by Fergus Hume
CHAPTER XI
A CUCKOO IN THE NEST
Paul looked from the fresh-colored woman who spoke so smoothly and sofirmly to the apish lawyer hunched in his chair with a sphinx-like lookon his wrinkled face. For the moment, so taken aback was he by thisastounding announcement, that he could not speak. The younger womanstared at him with her hard blue eyes, and a smile played round her fulllips. The mother also looked at him in an engaging way, as though sherather admired his youthful comeliness in spite of his well-brushed,shabby apparel.
"I don't know what you mean," said Beecot at length, "Mr. Pash?"
The lawyer aroused himself to make a concise statement of the case. "Sofar as I understand," he said in his nervous, irritable way, "theseladies claim to be the wife and daughter of Lemuel Krill, whom we knewas Aaron Norman."
"And I think by his real name also," said the elder woman in her deep,smooth contralto voice, and with the display of an admirable set ofteeth. "The bills advertising the reward, and stating the fact of themurder, bore my late husband's real name."
"Norman was not your husband, madam," cried Paul, indignantly.
"I agree with you, sir. Lemuel Krill was my husband. I saw in thenewspapers, which penetrate even into the quiet little Hants village Ilive in, that Aaron Norman had been murdered. I never thought he wasthe man who had left me more than twenty years ago with an only child tobring up. But the bills offering the reward assured me that Norman andKrill are one and the same man. Therefore," she drew herself up andlooked piercingly at the young man, "I have come to see after theproperty. I understand from the papers that my daughter is an heiress tomillions."
"Not millions," said Pash, hastily. "The newspapers have exaggerated theamount. Five thousand a year, madam, and it is left to Sylvia."
"Who is Sylvia?" asked Mrs. Krill, in the words of Shakespeare's song.
"She is the daughter of Mr. Norman," said Paul, quickly, "and is engagedto marry me."
Mrs. Krill's eyes travelled over his shabby suit from head to foot, andthen back again from foot to head. She glanced sideways at hercompanion, and the girl laughed in a hard, contemptuous manner. "I fearyou will be disappointed in losing a rich wife, sir," said the elderwoman, sweetly.
"I have not lost the money yet," replied Paul, hotly. "Not that I carefor the money."
"Of course not," put in Mrs. Krill, ironically, with another look at hisdress.
"But I _do_ care for Sylvia Norman--"
"With whom I have nothing to do."
"She is your husband's daughter."
"But not mine. This is my daughter, Maud--the legal daughter of Lemueland myself," she added meaningly.
"Good heavens, madam," cried Beecot, his face turning white, "what doyou mean?"
Mrs. Krill raised her thick white eyebrows, and shrugged her plumpshoulders, and made a graceful motion with her white, be-ringed hand."Is there any need for me to explain?" she said calmly.
"I think there is every need," cried Beecot, sharply. "I shall not allowMiss Norman to lose her fortune or--"
"Or lose it yourself, sir. I quite understand. Nevertheless, I amassured that the law of the land will protect, through me, my daughter'srights. She leaves it in my hands."
"Yes," said the girl, in a voice as full and rich and soft as hersmooth-faced mother, "I leave it in her hands."
Paul sat down and concealed his face with a groan. He was thinking notso much of the loss of the money, although that was a consideration, asof the shame Sylvia would feel at her position. Then a gleam of hopedarted into his mind. "Mr. Norman was married to Sylvia's mother underhis own name. You can't prove the marriage void."
"I have no wish to. When did this marriage take place?"
Beecot looked at the lawyer, who replied. "Twenty-two years ago," and hegave the date.
Mrs. Krill fished in a black morocco bag she carried and brought out ashabby blue envelope. "I thought this might be needed," she said,passing it to Pash. "You will find there my marriage certificate. Ibecame the wife of Lemuel Krill thirty years ago. And, as I am stillliving, I fear the later marriage--" She smiled blandly and shrugged hershoulders again. "Poor girl!" she said with covert insolence.
"Sylvia does not need your pity," cried Beecot, stung by theinsinuation.
"Indeed, sir," said Mrs. Krill, sadly, and with the look of atreacherous cat, "I fear she needs the pity of all right-thinkingpeople. Many would speak harshly of her, seeing what she is, but mytroubles have taught me charity. I repeat that I am sorry for the girl."
"And again I say there is no need," rejoined Paul, throwing back hishead; "and you forget, madam, there is a will."
Mrs. Krill's fresh color turned to a dull white, and her hard eyes shotfire. "A will," she said slowly. "I shall dispute the will if it is notin my favor. I am the widow of this man and I claim full justice.Besides," she went on, wetting her full lips with her tongue, "Iunderstood from the newspapers that the money was left to Mr. Krill'sdaughter."
"Certainly. To Sylvia Krill."
"Norman, sir. She has no right to any other name. But I really do notsee why I should explain myself to you, sir. If you choose to give thisgirl your name you will be doing a good act. At present the poorcreature is--nobody." She let the last word drop from her lips slowly,so as to give Paul its full sting.
Beecot said nothing. He could not dispute what she said. If this womancould prove the marriage of thirty years ago, then Krill, or Norman ashe called himself, had committed bigamy, and, in the hard eyes of thelaw, Sylvia was nobody's child. And that the marriage could be provedPaul saw well enough from the looks of the lawyer, who was studying thecertificate which he had drawn from the shabby blue envelope. "Then thewill--the money is left to Sylvia," he said with obstinacy. "I shalldefend her rights."
"Of course," said Mrs. Krill, significantly. "I understand that a wifewith five thousand--"
"I would marry Sylvia without a penny."
"Indeed, sir, that is the only way in which you can marry her. If youlike I shall allow her twenty pounds for a trousseau."
Paul rose and flung back his head again. "You have not got the moneyyet, madam," he said defiantly.
Not at all disturbed, Mrs. Krill smiled her eternal smile. "I am hereto get it. There is a will, you say," she added, turning to Pash. "And Iunderstand from this gentleman," she indicated Beecot slightly, "thatthe money is left to Mr. Krill's daughter. Does he name Maud or Sylvia?"
Pash slapped down the certificate irritably. "He names no one. The willis a hasty document badly worded, and simply leaves all the testatordied possessed of to--my daughter."
"Which of course means Maud here. I congratulate you, dear," she said,turning to the girl, who looked happy and flushed. "Your father has madeup to us both for his cruelty and desertion."
Seeing that there was nothing to be said, Paul went to the door. Butthere his common sense left him and he made a valedictory speech. "Iknow that Mr. Krill left the money to Sylvia."
"Oh, no," said the widow, "to his daughter, as I understand the wordingof the will runs. In that case this nameless girl has nothing."
"Pash!" cried Beecot, turning despairingly to the little solicitor.
The old man shook his head and sucked in his cheeks. "I am sorry, Mr.Beecot," said he, in a pitying tone, "but as the will stands the moneymust certainly go to the child born in wedlock. I have the certificatehere," he laid his monkey paw on it, "but of course I shall makeinquiries."
"By all means," said Mrs. Krill, graciously. "My daughter and myselfhave lived for many years in Christchurch, Hants. We keep the innthere--not the principal inn, but a small public-house on the outskirtsof the village. It will be a change for us both to come into fivethousand a year after such penury. Of course, Mr. Pash, you will act formy daughter and myself."
"Mr. Pash acts for Sylvia," cried Paul, still lingering at the door. Thelawyer was on the horns of a dilemma. "If what Mrs. Krill says is trueI can't dispute the facts," he said irritably, "and I am unwilling togive up th
e business. Prove to me, ma'am, that you are the lawful widowof my late client, and that this is my late esteemed client's lawfuldaughter, and I will act for you."
Mrs. Krill's ample bosom rose and fell and her eyes glitteredtriumphantly. She cast a victorious glance at Beecot. But that young manwas looking at the solicitor. "Rats leave the sinking ship," said he,bitterly; "you will not prosper, Pash."
"Everyone prospers who protects the widow and the orphan," said Pash, ina pious tone, and so disgusted Paul that he closed the door with a bangand went out. Tray was playing chuck-farthing at the door and keepingMr. Grexon Hay from coming in.
"You there, Beecot?" said this gentleman, coldly. "I wish you would tellthis brat to let me enter."
"Brat yourself y' toff," cried Tray, pocketing his money. "Ain't Ia-doin' as my master tells me? He's engaged with two pretty women"--heleered in a way which made Paul long to box his ears--"so I don't spilesport. You've got tired of them, Mr. Beecot?"
"How do you know Mr. Beecot's name?" asked Hay, calmly.
"Lor', sir. Didn't you and me pull him from under the wheels?"
"Oh," said Grexon, suddenly enlightened, "were you the boy? Since youhave washed your face I didn't recognize you. Well, Beecot, you lookdisturbed."
"I have reason to. And since you and this boy pulled me from under thewheels of the motor," said Paul, glancing from one to the other, "Ishould like to know what became of the brooch."
"I'm sure I don't know," said Grexon, quietly. "We talked of thisbefore. I gave it as my opinion, if you remember, that it was picked upin the street by the late Aaron Norman and was used to seal his mouth.At least that is the only way in which I can conjecture you lost it."
"You never saw it drop from my pocket?"
"I should have picked it up and returned it had I seen it," said Hay,fixing his eye-glass. "Perhaps this boy saw it."
"Saw what?" asked Tray, who was listening with both his large ears.
"An old blue-velvet case with a brooch inside," said Beecot, quickly.
Tray shook his head vigorously. "If I'd seen it I' ha' nicked it," hesaid impudently; "catch me givin' it back t' y', Mr. Beecot. There's acove I knows--a fence that is--as 'ud give me lots fur it. Lor'," saidTray, with deep disappointment, "to think as that dropped out of yourpocket and I never grabbed it. Wot crewel luck--ho!" and he spat.
Paul looked hard at the boy, who met his gaze innocently enough.Apparently he spoke in all seriousness, and really lamented the lostchance of gaining a piece of jewellery to make money out of. Moreover,had he stolen the brooch, he would hardly have talked so openly of thefence he alluded to. Hay the young man could not suspect, as there waspositively no reason why he should steal so comparatively trifling anarticle. Sharper as he was, Hay flew at higher game, and certainly wouldnot waste his time, or risk his liberty, in stealing what would bringhim in only a few shillings.
"Why don't you ask the detectives to search for the brooch," said Hay,smiling.
"It is in the detective's possession," said Paul, sullenly; "but we wantto know how it came to pin Norman's lips together."
"I can't imagine, unless he picked it up. If lost at all it must havebeen lost in the street the old man lived in, and you told me he wantedthe brooch badly."
"But he wasn't on the spot?"
"Wot," cried Tray, suddenly, "the one-eyed cove? Ho, yuss, but warn'the? Why, when they was a-gitin' the ambulance, an' the peelers wosa-crowdin' round, he come dancing like billeo out of his shorp."
Beecot thought this was strange, as he understood from Deborah and Bartand Sylvia that Norman had known nothing of the accident at the time.Then again Norman himself had not mentioned it when he paid that visitto the hospital within a few hours of his death. "I don't think that'strue," he said to Tray sharply.
"Oh, cuss it," said that young gentleman, "wot d' I care. Th' ole covecome an' danced in the mud, and then he gits int' his shorp again. Trewis trew, saiy wot y' like, mister--ho."
Beecot turned his back on the boy. After all, he was not worth arguingwith, and a liar by instinct. Still, in this case he might have spokenthe truth. Norman might have appeared on the scene of the accident andhave picked up the brooch. Paul thought he would tell Hurd this, and,meantime, held out his hand to Hay. In spite of the bad character he hadheard of that young man, he saw no reason why he should not be civil tohim, until he found him out. Meantime, he was on his guard.
"One moment," said Grexon, grasping the outstretched hand. "I havesomething to say to you," and he walked a little way with Paul. "I amgoing in to see Pash on business which means a little money to me. I wasthe unfortunate cause of your accident, Beecot, so I think you mightaccept twenty pounds or so from me."
"No, thank you all the same," said Paul gratefully, yet with a certainamount of caution. "I can struggle along. After all, it was anaccident."
"A very unfortunate one," said Hay, more heartily than usual. "I shallnever forgive myself. Is your arm all right?"
"Oh, much better. I'll be quite cured in a week or so."
"And meantime how do you live?"
"I manage to get along," replied Paul, reservedly. He did not wish toreveal the nakedness of the land to such a doubtful acquaintance.
"You are a hard-hearted sort of chap," said Hay coldly, but ratherannoyed at his friendly advances being flouted. "Well, then, if youwon't accept a loan, let me help you in another way. Come and dine at myrooms. I have a young publisher coming also, and if you meet him he willbe able to do something for you. He's under obligations to me, and youmay be certain I'll use all my influence in your favor. Come now--nextTuesday--that's a week off--you can't have any engagement at such a longnotice."
Paul smiled. "I never do have any engagements," he said with his boyishsmile, "thank you. I'll look in if I can. But I am in trouble,Grexon--very great trouble."
"You shouldn't be," said Hay, smiling. "I know well enough why you willnot accept my loan. The papers say Sylvia, your Dulcinea, has inheriteda million. You are to marry her. Unless," said Hay, suddenly, "thisaccess of wealth has turned her head and she has thrown you over. Is shethat sort of girl?"
"No," said Paul quietly, "she is as true to me as I am to her. But youare mistaken as to the million. It is five thousand a year, and she maynot even inherit that."
"What do you mean?"
"I am not at liberty to say. But with regard to your dinner," addedPaul, hastily changing the conversation, "I'll come if I can get mydress-suit out of pawn."
"Then I count on you," said Hay, blandly, "though you will not let mehelp you to obtain the suit. However, this publisher will do a lot foryou. By Jove, what a good-looking girl."
He said this under his breath. Miss Maud Krill appeared on the doorstepwhere the two young men stood and stumbled against Grexon in passing.His hat was off at once, and he apologized profusely. Miss Krill, whoseemed a young woman of few words, as Paul thought from her silence inthe office, smiled and bowed, but passed on, without saying a "thankyou." Mrs. Krill followed, escorted by the treacherous Pash who was allsmiles and hand-washings and bows. Apparently he was quite convincedthat the widow's story was true, and Paul felt sick at the news he wouldhave to tell Sylvia. Pash saw the young man, and meeting his indignanteyes darted back into his office like a rabbit into its burrow. Thewidow sailed out in her calm, serene way, without a look at either Paulor his companion. Yet the young man had an instinct that she saw themboth.
"That's the mother I expect," said Hay, putting his glass firmly intohis eye; "a handsome pair. Gad, Paul, that young woman--eh?"
"Perhaps you'd like to marry her," said Paul, bitterly.
Hay drew himself up stiffly. "I don't marry stray young women I see onthe street, however attractive," he said in his cold voice. "I don'tknow either of these ladies."
"Pash will introduce you if you make it worth his while."
"Why the deuce should I," retorted Hay, staring.
"Well," said Beecot, impulsively telling the whole of the misfortunethat had befalle
n him, "that is the wife and that is the daughter ofAaron Norman, _alias_ Krill. The daughter inherits five thousand a year,so marry her and be happy."
"But your Dulcinea?" asked Grexon, dropping his eye-glass in amazement.
"She has me and poverty," said Paul, turning away. Nor could the quietcall of Hay make him stop. But at the end of the street he looked back,and saw Grexon entering the office of the lawyer. If Hay was the manHurd said he was, Paul guessed that he would inquire about the heiressand marry her too, if her banking account was large and safe.
