Kitabı oku: «Highway Pirates; or, The Secret Place at Coverthorne», sayfa 12
CHAPTER XIX.
BROUGHT TO BAY
It was the last day of the old year, and though burning with curiosity to know what discovery George and I had unwittingly made beyond the whereabouts of the secret chamber, I forbore to ask any questions. Remembering that after this date Miles and his mother could no longer count on being left in undisputed possession of the whole estate, I did not like to make any inquiries which might revive this painful subject; so, with an effort, I resolved to possess my soul in patience, and wait till either Miles or Mr. Denny should volunteer some explanation.
The latter had arrived at the house not long after breakfast, and appeared to have come to spend the day. From some remarks which he made, I understood that he had been in Welmington the day before, and had travelled home through the night. Considering that he was an elderly man, and that this was the middle of winter, it struck me that whatever business he had had to transact must have been both important and urgent. In some indefinable manner the impression grew in my mind that something was brewing – whether trouble or otherwise I could not say; but there was a subdued air of excitement about the house, in which Miles, his mother, and the lawyer all seemed to share. Though I cannot but own that it aroused my curiosity, I stuck to my former determination to mind my own business, and not try to poke my nose into matters in which I had no concern.
At dinner even Mr. Denny, usually so sharp and alert, seemed at times a trifle preoccupied; while Mrs. Coverthorne was evidently in a state of nervous tension. She made a forced attempt to keep up the conversation, but it was plain that she was merely talking for the sake of talking, and that her thoughts were far from the subject of her remarks. Still, whatever might have been weighing on her mind, her look seemed to denote a change from when I had seen her in the summer: it was as though some burden of care had been recently lifted from her shoulders.
When the table had been cleared, we still sat on in the oak-panelled parlour – Mr. Denny thoughtfully sipping his wine, Miles notching a small fragment of firewood with his pocket-knife, and his mother making a pretence to sew, though at times I saw her hand shake so that she could not possibly direct her needle. As no one else made a move, I, too, remained in the room, gazing at the burning logs in the big open hearth.
At length there came a sound of horses' hoofs in the yard, and I saw Mrs. Coverthorne and Mr. Denny exchange a quick glance; then, a few minutes later, one of the maids knocked at the door and announced Mr. Nicholas Coverthorne.
Miles's mother rose to her feet, letting her work drop unheeded to the floor.
"Come, Sylvester," she said; "Mr. Denny has some private business to transact, and we will go into another room."
In the passage we met Mr. Coverthorne. He paused as though about to speak, but his sister-in-law passed him with a slight inclination of her head. I saw the man's face in the half-light of the passage – grim, cold, forbidding; and so the recollection of it has always remained in my mind. He passed on with a measured stride, entered the parlour, and closed the door behind him.
It was not until some years later that I heard from the lips of my friend an exact account of the interview which followed; but so vividly was every detail of it impressed on Miles's mind that in after life he could recall it as though it had been an event of yesterday.
Mr. Denny and the visitor exchanged a formal salutation, and the latter took a chair by the side of the table. A man of iron will and unrelenting purpose, tall and heavily built, the little dried-up lawyer seemed no match for such an adversary; but he was evidently prepared for the fray, and began by politely pushing the decanter and a glass towards his opponent. Mr. Nicholas, however, declined the proffered refreshment with a somewhat peremptory wave of his hand.
"Your time, Mr. Coverthorne, I know is valuable," began the lawyer, "and therefore I know you will thank me to come at once to business. I requested you to meet me here to ask you once more whether you were finally determined to assert your claim to half the Coverthorne estate – a claim based, of course, on the will made early in the present year, under very extraordinary circumstances, by your brother James?"
An angry glint came into the visitor's cold gray eyes, but he was too strong a man to give way to any outburst of passion.
"I thought we had come to a clear and definite understanding on that point long ago," he replied. "If that is all you have to say, you have brought me here for nothing. Moreover, I strongly resent your suggestion that the will was made under any 'extraordinary circumstances.' For reasons of his own, my late brother chose to keep the matter for the time being from the knowledge of his family; but the will was executed in a perfectly proper and legal manner, as you yourself must know, having seen the document with your own eyes."
"This division of the property would necessitate your sister-in-law and her son leaving Coverthorne," said Mr. Denny.
"I don't necessarily admit that," returned the other. "But as I've told you before, sir, other people have rights to be considered besides my brother's family. He himself saw that I had been done out of mine for many years; and though neither he nor I then thought that I should ever benefit by this act of restitution, yet he considered it just and necessary, if for nothing more than as an acknowledgment that I had not been fairly dealt with, and that I had his sympathy. I have already suggested to Mrs. Coverthorne that, as this house is much too large for her and Miles, she should give it up and take a smaller one in town, where they would see more people and make new friends."
"Still," said Mr. Denny, "it is very hard for the lad, as his father's heir, to have to give up the old house, which has been in the family for so many generations, containing, as it does, the rooms in which his great-grandparents lived and died – ay, further back still. I repeat, it would be hard for him to give up a home so rich in old traditions and associations."
"Merely a matter of sentiment," answered Mr. Nicholas shortly. "If the old place were mine, I'd sell it to-morrow if I were offered a good enough price."
"There's that secret place about which so many legends have clustered," went on the solicitor musingly, "and which you once gave us to understand was simply a hole in the chimney which had been built up in your father's time. I suppose you heard how it was discovered?"
The visitor nodded.
Mr. Denny took another sip at his port, set down the glass, and sat up straighter in his chair. There was something in his action suggestive of a person who suddenly prepares to attack after having stood for some time merely on the defensive.
"On the same day that the secret chamber was found," he began, "we made another discovery, to which I should now like to call your attention. In the underground chamber was an iron box, which on being opened was found to contain a quantity of papers. Among them was your brother's will, which since his death we had not been able to discover. He went away from home some little time ago at rather short notice, and probably deposited the documents in the hiding-place for safe-keeping."
"You mean the will which he made some three years ago?" said Mr. Nicholas.
"Exactly," answered Mr. Denny. In his quick, jerky movements he was always very like a bird, but now he was watching the other man with the keen eyes of a hawk.
"Well?" queried the visitor.
"On examination," continued the lawyer, "I found that, unknown to me, he had added a codicil. Pardon me if I make this quite clear for the benefit of our young friend," he continued, turning to Miles. "A codicil is an addition – postscript, as it were – which a person adds to his original will, and it has to be duly signed and witnessed in the same way as the will itself. In this case your father wished a small sum of money to be given to an old servant, and to ensure this being done he added the codicil of which I am speaking."
Mr. Nicholas was listening intently, but did not seem to understand at what the lawyer was driving.
"Well, what of that?" he demanded.
"The point is," said Mr. Denny quite calmly, "that this codicil was dated not more than a month before your brother's death."
A deep hush fell upon the room – so deep that the ticking of the old clock in the corner seemed to have become almost as loud as the knocking of a hammer. Mr. Nicholas sat like a graven image, merely drumming softly on the table with the tips of his fingers, while his and Mr. Denny's gaze remained fixed as though each had determined to stare the other out of countenance.
"Once more, for the benefit of our young friend, let me be more explicit," went on Mr. Denny. "His father makes a will, and then, apparently, revokes it by making another some eighteen months later. Now, a month before his death, instead of adding a codicil to the second will, he adds it to the first, which has become so much waste paper – a foolish thing, which no man in his senses would have thought of doing. We can only conclude," continued Mr. Denny, "that he had no recollection at all of having executed a second will."
The square jaw was rigid, and a dark flush overspread the visitor's temples.
"It was a mistake," he said thickly. "A slip of memory might cause any one to do a similar thing."
"Following up our first discovery," continued Mr. Denny, apparently paying no attention to this reply, "I was led to go a little further, and make a second. Remembering an account which the boys gave me of a chance meeting which they had with your old servant Tom Lance, I found him out, and had an interview with him at the barracks at Welmington. He seems a sharp fellow, and it appears had taught himself to read and write, and to read handwriting."
"Well, what about him?" asked Mr. Nicholas, in a tone of repressed anger.
"Although he would not confess it before, not even to our young friends, it appears that on the evening when you first found him alone in your parlour he was so far overcome by curiosity as to open your brass-bound box and look inside. There he found a sheet of foolscap covered with signatures, chiefly those of Mr. James Coverthorne, but also of the two other men whom we know now as the witnesses to this second will."
Mr. Nicholas muttered an oath, and brought down his fist heavily on the table. His eyes flashed, and the veins in his forehead swelled with pent-up emotion.
"Go on," he said at length; "come to the point, and let us know what you mean."
"What I mean, Mr. Coverthorne, is this," replied the other, in firm, icy tones: "for the sake of her dead husband and the son who may hand on the family name, Mrs. Coverthorne has asked me to give you this information, which I might otherwise have withheld until I had sent the law to knock at your door. To-morrow I shall commence to act on behalf of my clients. I am already in communication with your solicitor, who has this second will in his possession, and I think you will gain nothing by paying him a visit; in fact, you might be wasting valuable time by such a journey. You follow me, Mr. Coverthorne, I hope? – valuable time, sir, was what I said. Now, I think there is no reason for us to prolong this interview any further."
Muttering something below his breath, Mr. Nicholas Coverthorne rose from his chair and strode from the room. A few moments later he spurred out of the yard and galloped down the road. We heard the sound of his horse-hoofs die away in the distance; and so he passed for ever out of the knowledge of those whom he had sought to wrong.
"What did it all really mean?" was the question I put to Miles when he told me this story; for on that eventful afternoon I had only a very vague notion of what had happened.
"What did it all mean?" was the reply; "why, simply this, that my uncle was a forger. Probably he had never been guilty of such a crime before, but the fact remains that he forged that will from beginning to end, and did it so well that even Mr. Denny could detect no flaw, either in the text or in the signatures. He must have possessed more skill as a penman than any one imagined. At first we thought some expert criminal must have helped him, but the fact of Tom Lance discovering that sheet of paper covered with signatures in his desk seems to prove that he did it himself. For the sake of the family my mother did not wish him to be arrested, so gave him the opportunity to escape – a chance of which he had the good sense to avail himself, for he went off that night, and we never saw or heard anything of him again. It turned out that he was deep in debt. The house and land at Stonebank were heavily mortgaged, and as soon as it was known that he was gone, everything was seized by the creditors. He was a thoroughly bad man, and if it hadn't been for your adventure, Sylvester, he'd have turned my mother and myself out of doors before he'd done with us. Yes," insisted my old friend, seeing me about to interrupt, "we shall always consider we owe it to you and George Woodley that we are still living on in the old house. If you hadn't caused me to find the secret place, Mr. Denny would never have seen that codicil to my father's will which made him feel certain that the other was a forgery. It was that discovery, coupled with what I had already told him, that induced him to go and hunt up Tom Lance; and the two things together were enough to prove my uncle's guilt. Well, 'it's an ill wind that blows nobody good,' runs the old saying, and certainly we have cause to be thankful for the outcome of your eventful journey with the coach-load of convicts."
*****
Though the "secret place" has long ago been bricked up, the old house at Coverthorne remains much the same as it appeared when I first saw it; but a fresh generation of boys and girls have sprung up to enliven it with their laughter and frolics, and to this merry audience, around the self-same hearth from under which I was drawn up half dead that winter morning, I have told repeatedly the story of that strange adventure.
George Woodley lived to a hale and peaceful old age. He did well at his farming, and was content to hear from a distance the familiar toot of the horn on which he himself had performed for so many years. He was the same bright, good-hearted fellow to the end of his days, but he could never quite forgive the convicts for having thrown the old True Blue over the cliff.
"The cold-blooded villains!" he would exclaim. "If they'd left her in a field or shoved her into that dry pit, I wouldn't have minded; but to smash her on the rocks – 'twas as bad as murder! Well, there! they met their punishment; and for my part I know I came out of it with a very handsome reward from Master Miles, and what's more, a good yarn to tell the boys."
