master of Fair Oaks passed for the last time
down the winding, oak-lined avenue, followed by the guests of the
place and by a small concourse of friends, whose sorrow, though
unexpressed by outward signs of mourning, was, in reality, the more
sincere.

Mrs. LaGrange, who, as housekeeper, had remained at Fair Oaks,
seemed, as the last carriage disappeared from view, to be on the
verge of collapse from nervous prostration. No one knew the mental
excitement or the terrible nervous strain which she had undergone
during those last few days. Many at the funeral had noted her
extreme pallor, but no one dreamed of the tremendous will power
by which she had maintained her customary haughty bearing. When
all had gone, she rose and attempted to go to her room, but in the
hall she staggered helplessly and, with a low moan, sank unconscious
to the floor. The screams of the chambermaid, who had seen her
fall, summoned to her assistance the other servants, who carried
her to her room, where she slowly regained consciousness, opening
her eyes with an expression of terror, then closing them again with
a shudder. Suddenly she seemed to recall her surroundings; with a
great effort she rallied and dismissed the servants, with the
exception of the chambermaid, saying, "It was nothing, only a little
faintness caused by the heat. The room was insufferably close. Say
nothing of this to the others when they return."

With Katie's assistance, she exchanged her heavy dress for a light
wrapper of creamy silk, and soon seemed herself again except for
her unusual pallor.

"That will do, Katie; I shall not need you further. By the way,
did Walter go with the others, or did he remain at home?"

"Mr. Walter is in his room, ma'am; and I heard Hardy say that he
was packing up his clothes and things."

Mrs. LaGrange betrayed no surprise, no emotion of any kind. "Say
to him that I would like to see him in my room at once."

The girl disappeared, leaving Mrs. LaGrange to her own reflections,
which seemed anything but pleasant. The look of terror returned
to her face; she clinched her hands until the jewels cut deeply into
the white fingers; then, springing to her feet, she paced the room
wildly until she heard the footsteps of her son approaching, when
she instantly assumed her usual composure.

Walter LaGrange had left Fair Oaks immediately at the close of the
inquest, and had not returned except to be present at the funeral,
and even there his sullen appearance had caused general remark.
Very little love had ever existed between mother and son, for neither
had a nature capable of deep affection, but never until now had there
been any open rupture between them. Though closely resembling each
other, he lacked her ability to plan and execute, and had hitherto
been content to follow her counsels. But, as he now entered his
mother's room, a glance revealed to her that her authority and
influence over him were past.

"You sent for me, I believe. What do you want?" he asked, as she
looked at him without speaking.

"Do you consider your conduct becoming towards a mother who is
risking everything for you and your interests?"

"Oh, my interests be hanged," he exclaimed, petulantly. "I don't
see that you've accomplished much for my interests with all your
scheming. A week ago I could hold up my head with any of the
fellows. I was supposed to be a relative of Hugh Mainwaring's,
with good prospects, and that I would come in for a good round
sum whenever the old fellow made his will, - just as I did. Now
that's gone, and everything's gone; I haven't even a name left!"

"Walter LaGrange, what do you mean? Do you dare insinuate to your
own mother-"

"Why don't you call me Walter Mainwaring?" he sneered. "As to
insinuations, I have to hear plenty of 'em. Last night I was
black-balled at one of the clubs where my name had been presented
for membership, and a lot of the fellows have cut me dead."

"Walter, listen to me. You are Hugh Mainwaring's son and I was
his wife. I will yet compel people to recognize us as such; but
you must - "

"Tell me one thing," he demanded, interrupting her. "If I was Hugh
Mainwaring's son, why have I not borne his name? Why did he not
recognize me as such? I'll claim no man for my father who would
not acknowledge me as his son."

Then, before she could reply, he added, "If you were the wife of
Hugh Mainwaring, what was the meaning of your proposal of marriage
to him less than three months ago?"

She grew deathly pale; but he, seeming to enjoy the situation,
repeated, sneeringly, "Less than three months ago, the night on
which he gave you the necklace which you commissioned me to sell
the other day! You urged your suit with a vengeance, too, I
remember, for you threatened to ruin him if he did not come to
your terms.

"I only laughed then, for I thought 'twas another scheme of yours
to get a tighter hold on the old man's purse-strings. It's nothing
to me what your object was, but in view of the fact that I happened
to overhear that little episode, it might be just as well not to
try to tell me that I am Hugh Mainwaring's son. You will naturally
see that I am not likely to be interested in helping carry out that
little farce!"

Still controlling herself by a tremendous will power, the wretched
woman made one more desperate effort. In low tones she replied,-

"You show your base ingratitude by thus insulting your mother and
running the risk of betraying her to listening servants by your
talk. Of course, this is all a farce, as you say, but it must be
carried through. You and I were distantly related to Hugh
Mainwaring, but what chance would we have against these people with
no more of a claim than ours? I am compelled to assert that I was
his wife and that you are his son in order to win any recognition
in the eyes of the law."

For an instant her son regarded her with an expression of mingled
surprise and incredulity, then the sneer returned, and, turning to
leave the room, he answered, carelessly,-

"You can tell your little story to other people, and when you have
won a fortune on it, why, I'll be around for my share, as, whatever
my doubts in other directions, I have not the slightest doubt that
you are my mother, and therefore bound to support me. But, for the
present, if you please, I'll go by the old name of LaGrange. It's
a name that suits me very well yet, even though," and a strange look
flashed at her from his dark eyes, "even though it may be only a
borrowed one," and the door closed, for the last time, between
mother and son.

A low moan escaped from the lips of the unhappy woman. "My son -
the only living being of my flesh and blood - even he has turned
against me!" Too proud to recall him, however, she sank exhausted
upon a couch, and, burying her face in her hands, wept bitterly for
the first and only time in her remembrance.

Meanwhile, the guests of Fair Oaks, having returned from the funeral,
had assembled in the large library below, and were engaged in
animated discussion regarding the disposition to be made of the
property. Ralph Mainwaring and Mr. Thornton, with pencils and paper,
were computing stocks and bonds, and estimating how much of a margin
would be left after the purchase of the old Mainwaring estate, which
they had heard could be bought at a comparatively low figure, the
present owner being somewhat embarrassed financially; while Mrs.
Mainwaring was making a careful inventory of the furniture, paintings,
and bric-a-brac at Fair Oaks, with a view of ascertaining whether
there were any articles which she would care to retain for their
future home.

Mr. Whitney, who, as a bachelor and an intimate friend of Hugh
Mainwaring's, as well as his legal adviser, had perhaps more than
any one else enjoyed the hospitality of his beautiful suburban home,
found the conversation extremely distasteful, and, having furnished
whatever information was desired, excused himself and left the room.
As he sauntered out upon the broad veranda, he was surprised to see
Miss Carleton, who had made her escape through one of the long
windows, and who looked decidedly bored.

"It's perfectly beastly! Don't you think so?" she exclaimed,
looking frankly into his face, as if sure of sympathy.

She had so nearly expressed his own feelings that he flushed
slightly, as he replied, with a smile, "It looks rather peculiar to
an outsider, but I suppose it is only natural."

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