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Antidote to Venom

Page 8

by Freeman Wills Crofts


  Though at last George was achieving a dream which he had scarcely dared to hope would ever materialise, he was not wholly happy. Sometimes he was almost delirious at the prospect of having Nancy permanently within reach, because though he had spoken of her spending only a short time in the cottage, he had really meant that she should make it her home. But at others he felt the weight of living a lie, the discovery of which would mean ruin. Sometimes he asked himself was the pleasure worth the pain, and he did not always answer Yes. For nearly three weeks things went on as usual, George growing daily more impatient at the delay. Then at last took place the event for which he had been so long waiting.

  He was dressing one morning when Marr rang him up with the news. He was sorry to tell him that his aunt had just passed away. The end had come suddenly. As Surridge knew, he, Marr, had been expecting it, but on the previous evening there was no more appearance of anything immediate than at any time during the preceding three weeks. Miss Pentland had died in her sleep, and the family must not mourn her, as her death had been for her a happy release.

  George smiled grimly at the idea of his mourning the death, but he replied sympathetically to Marr, and said he would go round immediately to see what he could do.

  This proved to be little. Marr, of course, was able to give a certificate, so an inquest was unnecessary. The undertaker, once George had given him his instructions, took over all the details of the funeral. The elderly maid was told to look out for another job, though she was retained for a few days to help to clear up the house. George intended to sell both house and furniture, and he was anxious to see his aunt’s solicitor, who, he thought, might do this for him.

  He was surprised, and by no means pleased, to find that this was none other than Capper, the nephew of old Burnaby, whom he had met at the party to celebrate poor Joyce’s engagement. At first he felt inclined to get someone else to act for him, then he thought he could not pass by a relative of Burnaby’s in so marked a manner, and decided to employ him.

  Slowly the leaden hours crept by till at last there came the funeral, and after it that moment for which George had so long waited, when he, Clarissa, and the maid met in Miss Pentland’s sitting-room to hear the reading of the will. He had never questioned his aunt’s good faith, but all the same a verbal promise and a binding legal document were different matters. Once he had seen in black-and-white that the inheritance was coming, the little gnawing pain of doubt would be finally removed.

  He was astonished on reaching the house to meet a stalwart young stranger, who said he was Patrick Logan, Capper’s partner, and that he would read the will. Capper, it appeared, was abroad. He had had to go to America on business, but he would be home in two or three weeks. Meanwhile, Logan was at George’s disposal if any legal business should be required.

  George found it hard to sit still during the reading of the document. Logan was slow and evidently unaccustomed to the task. He was, indeed, surprisingly young to be a partner. George wanted to get up and scream at him. “Get on, man!” he wanted to shout. “For heaven’s sake get on with it! Don’t stand there gaping like a boiled haddock!” Clarissa, he could feel, was similarly on edge, though she had far less cause than he. In the maid’s mind the same struggle was also in progress: all tense with eagerness, all trying to disguise the fact.

  At length Logan got under way, stumbling laboriously through masses of preliminary verbiage: “Last will and testament…of sound mind…give and bequeath.…” Then the words were spoken, the words that for years George had longed to hear: “That…to my dear friend and maid…save the said…and the said…all that I die possessed of…to my nephew, George Humphrey Surridge….”

  In spite of himself, George heaved a great sigh of relief. Surreptitiously he wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. Then it was true! There was no longer any doubt! He could now borrow on his expectations, and send that six hundred and fifty pounds to the agent at once. In a day or two Rose Cottage would be his!

  In a dream he heard himself talking to Logan. Much obliged for all his trouble. Yes, everything had gone without a hitch. There would be a little business to be done. Could Logan undertake it for him? Good, then he would call him in the course of a day or two. When would suit?

  George soon found that the only time he could spare for the meeting was the following morning. He simply could not wait any longer. He had controlled himself admirably; he did not think that any of those present had suspected his eagerness. But it was beyond his powers to continue the strain.

  He thought very carefully over what he should say to Logan: how he could get his information unsuspiciously. Then he saw that he only wanted to know what any man in his position would want to know. There would be nothing in the least suspicious in his questions. But there might be in his manner. Finally, to avoid a show of eagerness, he decided to prepare a small questionnaire, hand it to Logan, and ask him to reply to it at his leisure.

  Next morning he drove the forty-odd miles to Bursham, the town in which Capper & Logan practised. The name had been freshly lettered on the door, and it was obvious that the junior partner was a recent addition to the firm. The young man was evidently impressed by the call, and assumed a portentously professional air, though he had the good sense to consult his chief clerk on George’s questions before attempting replies.

  In accordance with his decision, George adopted a leisurely attitude. He sat down and began to talk about the weather. When Logan held out a box of cigarettes he chose one deliberately and was in no hurry to light it. He talked about smoking, about Capper’s absence, reaching by easy stages the matter of the deceased Lucy Pentland.

  “I’m sorry for seeming to hurry this affair,” he went on, “but after this morning I am engaged for several days, and there is no reason why probate and so on should be held up.”

  Logan expressed cordial agreement.

  “I have prepared,” George continued, “a few questions, which I thought might get us at once to the heart of things. If I have omitted anything important, I should be obliged if you would add it to the list.”

  Slowly he searched his pockets and produced a paper. “It seems a little heartless to be going into all this, when my aunt has only just died,” he murmured, “but I have explained the reason. Now, these questions are the obvious ones which would occur to anyone in my position. I have known for years that I was to be my aunt’s heir, but I have never had the slightest idea of how much she was going to leave me. That’s the first thing I want to know; very approximately, of course. Then I should like to know how she held it: whether it is in stocks or property, or otherwise: all those sort of things. Perhaps you could tell me how I stand?”

  Logan was anxious to oblige. The actual figures he hadn’t had time to get out, but, roughly, he understood that when death duties and legacies to the present and two former maids had been paid, there would be left over for George between eight and nine thousand pounds. This money, it appeared, was in shares, mostly industrials of various kinds, with a sprinkling of corporation and other stocks.

  “I have the list here,” went on Logan, “and you will see that the choice of investments has been pretty good. Not only are the investments sound, but they are widely distributed both as to situation and type, while the proportion of trustee stock adds security. I think I may be allowed to offer my congratulations, Mr. Surridge.”

  Up till now, George had striven to hide his eagerness; now he strove to hide his satisfaction. This, certainly, was a magnificent list. He was no authority on finance, but he knew enough to realise that these investments represented a good income with as close an approach to security as was possible in this financially distracted period. Nothing would have been better.

  Two of his three fundamental questions had now been answered: he was the heir, and there was plenty of money. One other point only remained to be cleared up.

  “That’s a fine list, I agree,” he said,
as coolly as he could. “I admit I’m delighted with it. But I don’t suppose I’ll see the money for a little time. It’ll take—what? Three or four months to get probate and everything straightened up?”

  “Less than that, I should think.”

  George chatted on rather aimlessly about the delays in the law. Then he became slightly more confidential.

  “There’s just one other matter I’d like to ask you about. It has been in my mind that if this legacy came to over five thousand, I’d like to blue part of it: I’d like to take a holiday with my wife round the world. I don’t know whether I shall do so or not. But if I do, I should probably do it soon: I mean in spring, so as to avoid the extremes of summer and winter. Suppose I wanted to get some money before probate was granted, could I do so?”

  Logan seemed slightly embarrassed. “I’m afraid not through us, sir,” he answered. “We don’t do that class of work. There are plenty of firms who do, of course.”

  George hastened to explain. “I never for a moment expected that you did, Mr. Logan,” he said, pleasantly. “What I meant was: have I now sufficient security to borrow in the ordinary way?”

  Logan again hesitated. “I do not think you could borrow, say, from your bank at the present moment. I imagine they would require the actual scrip to be deposited first. That Mr. Capper has in his safe deposit, but you will understand that until probate is granted I am not in a position to hand it over; nor, of course, would he, if he were here. But there are lots of firms which would lend on knowing that you were the heir and that we held your securities.”

  “And how could they know that?”

  Logan shrugged. “I don’t think you need worry. If you tell them the facts, they’ll make their own enquiries.”

  George nodded. “I may do so: I don’t know yet. By the way, when will Mr. Capper be home? I’ve met him, you know. He’s a relative of my neighbour, Professor Burnaby.”

  The remainder of the interview passed off as normally as even George could have desired, and he left the office profoundly satisfied with what had taken place. His prospects were splendid, and he had not at any point acted in the slightest degree suspiciously.

  A couple of days later it happened that he had business in Town, and he took the opportunity to call once again on Messrs. Abraham & Co., the moneylenders. There he was received with the same formal courtesy, but with much more interest.

  “We do not usually make loans otherwise than after the securities have actually been deposited with us,” Mr. Abraham explained, when George had stated his business. “However, in your case, where there is obviously no doubt as to the security, we might meet you to a certain, I’m afraid very limited, extent. You say that Mr. Capper will be home in a fortnight and that then these scrips will be available?”

  “No,” George answered, “I didn’t say that. I understand the firm won’t allow the scrips out of their possession until probate is granted. But, of course, if I were to wait till then, I should have the money myself and should not require a loan. If the facts as I’ve mentioned them are not enough for you, I’m afraid we can’t do business.”

  Mr. Abraham hummed and hawed. Mr. Surridge, he said hesitatingly, was a man of business himself and would therefore understand business methods. He, Abraham, was personally satisfied, and if it concerned him alone he would willingly advance up to seventy-five per cent of the capital. But the affair involved his partners and therefore must be conducted on business lines. Without further security he could only advance what would be to a man like Mr. Surridge mere pocket money, say up to £250. “I suppose the matter couldn’t be dealt with in some other way?” Abraham concluded. “You wouldn’t care to say just what you wanted the money for?”

  George hesitated in his turn. “It’s rather confidential,” he said, “but as a matter of fact I want to buy a cottage.”

  “And the price of the cottage, sir?”

  “Seven hundred pounds, of which I have already deposited fifty. That leaves six-fifty, but I shall want a hundred or two for furniture and repairs.”

  “Eight hundred and fifty,” answered the moneylender. Then, after a moment: “Will you excuse me while I consult my partners?”

  What this meant George could not imagine. Abraham had suddenly become more eager. However, there wasn’t much time to think things over, for in a few minutes the man was back.

  “I’m sorry that my partners agree with me that we could not lend the sum you require without the scrip as security, but perhaps we can meet your wishes in another way. Supposing we buy this cottage for you—assuming our inspection satisfies us as to its value? Supposing at the same time we advance you £150 in cash; that is £800 altogether? For this we should have the security of the house as well as your statement about the inheritance. What about that, Mr. Surridge? Would it be of any use to you?”

  It was not exactly what George wanted, for it meant a publicity that he would have much preferred to avoid. However, it seemed that he had no option and with some misgivings he agreed. He promised Abraham an authority from Nancy to act on her behalf, explaining that the negotiations to date had been carried on in her name. He was slightly annoyed, as well as a good deal relieved, to see at the mention of a lady a sly and understanding smile hover for a moment round the corners of Abraham’s mouth.

  “Then, sir,” the man went on, “it only remains for me to hand you our cheque for £150. Or perhaps you would prefer notes?”

  George stared. “But I thought you had to make enquiries first?” he asked.

  Abraham smiled broadly. “We made them after your previous call, sir,” he declared. “We know all about you and we know that we can trust you. Notes, you say?”

  When George returned that night to Birmington he was in so exalted a frame of mind that he could scarcely refrain from hiring the car and going off there and then to pass on the good tidings to Nancy. However, the fact that he would have to knock up the inn to do so proved sufficient discouragement, and he contented himself with telling her over the telephone next morning.

  Abraham was as good as his word. The next day there called on Nancy a smartly dressed young man with oily manners and black hair plastered down till it shone like burnished metal. With her he went to see first the cottage and then the agent. Finally, on obtaining her authority to act for her, he bowed himself off, stating the purchase would be completed in a couple of days.

  For Nancy directly and for George at second hand, a period approaching ecstasy ensued. There was first the joy of discussing with the local builder the required alterations and repairs. It was delightful to hear him promise to have the work done by a certain date, and only a little less so to receive later his explanations as to why he had been unable to fulfil his bargain. George would have loved to inspect the progress of the work, but he considered it dangerous to be seen near the cottage, and decided regretfully to wait till the job was finished before satisfying his curiosity.

  He did not even accompany Nancy when she was buying the furniture. Indeed, they cut down the number of their meetings, waiting for the glorious time when Nancy would be settled in, when the last of the tradesmen would have gone, and when it would be safe for George to pay his calls.

  The most important of the alterations was the provision of a garage. George had decided that as soon as he could provide the money, Nancy must have a car. A Morris Minor, a Baby Austin, or an eight-horse Ford would suit the cottage and be inconspicuous. It would not only be a tremendous advantage and pleasure to Nancy, owing to the un-get-at-able position of the cottage, but she could drive him to and from one of the many surrounding railway stations or bus stops. This would enable him to do without the Gnat and thus avoid one of his chief dangers.

  In spite of the builder’s procrastination, the work was at last finished. By this time the furniture had been delivered, and one glorious Friday morning Nancy moved in. She could easily have run the establishment herse
lf, but George urged her to have a girl in for a couple of hours each morning. Firstly, he wished to prevent an air of mystery growing up round the place, and the daily visit of a charwoman would enable the entire economy of the household to be discussed in all the surrounding cottages and bars. Then there was the question of illness. If Nancy felt unwell, she would be certain of help within a reasonable time. Lastly there was the mere getting rid of the heavier housework, leaving her more time for reading, gardening, and developing her genuine talent for music.

  Then one evening at long last George drove out to see her. He parked in a side road nearly a mile away and walked to Rose Cottage by a woodland path—meeting no one. Oh, the absolute bliss of that first evening! The delight of the cosy sitting-room with drawn blinds and a blazing wood fire on the old brick hearth! Above all, the thrilling joy of each other’s company, which this charming haven of refuge made possible!

  Their belief that no one had any suspicion of their intimacy gave them a profound sense of satisfaction. They had, of course, been extremely careful all through, but even with extreme care accidents do happen. Now the acutely dangerous time was over. Nothing in reason that Nancy might do could give them away, and George had only to continue his precautions on the journeys to and from Birmington to ensure continued secrecy.

  Had they known of the ideas which Harriet Corrin had implanted in the minds of half the women of George’s circle, they would have felt very differently. Had they had an inkling that Clarissa was even then considering the pros and cons of employing a detective to find out where George went on Wednesday afternoons, their satisfaction would have been cut off as electric light ceases with the blowing of a fuse. Fortunately or unfortunately for them, they didn’t know, and they hugged their happiness while they might.

  A couple of days after this first visit to Rose Cottage, George was seated in his office when the telephone rang. “Is that Mr. George Surridge?” Pause. “Just a moment, please.” Then came another voice, a man’s. “This is the office of Capper and Logan. Capper speaking. How are you, Mr. Surridge?”

 

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