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THE LOST
PARCHMENT
A Detective Story
BY
FERGUS HUME
ATJTHOR OF "THE MYSTERY OF A h
SOM CAB," "THE MYSTERY
QUEEN," "THE RAINBOW FEATHER," "RED MONEY," "THE
SEALED MESSAGE," "THE SECRET PASSAGE,"
"THE STEEL CROWN," ETC.
s

l<-
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
C.


- :-:--:;h li:-::.-,i;v
I 101297011
i
• .' LJ
Copyright, 1914, ft
O. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
Tke Lost Parchment
It *
Prenof
J. J. Little A Ira Co.
Hew York


º
s
-"
* CONTENTS
I.—SCHOOLFELLows . . . . . . . .
II.--THE VICAR . . . . . . . . .
III.-LovERs . . . . . . . . . .
IV.--THE COTTAGE . . . . . . . .
V.—A REVELATION
VI.-Counsel's OPINION .
VII.-A NINE DAYS' WONDER
VIII.-MALLIEN SPEAKs
IX.-A SERIOUS Position
X.—DoRINDA .
XI.-CARRINGTON'S ADVICE .
XII.-ON THE TRACK .
XIII.-ConFESSION
XIV.-A CLUE
XV.-CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
XVI.-A NEW WITNESS . . . . .
XVII.-DIFFICULTIES -
XVIII.-SETTING A TRAP . . . . .
XIX.-RESURGAM - -
XX.-A WEIRD STORY . . . . . .
XXI.-A FINAL SURPRISE . . . . . . .
Pace
I8
3I
4I
55
7o
84
IOI
II6
I31
I47
I62
177
I92
207
223
238
253
268
284
299





The Lost Parchment
CHAPTER I
SCHOOLFELLOWS
tor, looking round the garden which glowed
with rainbow tints in the hot July sunshine;
“and a very jolly kingdom it is. When did you enter
into it?”
“When I was fifteen, twelve years ago,” replied
the Squire, smiling. “Don’t you remember how I
wrote and told you of the death of my father? You
had just left school for the 'Varsity. Those were
capital days at Rugby, weren't they, Carrington?”
“They were. I have had few capital days since.”
“But surely at Oxford—”
Carrington shrugged his shoulders and made a frank
admission. “Oh, yes! Oxford was all right until my
father died and left me without a sixpence. It was
hard work, I can tell you, qualifying for the Bar on
next to nothing. And I can't say that I have made
my fortune as a barrister. You, lucky dog, don't need
to bother about pounds, shillings, and pence.”
“I have certainly nothing to complain of on that
score,” said Hendle in a satisfied tone and extending
his cigarette case. “It was a pity we drifted apart,
S” this is your kingdom, Hendle?” said the visi-


6 THE LOST PARCHMENT
Carrington, as we were such chums at Rugby. I
might have helped you.”
“You were always a good chap, Hendle, and that
is why I took to you, when we were in our teens.
But we saw nothing of each other all these years
because you had money and I hadn't. Besides, you
went to Cambridge, while I patronized Oxford. It
is my fault that our friendship has not continued
unbroken, as I never answered your many letters.
But you see I was always too much involved in law
studies to bother. You, I presume, were looking
after your snug little kingdom.”
Hendle nodded. “I am a very stay-at-home per-
son, and the place requires a good deal of super-
vision.”
“Lucky dog!” repeated the barrister. “You have
a fine income, too.”
“So-so. Four thousand a year.”
“The deuce! And, like Bottom, I support life on
sixpence a day, which, unlike Bottom, I have to earn.
There is no Theseus to give me a pension.”
“You didn't seem to be so very hard up when I
met you six months ago in the Criterion Restaurant,”
said the young squire dryly. -
“Oh, one has to keep up some sort of appearance
and dress in purple and fine linen, even if one cannot
afford to do so,” answered Carrington easily. “It is
only your rich man who can dispense with Solomon-
in-all-his-glory raiment, old fellow. Anyhow, poor
or rich, I was delighted to meet you again.”
“Were you?” Hendle appeared to be a trifle scep-
tical. “You didn't hurry yourself to come down to
Barship anyhow.”
“I didn't; that's a fact. I thought you might fancy
- - - - -
- - - -
-
-
--


8 THE LOST PARCHMENT
water and the freedom of wide meadows. He was
markedly good-looking, with sleepy blue eyes and a
heavy moustache of a russet hue, which he usually
tugged at to help on his slow-moving thoughts. His
name, Rupert, suggested swift dash and impetuous
daring. But there was nothing of these things about
this somewhat drowsy giant, although he had ample
courage when necessary. It took much to rouse him,
but once the dam of his self-restraint broke, every-
thing and everyone were swept away like straws in
a torrent of Berserk fury. When Rupert did fight,
nothing could stand against his enormous physical
power; and the use of this, being tempered by strong
common-sense, invariably gained him the victory. But
he usually preferred peace to war, and it took much
to stimulate his passions to an outbreak.
Dean Carrington himself was to his friend like a
Georgian rapier to a Crusader's sword. He was small
and lean, quick-witted and nimble, with dark hair and
dark eyes and a swarthy complexion. His clean-
shaven face with its regular features and keen ex-
pression suggested the born intriguer, who gained
his ends rather by cunning than force. Always per-
fectly dressed, always amiable, an accomplished squire-
of-dames, well-read and yet a man-of-the-world, Car-
rington was the exact opposite of Hendle, and per-
haps had made him his friend because of the vast
difference in their natures. Having a more alert
though not a stronger mind, he dominated Rupert
in a most dexterous manner, never showing the iron
hand without its velvet glove. Nevertheless, this
ascendency had been achieved at Rugby, and owed
its strength to the admiration of the dull boy for the


SCHOOLFELLOWS 9
clever boy; to the hero-worship of the younger for
the older. But if Carrington was now thirty, Rupert
was now twenty-seven, and might not be so easily
mastered, presuming, as might be the case, the latter
had developed qualities with which the former could
not cope. This remained to be seen, and it was to
see, that Carrington had come down for a Saturday
to Monday rest. Now that he judged Rupert to be
much the same and saw how luxurious were his sur-
roundings, the astute barrister determined to reestab-
lish his sway over a wealthy friend too long neglected.
Therefore he made himself delightfully agreeable.
He had spent Saturday and Sunday with the Squire,
and now was strolling through the village on Monday
afternoon, before catching the evening train. So far,
owing to Rupert's frank intimacy, he foresaw no ob-
stacle to his making use of the young man. But there
was one possibility to be reckoned with, which had
to be looked into, and this Carrington approached in
a roundabout manner, after his usual custom.
"A delightful place," said the barrister with a sigh
of pleasure, as they sauntered along the cobblestone
street, with its quaint houses on either side. "You
are a king here. When you conduct the queen to
the throne at the Big House, the serfs will lie down
and allow you both to walk over them."
"I haven't any wish to walk over them," said
Hendle, shrugging his mighty shoulders, "and I don't
think the villagers would like to hear you call them
serfs, Carrington."
"Pooh! They wouldn't know the meaning of the
word. And, after all, it is only my picturesque way
of speaking. But you evade my question."


10 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"I didn't know you asked any. You simply made
a remark."
"The Lord mend your wit, then. I must be plain,
I see. What about a wife?"
"Oh, that's all arranged for," replied the Squire
stolidly, and with never a blush, so matter-of-fact
was he.
"And you never told me," murmured Carrington
reproachfully.
"You never asked me."
"No," said the other, wondering at this phlegmatic
nature. "I didn't." Then he lapsed into musing, and
Rupert, never a talker at the best of times, strode
beside him silent and comfortably happy.
So the possibility had become a probability, and
a feminine influence had to be reckoned with after
all. This was what Carrington had dreaded, and he
blamed himself for not having asked the question be-
fore. Had he done so, he might have been introduced
to the lady and then would have been able to judge
what sort of a marplot she would prove to be. How-
ever, he hoped to meet her when he next came down,
which would be very soon, and meanwhile, true to
his plan of campaign, he laughed amiably at Rupert's
reticence.
"You always did take things stolidly at school,
Hendle," he said, arching his finely penciled eyebrows,
"and you have not changed in this respect. Who is
she?"
"My cousin—a third or fourth cousin. We have
known each other all our lives, and that is why we
know we will be happy."
"Familiarity doesn't breed contempt in this case,


SCHOOLFELLOWS 11
then," said the barrister lightly. "As you have known
her all her life, I presume she lives hereabouts?"
"Oh, yes. At the other end of the village."
"I should like to see her," suggested Carrington
persuasively.
"Next time you come down you shall. I shall ask
her father and Dorinda to dinner at the Big House."
"Who is her father?"
"A second or third cousin of mine."
"What is his name?"
"Mallien—Julius Mallien."
"I am little the wiser," said the barrister ironically,
"and I don't want to exercise my profession of cross-
examining people in the country. Can't you give me
details?"
"I am," said the other, slightly surprised. "I am
giving you details."
"Yes, when I ask you incessant questions. But
make some sort of a speech. I want to know what
kind of a person Mallien is; I want a description of
the lady; I desire to learn what the father does, and
if he will give his daughter a dowry. In fact, I wish
to know all about it, as naturally I take the greatest
interest in the welfare of my old school chum."
"Good old man," said Rupert, giving Carrington's
arm so affectionate a squeeze that the barrister winced
with the pain. "Well, Mallien's a beast, like Timon
of Athens—you remember the play we read at school.
I don't like Mallien, as he's always grousing at every-
one and everything."
"You give me the key to his character by men-
tioning Timon. Your future father-in-law is a mis-
anthrope."


12 THE LOST PARCHMENT
Rupert nodded. "Very much so. And Dorinda
is"
"An angel. I know what you are about to say."
"I don't think you do. Dorinda is a good sort."
"Is that all the praise you can bestow on your
future wife?"
"It's all she wants. Dorinda doesn't like compli-
ments."
"What an unnatural girl!" laughed Carrington,
"and her looks?"
Hendle filled his pipe while he replied and halted
in the village square while he did so. "She's got black
hair and blue eyes and a ripping figure and is heaps
cleverer than I am."
"What a bald description! Has she two eyes and
a nose with a mouth under it?"
"How you chaff, Carrington. However, when you
come down again, you will see Dorinda for herself.
Hallo, here's Kit."
"Who is Kit?" questioned the other, as a smart
motor car slipped easily out of the crooked street to
halt in the square, as the village green was grandilo-
quently entitled.
"The son of my housekeeper, Mrs. Beatson."
"That sour.-looking woman with the hard eye?"
"The same. She has been hammered hard by mis-
fortune, but is a lady born and bred for all that.
Morning, Kit."
"Good morning, Squire. Hot, isn't it? I can only
get some sort of wind by running the machine at
top speed."
"You'll be roped in by the police if you don't mind
your eye, Kit. My friend, Mr. Dean Carrington.
Jhis is Mr. Christopher Beatson, Carrington. He's


SCHOOLFELLOWS 13
a reckless hero, who plays with the whiskers of death
on all and every occasion."
"That is the habit of the present generation," said
Carrington, with a nod to the handsome young fellow
in the car. "Motors, aeroplanes, scenic railways and
looping-the-loop. Youth enjoys nothing nowadays un-
less it has in it an element of danger. To go out and
never know if you will be home to supper, Mr. Beat-
son: that is your delight."
"There is much truth in what you say, Mr. Car-
rington," returned Kit, laughing. "After all, it's life."
"This is the frantic age," said Hendle sententiously.
"How's business, Kit?"
"Ripping! I sold three cars last week on behalf
of the firm. One to a lady."
"Who was taken with your good looks, I suppose.
Take care Miss Tollart doesn't grow jealous, Kit."
"You will have your joke, Mr. Hendle," answered
Beatson, his bronzed skin growing crimson and his
brown eyes sparkling. "But Sophy knows that I have
to play up to the customers to get the stuff sold."
He turned from the wheel to look round generally.
"Have you seen her? She's to meet me here and go
with me for a spin."
Just then Miss Tollart appeared hurrying to the
rendezvous as fast as her hobble-skirt would permit.
She revealed herself as a fine-looking and decidedly
flamboyant young woman with an independent air
which suggested the suffragist. It could easily be
seen, and by a less observant person than Carrington,
that Kit would be known as "Mrs. Beatson's husband"
when the ring was on the lady's finger. His chin
betrayed a rather weak nature, and his eyes had much
too kind a look in them to hint at mastery, while the


14 THE LOST PARCHMENT
tall black-browed young woman, who swung toward
the group with the air of conquering Semiramis, ap-
peared quite capable of dominating an empire, much
less a husband. Carrington did not envy Kit's ap-
proaching connubial bliss.
"Mr. Carrington, Miss Tollart," said the Squire,
introducing his friend to the new arrival. "Carring-
ton, Miss Tollart is the daughter of our doctor."
Sophy winced at the mention of her father and
Carrington wondered why she should. However, the
emotion passed in a flash and Miss Tollart inspected
the barrister much as a naturalist inspects a microbe
under the microscope. The sniff with which she con-
cluded her scrutiny hinted at dissatisfaction, if not at
contempt. But then Sophy as an ardent suffragist
never did think much of the male, and straightway
flew her colors in the face of this particular one. "I
am going to Elbowsham to speak at a meeting, Squire.
Have I your good wishes?"
"That you will come home safe and sound?" quer-
ied Hendle with twinkling eyes. "You have. Don't
insult the crowd more than you can help, Miss Tol-
lart."
"I shall not conceal my opinions," retorted the lady,
tightening her lips.
"Ah!" Carrington looked her up and down, "in
that case I am glad Mr. Beatson and his car will be
at hand to rescue you."
"I can fight my own battles," said Miss Tollart
coolly. "But I see that you don't believe in Votes
for Women."
"My dear lady," replied Carrington smoothly,
"when I am in your presence 1 believe in anything
you like to advance."


SCHOOLFELLOWS 15
Sophy sniffed. "Hedging!" she observed aggres-
sively. "Men never can give a straight answer. I
only wish," she continued as she turned to Hendle,
"that I could infect Dorinda with my ardor. But she
won't uphold the banner, and sulks in her tent."
"I am afraid that I have exhausted all my per-
suasive power in inducing her to join me as my future
wife," said the Squire politely.
Sophy nodded her approval. "Dorinda's a nice girl
and a good girl, and a very pretty girl," she said, in
her deep-toned voice, "but she is as weak as any man
in this village. As weak as you are, Squire, as the
vicar, as my father, and you know what he is." She
winced again, then turned aggressively on Kit. "But
I can't stay here all day, as the meeting at Elbowsham
is waiting. Five miles, Kit; you must do it in five
minutes."
"What about the police?" asked Carrington.
"I despise the police," cried Miss Tollart, as she
was borne away hurriedly by her lover to prevent
further trouble. "They know me."
Carrington looked leisurely after the machine until
it vanished and Sophy's trumpet tones of defiance
died away. "What an uncomfortable young woman,"
he observed, turning toward his friend.
"Oh, Sophy's a good sort," said Hendle soberly.
"She's had heaps of trouble."
"It doesn't seem to have knocked much sense into
her, anyway. Trouble. Bother, I see. Her father,
I expect?"
The Squire looked astonished. "Yes. But how you
guessed"
"I saw her wince when you and she mentioned
Dr. Tollart," explained the barrister.


16 THE LOST PARCHMENT
They crossed the green, passing an ancient cross
of worn stone, which stood in the center of a vast
expanse of grass burnt brown with the long-enduring
heat. Round the square were various cottages with
white-washed walls and thatched roofs, each standing
in its own tiny garden brilliant with flowers. The
Hendle Inn, with the arms of the family swinging
from a signpost, was the largest building in sight,
and presented an attractive sight to an artist, since it
dated from Tudor times, and its upper story overhung
the lower. With its red-tiled roof and dark oaken
beams deeply embedded in its flint and stone walls
it caught the eye of Carrington straightway. He
had seen it before, but its quaint beauty lured him
again to contemplation.
"That's a delightful old inn," he said, looking back-
ward as they passed out of the square. "Quite the
place for an adventure."
"There are no adventures in Barship," replied the
Squire heavily. "We are very dull people hereabouts.
Leigh is our bright and shining light, as he goes in for
old manuscripts and ancient buildings and queer cus-
toms and"
"In a word, Leigh is an archaeologist," interrupted
Carrington, who found Rupert somewhat prolix.
"And who is Leigh?"
"If we had gone to church yesterday, you would
have seen him in the pulpit, Carrington. He is the
vicar, and, if you don't mind being blamed for non-
attendance, we are going to look him up now."
"Oh, I don't mind in the least," said the barrister
briskly. "If he talks religion, I can talk science.
Argument is always amusing with a fanatic."
"I don't think Leigh is a fanatic. He is fonder


SCHOOLFELLOWS 17
of his hobby than of his profession. But he's all right
as a parson, although he doesn't visit his parishioners
as often as I could wish. Yonder's the church where
all my people are buried. Picturesque?"
The barrister gave the building his grave approval.
"But everything is picturesque about here in the best
style of art. You ought to be happy."
"I am. Very happy. But I shall be happier when
I marry Dorinda!"
"Amen to that. And let me be your best man,"
said Carrington gaily.
"If Dorinda doesn't mind, yes," replied Hendle, ex-
asperatingly matter of fact.


20 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"Oh, no," replied Rupert hastily. "Leigh would
never do wrong even to gratify his craze for books.
He is a gentle soul."
"A character at all events, if nothing else," ob-
served the barrister dryly.
In response to Hendle's loud rapping on the rusty
panels of the door with the knob of his walking stick
a slovenly, fat, old female waddled into sight, wiping
her hands on a coarse apron. Her stout looks were
in direct contradiction to the lean appearance of the
place; but, judging from her inflamed countenance,
these might have been due to a constant consumption
of beer. She was arrayed in a dingy cotton gown, so
dirty that it was difficult to guess at its original color,
and her gray hair was as dishevelled as her shoes and
stockings were untidy. This frowzy lady, who an-
swered to the odd name of Selina Jabber, received
the visitors with a good-natured smile which twinkled
all over her plump face.
"To think, sir, that you should find me like this
before I'm smartened for the afternoon," she cried,
volubly addressing Rupert; "but washing has to be
done, say what you like, though I do say that the
master don't give me more to do than my weakness
can deal with."
Talking all the time, the housekeeper had con-
ducted the amused men through an entrance hall,
narrowed by books heaped on the oilcloth, through
a passage lined with crowded shelves and into a large
bare room which appeared to be built up of many
volumes. The walls could not be seen for these, and
they were also piled in little heaps on the uncarpeted
floor. The only articles of furniture were a large
round table covered with green baize, standing directly


22 THE LOST PARCHMENT
were no chairs—and Carrington on another pile,
while the barrister gave the latest metropolitan gos-
sip and the squire smoked stolidly. Mr. Leigh drew
up his threadbare black trousers, showing socks of
different color and pattern, and sat down to take his
book again on his knee. His face was handsome in
a refined and gentle way: he had scanty white hair
and excellent teeth, which looked genuine: hands
and feet slender and elegant, suggested race, and he
had the stooping shoulders of a student. Carring-
ton, observing him narrowly while he talked in a
desultory manner, saw that here was the last withered
branch of an ancient family tree. The sap of the
race was exhausted in Simon Leigh, and he looked
as though his frail organization could not last much
longer. There was no fire in him: only the slowly
fading heat of dying ashes. Remembering what Hen-
die had said about the vicar's craze for books he at-
tempted to interest him in that direction, as Mr.
Leigh appeared to be wholly indifferent to news of
the busy world.
"You are fond of archaeology, I believe, sir," men-
tioned the barrister, glancing round the truly schol-
arly room.
"I am devoted to it, Mr. Carrington," replied the
student, his calm eyes flashing into vivid life. "An-
tiquities, ancient customs, the usages of the Middle
Ages and Classic times, together with the traditions of
religious belief and ceremony appeal more to my un-
derstanding than anything else."
"Humph!" grunted the Squire pointedly, "surely
as a parson"
"We have frequently argued on the subject- you
hint at, Rupert," said Mr. Leigh hastily. "But as


THE VICAR 23
your views differ from mine, we have, as yet, not
arrived at any agreement. As a parson I trust that
I do my duty, though it may be that I am not the
ideal of a parish priest."
Hendle colored at this dignified rebuke. "I apolo-
gize, sir, but you rather mistake my true meaning.
What I implied was that you are more of a scholar
than a parson."
"I admit that, Rupert. Had I lived in monastic
days, I should have been a hermit or a monk. My
wants are few, and I do not seek the loaves and
fishes of ecclesiastical preferment. The services of
the church; occasional visits to my parishioners and
giving of what alms my small means allow are my
duties as a Clerk in Holy Orders. But what time
otherwise is at my disposal I give to books, to the
examination of old buildings, to the study of ancient
customs, and such-like matters. You see I am frank,
Mr. Carrington."
"And very original," said the barrister heartily, "it
is a great pleasure to meet one whose views are
other than commonplace. And what a tremendous
number of books you have."
"You are like that clergyman in Scott's novel, St.
Ronaris Well," said Hendle, removing his pipe for a
moment. "What's his name—Cargill."
"I never waste my hours reading novels," said
Leigh loftily.
"I should think they would be more entertaining
than these parchments," suggested Carrington, look-
ing at the writing table, which was littered profusely
with dusty documents covered with crabbed charac-
ters.
"No! No! No!" cried Leigh vivaciously, and laid


24 THE LOST PARCHMENT
a thin hand on his beloved dry-as-dust pamphlets.
"Nothing can be more entertaining than deciphering
these deeds. Leases and proclamations, accounts and
registrations: all of various reigns and all written in
the dog Latin of knightly days. And it ill becomes
you, Rupert," added the vicar in a mildly jesting way,
"to reproach me with my besetting sin, when you
pander to it by permitting me access to your Muni-
ment Room."
"Muniment Room," echoed the barrister.
"It would not interest you, Mr. Carrington, be-
lieve me," said the vicar jealously, "as young men do
not care to inspect such treasures. I can tell you all
about the most interesting documents and can show
you what is worthy of note, if indeed you care for
such lofty learning. But don't meddle with the chest
and its contents, I beg. They are too valuable to be
lightly handled."
Rupert laughed and nodded. "I believe that Mr.
Leigh grudges even me meddling with the deeds and
documents. He thinks that I am an unworthy
guardian of such literary treasures."
"I think they are quite safe," said Carrington, look-
ing with disdain on the time-worn and soiled parch-
ments rustling under the vicar's thin fingers. "No
one will seek to deprive Mr. Leigh of his weary de-
lights."
"Weary! Ah, my dear sir, you don't know what
joy it is to pore over these glorious relics of monk-
ish days. They give in wonderful detail the history
of Barship, when it was quite a noted port."
"Port? Why, it's an inland parish."
"Now it is," cried the vicar eagerly and now set-
tled in the saddle of his hobby-horse, "but in the reign


26 THE LOST PARCHMENT
writing he had reached, he looked up. "Oh, Mr.
Mallien, I beg pardon. What do you want?"
"Dorinda has brought you some flowers for the
altar," said Mallien, "so I came with her. She would
drag me out, although I didn't want to tire myself
on this hot day."
"Is the day hot?" inquired the vicar absently.
"Flowers. Thank you. Mrs. Jabber has the key of
the church."
"Is Dorinda here!" questioned Hendle, making for
the door with alacrity; "I must go and see her. Look
after Carrington," he called back as he disappeared,
and the vicar shook his head irritably at the sound of
his raised voice.
Mallien did not obey his cousin's request by making
himself agreeable to the visitor who was thus given
into his charge. He stared at Carrington and Carring-
ton stared at him, while Mr. Leigh droned in an un-
dertone like a bee over his newly discovered fact of
military occupation. The barrister saw before him a
little man, less in height than himself and consid-
erably stouter, dressed comfortably in a suit of loosely
fitting gray homespun. Mallien's most noticeable
point was the extraordinary quantity of jewelry he
wore, which suggested Jewish blood. And indeed his
face with its hooked nose and deeply black eyes
hinted at the Hebrew. His dark hair and dark beard
were flecked with gray, but his fresh, unwrinkled
complexion made him appear much younger than he
really was. He did not look at all an amiable per-
son. And Carrington quite believed that Rupert had
spoken truly when he had hinted at his cousin's
misanthropic nature. Here assuredly was Timon of
Athens in modern dress, glaring at the barrister as if


THE VICAR 27
he wondered why he presumed to exist. The man's
manner was disagreeable and when he spoke his
speech was pointedly aggressive.
"I know why you are staring," said Mr. Mallien
in abrupt and unfriendly tone. "Everyone stares in
the same way, confound their insolence. It's my
jewelry, isn't it?"
"Why, yes!" said Carrington, matching this inso-
lence. "You are as bedizened as a Hindoo idol on its
feast day."
"You speak plainly," growled Mallien with a crush-
ing look.
"So do you," retorted Carrington, who was not to
be crushed. "We are well matched, it seems."
"I am older than you and require to be treated
politely," snapped the other.
"Because everyone has hitherto gone down before
your bullying ways, confound you," replied the bar-
rister, getting in his thrust. "Don't you find plain
speech a refreshing novelty?"
"Ah! what," Mr. Leigh looked up. "Presently,
Mrs. Jabber—presently. I am not yet hungry. Go
away. Oh, Mallien, I beg your pardon! When did
you arrive? Will you stop to luncheon?"
"And eat the potted tongue your housekeeper has
been talking about to Dorinda?" queried Mallien with
grim rudeness. "No thanks. I have more regard for
my stomach."
The vicar scarcely heard the retort, as he had al-
ready returned to the study of his soiled parchment.
"Do you know of any spot in the parish where a
circumvallation is discernible, Mr. Mallien?" he said,
half to himself.
"No, sir, I don't. And as I have no aeroplane I


28 THE LOST PARCHMENT
can't soar to the clouds where your wits are at pres-
ent. I shall take my leave straightway. Good day;"
and he departed forthwith. Carrington, amused by
Mallien's brusque leave-taking, picked up his cap to
follow so judicious an example since the vicar, really
being in the clouds, was unable to attend to chance
visitors. "Good day, Mr. Leigh," he said, moving
toward the door; but, no notice being taken, he re-
peated his farewell in louder tones. "Good day, Mr.
Leigh."
"Oh, good day, good day, good day," snapped the
student irritably.
Leaving Mr. Leigh murmuring comments, and
fumbling amongst the flotsam and jetsam of the Mid-
dle Ages, the barrister walked leisurely along the book-
lined passage, through the book-littered entrance hall
and emerged into the desolation of the surrounding
jungle. Rupert and Miss Mallien were conspicuous by
their absence, and the gruff individual left in charge
of Carrington was waiting restlessly. He waved his
hand when the visitor appeared.
"Did you ever see such a pig sty?" he growled with
the voice of an ourangoutang, which beast he greatly
resembled, "and Leigh is exactly suited to it. As the
man is so are his surroundings: his mind is as mud-
dled as his garden. And this addle-pated parson is
supposed to be the spiritual father of the parish. Pah!
Come and look at the lordly pleasure grounds. Ru-
pert asked me to look after you, so I must, I suppose.
Did you ever see such a rotten place?" he asked con-
temptuously.
"Oh, yes! You are showing me nothing new," re-
plied Carrington, who took a delight in exasperating
the man's temper.


THE VICAR 29
"I shan't show you anything more," growled Mal-
lien sullenly, "and after all I'm dashed silly to bother
myself in this way."
"Oh, I don't quite see Oh!" His face twisted
with pain as he spoke.
"What's the matter with you?" demanded Mallien
crossly.
"Toothache! I have had a twinge or two lately
and I expect that this damp place"—Carrington looked
up at the dark overhanging boughs—"has brought
back the pain. I shall have to see a doctor when I go
to town."
"You can see a doctor here, if you like," said Mal-
lien roughly, and pushed his way back to the avenue.
"Dr. Tollart lives at the end of the village. Anyone
will tell you where he is to be found."
"Thanks," said the barrister as they paused by the
rickety gate. "You are kinder than you mean to be."
"I'm not. I want to get rid of you," fumed Mal-
lien, turning on his heel. "You can go to the doctor
or to the devil for all I care."
Carrington saw the little man vanishing with great
speed round the corner and laughed at the oddity of
his character. Then he walked through the village
and soon found Tollart's house. The doctor proved
to be within and speedily gave his patient something
to take away the aching. It was only a makeshift
of course, but Carrington was glad enough to get rid
of the uncomfortable feeling. After paying half a
crown he went away leisurely, and by the time he
reached the gates of the park felt much better.
Strolling up the avenue, Carrington suddenly began
to shiver in the warm sunshine, and was greatly sur-


30 THE LOST PARCHMENT
prised that he should do so. It seemed unreasonable
and certainly was unexpected.
“Strange,” he muttered with a shrug; “now a super-
stitious person would say that I was walking over my
grave. Pooh!” he laughed, but nevertheless shivered
again.


CHAPTER III
LOVERS
In justice to Hendle, it must be said that he by no
means intended to desert his friend, even though the
enthralling society of Dorinda might have proved an
excuse for his forgetfulness. But far from wishing
for the barrister's absence, Rupert had left a message
with his future father-in-law, requesting Carrington
to see the church, after taking leave of the vicar. Out
of what the Yankees term “sheer cussedness,” Mal-
lien had not delivered the message, and every moment
Hendle expected the appearance of his friend, quite
ignorant that Carrington was already on his way to
The Big House. And thinking that the barrister was
being entertained—as one of his cynical character
would be—by Mallien's rudeness and Leigh's quaint
ways, the young Squire forgot all about his old school
chum for the time being. This was very natural, see-
ing that Dorinda was beside him, and he therefore had
no eyes or ears save for her.
“Get a can of water,” directed Dorinda, as they
passed from the vicarage jungle into the trim slopes
of the churchyard, “and bring it to me as soon as
possible. You will find me in the porch arranging the
flowers.”
Readily consenting to this division of labor, the
Squire went to find Mrs. Jabber and the necessary
can, while Dorinda, already possessed of the key, un-
locked the great oaken door under the porch. With
t
2**
º
31


LOVERS 33
"Carrington will think me rude."
"Not if he can see through a brick wall. And from
what you have told me about him, Rupert, I think his
eyes are quite keen enough to do so. There is one
thing to be said," observed Miss Mallien, rather
piqued by the barrister's neglect, "that your friend
isn't anxious to see me."
"On the contrary, he is very eager," Rupert assured
her hastily.
"Does his going back to the Big House look like it?"
"Ah, I expect he had some delicacy in interrupting
our tete-a-tete, Dorinda."
"There's something in that," replied Miss Mallien,
dexterously binding her bunches of roses loosely to-
gether, "and his action speaks well for him. Perhaps
I shall like him better than I expect to, Rupert."
The Squire looked up in astonishment from his task
of brimming the altar vases with spring water. "Why
shouldn't you like him in any case?"
"Well," Dorinda placed a bunch of flowers in a
vase and put her head on one side to note the effect,
"you say that Mr. Carrington is cynical, and I don't
like cynical people. I have had so much cynicism from
my father that it is impossible to stand more of it
from another person."
"Oh, it's only a pose with Carrington. He's really
a good fellow."
"If he is, why can't he show that he is? My dear
Rupert, I never did believe in those people, who have
hearts of gold and bad manners: who lend you
money with a blow, and with the best intentions bully
you into cheerfulness."
"What odd things you say, Dorinda," murmured
Rupert, not knowing if she was speaking in earnest


34 THE LOST PARCHMENT
or in fun. "Carrington hasn't bad manners unless his
going away without seeing you"
"No! No! That may be delicacy," she interrupted
swiftly. "I dare say he's really a nice man, and I
shall like him very much. But remember, dear, that
knowing you has raised my standard. I shall expect
him to be very, very nice."
"Oh, Dorinda, don't put me on a pedestal," said
Hendle, at once dismayed and pleased. "I am a very
prosaic person."
"Then I like prosaic persons."
"And Carrington is very brilliant," went on Rupert
stolidly, as he tugged at his moustache to induce
thoughts for his friend's defense.
"You are quite brilliant enough for me, my dear
boy." She rose suddenly, and taking his face between
her hands kissed him twice. "There and there. Why
are you so exasperatingly modest?"
"Am I?" asked Rupert, wondering why he had re-
ceived the caress.
Dorinda laughed. Indeed, she could do nothing
else, since Hendle was so very literal in his accepta-
tion of her remarks. "You're a sweet-tempered don-
key, my dear," she said lightly. "Now you take those
two vases and I'll take these two. Come along."
Shortly the altar glowed with the crimson splen-
dor of the roses, and their delicate fragrance was
wafted through the chancel. Then the lovers left the
church and sauntered back to the Vicarage, with the
key for Mrs. Jabber, with offended dignity.
Miss Mallien was well worth looking at, as she was
a gracious and stately maiden, well fitted to be the
mate of the Saxon giant. Dorinda was as tall for
a woman as Rupert was for a man, and carried her-


LOVERS 35
self with the same imposing dignity. Her dark hair
and deeply blue eyes hinted at an Irish strain, and
her vivacity was also Hibernian. But to this fascina-
tion, which had to do with the race of the sister isle,
Dorinda added much English common sense, so that
her romantic dreams never overrode her matter-of-
fact instincts. She loved her cousin for his staunch
honesty and attractive simplicity of character, since
in these qualities he represented the exact opposite of
her father. For this last-mentioned individual, whom
she had the misfortune to call her parent, Dorinda did
not entertain much respect, and hoped by marrying
Rupert to escape from a companionship which was
very disagreeable to her. It was only Hendle's wealth
which induced Mallien to consent to the marriage;
but, even had he objected, Dorinda would have held
to her engagement. Rupert was her man of men, and,
while he held her hands and looked at her with grave
admiration, she thought how fortunate she was in se-
curing such a mate. She esteemed his devotion more
than much fine gold.
"My father will be waiting for me at the cottage,"
said Dorinda; as she strolled away again.
"A little disappointment won't harm him," said
Hendle coolly, for he had not much sympathy with
Mallien's selfish nature; "and I want you to meet
Carrington. He leaves for London after dinner, and
you won't meet him again for some time. Say yes."
"Yes," responded Dorinda, who really felt consid-
erable curiosity concerning the object of Hendle's
Rugby hero worship; "but father will be cross."
"I never knew father when he wasn't cross," re-
torted her lover, as they resumed their walk and en-
tered the village square. "He's an infliction. I tell


86 THE LOST PARCHMENT
you what, Dorinda, the best thing we can do is to
marry before the roses fade."
"Oh, Rupert, you are getting quite poetical."
"Am I?" asked Rupert, surprised. "That's strange,
when I don't like poetry."
"I must teach you to like it, dear."
"Hum!" said Rupert, rather at sea, "you mean, I
suppose, that we have much to learn from one an-
other."
"Something of that sort."
"You shall do exactly as you like, dear," said her
lover, as they came in sight of the house. "Why,
here is Mrs. Beatson."
A tall, lean woman, with a sour and discontented
face and an elegant figure issued from a side walk with
a basket of flowers. Anyone could see that Hendle's
housekeeper was a lady by birth, just as anyone could
see that she was not an amiable woman. She was
like Mallien, and had a tendency to look upon human
beings as her mortal enemies, since, liking luxury, she
had never been able to indulge her fancies. Left a
widow with one son, she had taken the post of house-
keeper some five years before Carrington's visit, and
on the whole performed her duties admirably. But,
being disappointed in not leading an idle life with
sufficient money to gratify her whims, she always went
about with an aggrieved air. It was only Rupert's
kind-heartedness which permitted her to stay at The
Big House, and visitors—Carrington among them
—wondered how he could put up with such a wet
blanket. Few people care to have a kind of Chris-
tian martyr at their elbow from morning to night.
"How are you, Miss Mallien?" said Mrs. Beatson,
greeting Dorinda stiffly. "I am just gathering flowers


LOVERS 87
for the dinner table. You will have an early dinner
to-night, Mr. Hendle, will you not, as Mr. Carring-
ton is leaving early?"
"Yes. I think I told you, Mrs. Beatson. We dine
at six-thirty. By the way, I met Kit in the village;
he looks well."
"He never comes near me to see if he's well or ill,"
rejoined the housekeeper bitterly. "He's a bad boy."
"Oh, no, Mrs. Beatson," chimed in Dorinda. "Kit
is a very good boy. We are all very fond of him."
"Ah, you don't know him as well as I do," said
Mrs. Beatson, shaking her head sadly. "He is—but I
need not tell you, as you will find out soon enough for
yourselves. Excuse me, Mr. Hendle, and you, Miss
Mallien, but I must go in with my flowers. And
there is Mr. Carrington at the drawing-room win-
dow."
With a stiff bow Mrs. Beatson disappeared, while
Dorinda shrugged her shoulders. She never ap-
proved of Mrs. Beatson's martyr-like airs, which were
wholly unnecessary, seeing what a comfortable situa-
tion she had. However, there was no time to think
about the widow, for Carrington, slipping out of the
front door, came down the terrace steps. He looked
young and handsome and debonair, evidently present-
ing his very best side for the inspection of his friend's
betrothed. Indeed, having caught sight of the couple
from the drawing-room window, he had hastened to
come out, with the intention of breaking the ice with
the young lady in a light and airy manner. Mr. Car-
rington had a great belief in first impressions.
"I have eaten all the cakes and have drunk all the
tea, Hendle," he said, gaily; "but, had I known that
Miss Mallien was to honor the tea table, I should


38 THE LOST PARCHMENT
have restrained my appetite. How do you do, Miss
Mallien P Since Hendle will not introduce me, I must
do myself. Behold a briefless barrister, Dean Carring-
ton by name, who is delighted to meet you.”
“Thank you,” replied Dorinda, shaking hands, and
wondering why the man was so emphatically agree-
able. Perhaps a touch of her father's misanthropy
made her suspicious, or perhaps Carrington rather
overdid his welcome. “I am glad to meet you. Ru-
pert has often spoken about you.”
“I hope he has said nice things,” rattled on the bar-
rister, as the trio returned to the house. “You see,
he only remembers what a nice person I was at Rugby,
and it is years since we met. I may have changed for
the worse.”
“I don't see any change in you,” replied Hendle,
with mild surprise. “Don’t undervalue yourself,
Carrington. Why didn't you come on to the church?”
“Perhaps you didn't know that we were there,”
suggested Dorinda. “My father may have forgotten
to deliver Rupert's message.”
“Oh no. The message was delivered right enough,
Miss Mallien. But I have been young myself, and
never, never, never spoil sport.”
“You talk as if you were a hundred,” remarked
Hendle, as they began the meal.
“So I am, in experience of the seamy side of life.
You, my dear fellow, are about five years of age. I
expect you have found that out, Miss Mallien. He
is the most unsophisticated youth, who has been
wrapped up in cotton wool all his life, knowing dis-
agreeables only from the newspapers and novels.”
“I think that Rupert is less unsophisticated than
you think,” replied Dorinda, a trifle dryly, for she


LOVERS 39
did not admire Carrington's easy tone of patronage
toward her lover. “And why do you say that you ex-
pect I have found that out? I may be unsophisti-
cated also.”
“You are everything that is charming,” said Car-
rington alertly, “but, having met your father, I think
that you are not to be taken in by people.”
Dorinda colored, knowing well what the keen-wit-
ted barrister meant. However, she endeavored to
turn his point by altering slightly a well-worn quota-
tion. “To know him is a liberal education, I sup-
pose you mean,” she said, lightly. “Don’t take my
father too seriously, Mr. Carrington. His bark is
worse than his bite.”
“Oh, I am sure of that,” replied Carrington, who
was sure of nothing of the sort. “We both barked at
one another until the Vicarage jungle rang. We hope
to meet again, Miss Mallien, and renew our contest
of wits. By the way, to go to another subject—the
Vicar. What a man, and what surroundings!”
“He is quite a character,” laughed Dorinda, “but
the dearest old man in the world.” -
The conversation continued, mostly in a bantering
way, for some time, and then, tea finished, Rupert
proposed to see Dorinda to the gates of the park. “If .
you don't mind being left alone, Carrington.”
“Not at all; not at all. Gather ye rosebuds,” said
the barrister, lightly; “good day and good-bye until
our next happy meeting, Miss Mallien.”
With a smile which masked her true feelings—for
she resented Carrington's manner; it seemed to her
while having tea that he had attempted to make Ru-
pert look small—Dorinda passed out of the drawing-
room and into the hall. Hendle put on his cap and


40 THE LOST PARCHMENT
accompanied her down the avenue, while the barris-
ter stood at the door and waved a farewell. But
when they were far enough away to prevent seeing or
hearing, his brow grew dark. "Confound that Hen-
die," he muttered; "he has all the good things of this
world. A fine house; a large income; a delightful be-
trothed, and magnificent health. If I were an envious
man—ha!" He drew a long breath, and then turned
sharply, as some one passed through the hall.
It was Mrs. Beatson, who always had a habit of
coming and going in a ghostly fashion. Carrington
was not sure if she had overheard, as he always was
suspicious of people's sharp ears. And he had spoken
somewhat loud. However, if she had been eavesdrop-
ping, there was nothing for it but to risk the chance
of her repeating his not very wise speech to Hendle.
However, again, the barrister thought that if the
housekeeper did babble, he would be quite able to deal
with such a fool as the squire. Therefore he gave
Mrs. Beatson a bland smile, which she returned with
a sour one, and climbed up the stairs to his room.
Meanwhile, at the gate, Hendle was asking Dorinda
a question. "I think you'll find me a dull sort of fel-
low after Carrington," he said ruefully.
"My dear," replied the girl, throwing her arms
round his neck. "I would not exchange you for one
hundred and ten Carringtons."
"You don't like him?" questioned Hendle, greatly
surprised.
"No," answered Miss Mallien, "I don't. He's dou-
ble-faced. We'll hand him over to father. He can
deal with him," and in spite of Hendle's objections,
she went away repeating her doubts of the brilliant
barrister.


CHAPTER IV
THE COTTAGE
For a widower with one grown-up daughter, Mr.
Julius Mallien was very well off on an income of five
hundred a year, for which he did not do a stroke of
work. Like the lilies of the field he toiled not, neither
did he spin, and, if not quite a Solomon-in-all-his-
glory, he was quite comfortable, enjoying some of the
luxuries of life as well as all the necessities. Born
lazy and idle, he had never earned a single penny for
himself during the fifty-odd years of his existence.
First he had lived on his father and mother; after-
ward on his wife. Now that all three were dead, he
managed to exist in a pleasantly easy way on the ac-
cumulated moneys they had left him. His picturesque
six-roomed cottage, standing in a quarter acre of gar-
den on the outskirts of Barship, was rented from the
Squire at twenty pounds a year, yet he grumbled like
an Irish tenant at the exactions of his landlord. Do-
rinda, with the aid of one small servant, looked after
the house, and Mallien was quite untroubled with do-
mestic details. His daughter catered for him in strict
accordance with his tastes, wholly setting her own
aside, and from one year to another there was no
change in the economy of the establishment. It there-
fore came about in quite a natural manner that Mr.
Mallien spent the greater part of his income on him-
self.
41


42 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"I shall allow you so much for housekeeping and
so much to dress on," he said to Dorinda, when she
returned from school to become his companion, or
rather his domestic drudge. "One hundred pounds
yearly must cover all expenses, food, servants,
clothes and rent; and if you exceed that, you'll hear
about it."
As it took Dorinda some time to get used to this
scrimping, she frequently made mistakes, and did hear
about it. In fact, she was scolded so often that she
became quite callous to her father's tempers, and
finally, when he went too far, the girl who was not
lacking in spirit, told him what she thought of his
selfish conduct. There was a royal row, in which
Dorinda came off best, and when things were again
settled Mallien was careful not to provoke her anger
again more than his disagreeable temper could help.
On the whole, father and daughter got on very well
together, but there was little affection displayed by
either of them: on Mallien's part because he hated
what he called sentiment, and on Dorinda's because her
egotistical parent always kept her at arm's length.
The boy-and-girl love of Miss Mallien for her cousin,
which had strengthened into the staunch love of man
and woman, was the sole thing which enabled the girl
to endure the drab existence at The Cottage. It was
always something to look forward to that one day she
would become Rupert's wife, and then would be quit
forever of her father's uncomfortable whims.
Not that Mallien gave his daughter much of his so-
ciety. His hobby was jewel collecting, and Dorinda
took no interest in such things. For a woman, she
was inexplicably indifferent to gems, and lace, and
clothes and amusement, so that her father voted her


44 THE LOST PARCHMENT
Dorinda laughed and gave way, although she still
resented her father making money out of her mar-
riage. But Mallien, being one of those men who is a
curse to himself and to everyone around him, could
not be treated in any other way, and could make him-
self very disagreeable when on his mettle. Besides,
Dorinda knowing what Rupert's temper was when
aroused, dreaded lest there should be an open quar-
rel. Mallien would certainly have come off worst in
any encounter; but, as he was her father, she did not
wish for such a contretemps. She and Rupert had
been engaged for two years when Carrington came
down to Barship, and hitherto all had gone smoothly.
But a few days after the barrister's departure, Mal-
lien began to make himself unpleasant. "I don't see
why Rupert can't marry you next month," he said,
fretfully, one morning at breakfast. "You've been
engaged long enough."
"So we both think," replied Dorinda, who was pour-
ing out the coffee, looking particularly fresh and
charming in a white linen frock. "But you have al-
ways objected, you know."
"I don't wish to lose my daughter," growled the
misanthrope, clutching at his black beard and scowling.
"That is very sweet of you, father, but you mustn't
sacrifice five hundred a year for my society."
"What do you mean by that, you minx?"
"Is it so hard to understand?" asked Dorinda coolly.
"It's not what a daughter should say to a father."
"Well, you see, so much depends upon the sort of
father one says it to."
"Honor your father and your mother," quoted Mal-
lien, crossly.
"Parents, be mindful of your children," retorted


THE COTTAGE 45
the girl. "Oh, I can match you, quotation for quota-
tion, if you like, father; I have been exercising my
memory in this respect when talking to Mr. Carring-
ton."
"Carrington! Carrington. I forbid you to mention
his name. I have already given you my opinion of
that impertinent pig"
"Frequently," interpolated Dorinda crisply.
"And I won't allow him to be spoken of. You
have just mentioned the reason why I think you should
get married straightway."
Dorinda set down the marmalade with surprise.
"What can Mr. Carrington have to do with our mar-
riage?" she inquired, staring.
Mallien wriggled. "Rupert's a fool to bring the fel-
low down here," he burst out furiously. "He's a
sponge, and a son of the horse-leech, who will get
all the money he can from Rupert."
"I don't see why you should say that," protested the
girl. "Mr. Carrington did not give me that impres-
sion."
"Well, he gave it to me," grumbled her father, eat-
ing sullenly; "and if you allow him to get hold of
Rupert—who is a fool, as I said before—your mar-
riage will be indefinitely postponed. I won't have it;
I won't have it, I tell you," cried the stout little man,
jumping up in a fine rage. "If Rupert's money should
be given to anyone, it should be given to me."
"Well, as soon as I am Rupert's wife, you will have
five hundred a year," said Dorinda soothingly.
"What's five hundred a year?" said Mallien, con-
temptuously. "I want the whole four thousand.
There's a blue sapphire in Paris I wish to get hold of."
Dorinda shrugged her shoulders calmly, being quite


46 THE LOST PARCHMENT
used to her father's explosive nature. “You can't ex-
pect Rupert to give you all his income,” she observed
in measured tones. “He is paying a good price for
me, seeing that I go to him without a dowry.”
“You shall have my jewels and my income when I
die,” growled her father, as he sat down again. “Any
money he gives me, comes back to you. But if Rupert
was to die—”
“Father!” Dorinda uttered a startled cry of pain.
“There ! There!” snarled Mallien testily. “I don't
mean that he is going to die, you silly girl. But he's
mortal and may die.”
“God forbid! But if he did—” she hesitated, then
uttered the word faintly, “–die?”
“Then I would have The Big House and the four
thousand a year,” said Mallien brutally. “You seem
to forget that we are both descended from John Hen-
dle, who died in the Waterloo year.”
“I have never given a thought to it,” said Dorinda
uneasily, as she did not approve of her father starting
this hare.
“Well, you ought to think of it. We descend from
the elder son of John Hendle, and are the older
branch.”
“But Rupert descends through the male line, while
we come through the female, father,” protested the
girl, puzzled by this genealogical conversation.
“Pooh Pooh! There’s no entail. Don't look so
astonished, Dorinda; I don't mean to say that I have
any claim, though, if everyone had their rights, we
should be at The Big House and Rupert in his beastly
cottage. There would be no need for you to marry
him then.”
Dorinda rose with great dignity. “I marry Rupert


THE COTTAGE 4'ſ
because I love him, and if he was a pauper, I should
still love him.”
“Oh, you could love him as much as you like,” said
her father, carelessly, “but if he were really a pauper,
you shouldn't marry him. I'd see to that.”
Dorinda walked round the table and bent over her
father with a look on her face which made him push
back his chair. “You would see to nothing,” she said,
very distinctly, and bringing her face close to that of
Mallien. “It is my will and pleasure to marry Rupert,
and nothing you can say or do will prevent my be-
coming his wife. You understand?”
“Who said anything otherwise,” growled Mallien
savagely, yet retreating dexterously. “As things
stand, I am willing you should marry him. And, as
you talk to me in that way, the sooner you become
his wife and leave me alone the better it will be.
Marry to-morrow if you like.”
“I see,” said Dorinda, whose face was perfectly
colorless. “You want the extra five hundred a year
to buy this blue sapphire you speak of.”
“Partly. But I also want you to marry Rupert be-
fore Carrington—the beast—squeezes him like a
lemon.”
“There is no chance of any squeezing,” said Dorinda
coldly. “Rupert is quite capable of looking after
himself, even if Mr. Carrington were after his money,
which I see no reason to think that he is.”
“I do! Carrington's a man on the market, if you
know what that means.”
“I don’t. What does it mean?”
“One who lives from hand to mouth; one who is
always on the make; one who doesn't mind what he
does so long as he can extract a fiver. Rupert's a


48 THE LOST PARCHMENT
fool, and Carrington isn't. There, you have my opin-
ion in a nutshell."
"I think you are making a great fuss over nothing,
father," said Dorinda, with disdain. "But I am glad
that Mr. Carrington's visit is likely to hasten our mar-
riage. We can get married next month, and then you
can buy the sapphire when we are on our honeymoon."
"Sensible girl!" Mallien stood up and wiped his
bearded mouth. "Well, now that we understand one
another?"
"Do we understand one another?" asked Dorinda,
irritated by the whole unnecessary conversation.
"Yes!" replied her father, tartly. "I have given
my consent to your marriage taking place at an early
date"
"Because you want the five hundred a year to buy
the blue sapphire."
"Don't be silly. And I have warned you against
letting that flipperty-flap Carrington gain too much
influence over Rupert."
"A quite unnecessary warning," said the girl, coldly.
"You don't like Mr. Carrington, because he held his
own against you."
"Insolent beast!" growled Mallien, bristling. "And
I think you said that you did not like him yourself."
"I said that I did not trust him; but he is amusing
enough to like as a companion for all that."
"You'll find him very amusing when he rifles Ru-
pert's pockets," sneered the gentle parent, fuming at
her opposition.
"I don't think that there is the least chance of his
doing that, as Rupert—I said this before—is well able
to look after himself. Besides, you have no grounds
for saying that Mr. Carrington is a scamp."


THE COTTAGE 49
"A look is enough for me."
"It's not enough to take away a man's character.
And this talk of our being descended from John
Hendle? What do you mean by that?"
"I don't mean anything particular," responded Mal-
lien, honestly enough. "It was Leigh who put it into
my head."
"The vicar. And what does he know of our family
history?"
"Much more than we do. He has been scrambling
through the papers in the Muniment Room at The Big
House."
"Well, Rupert gave him permission to look out any
documents likely to prove necessary for writing the
history of the parish. You know he is writing a
book."
Mallien nodded. "He found letters, written by
John Hendle, which showed how much our ancestor
regretted that the estates should go to Frederick Hen-
dle."
"That is the younger son from whom Rupert is de-
scended?"
"Exactly. He was a bad lot apparently, Leigh says.
Walter, who was the eldest son and our progenitor,
was killed in the Battle of Waterloo, and he seems
to have been the old man's favorite. If Walter had
lived, we should have inherited The Big House and
the estates."
"Well, father," answered Dorinda with a shrug;
"Walter didn't live, and we did not inherit the estates,
so I don't see what is the use of talking."
"I didn't say that there was any use," retorted
Mallien crossly, "only I thought that the piece of fam-


50 THE LOST PARCHMENT
ily history discovered by Mr. Leigh might interest
you."
"It does in a way. But, after all, these family
troubles happened nearly one hundred years ago."
Dorinda was looking out of the window as she made
this remark, and broke off suddenly. "Strange!" she
said, staring into the garden. .
"What is strange?"
"That we should have been talking of Mr. Leigh,
for here he is with Titus Ark as his shadow, as usual.
I wonder why he always has Titus at his heels?"
"It's a very necessary precaution," said Mallien, ,
grimly; "otherwise, Leigh is so absent-minded that <
he would get lost. Leigh has only come to look again
at that Yucatan diary, which my father left me."
"Does he want to see it?" asked Dorinda, forget-
ting that Leigh had seen the diary before.
"Yes. Your grandfather, as you know, was some-
thing of an explorer, and searched for hidden treasure
among the buried cities of Central America. I was
telling Leigh about the diary, and he wants to have
another look at it," Mallien chuckled. "I shouldn't
wonder if the old man wanted to go to Yucatan him-
self, since he is cracked on old buildings."
By this time, the vicar was knocking at the door,
and Titus Ark was staring sourly round the garden.
He was the sexton and the vicar's shadow, a dour an-
cient, who said little and thought much. Dorinda,
not wishing to see the vicar, who rather bored her
with his archeological discourses, went into the kitchen
to attend to her domestic duties, while her father
opened the front door to receive his visitors in his
usual ungracious manner.
"What on earth brings you here, vicar?" he de-


THE COTTAGE 61
manded brusquely, although he had just explained to
his daughter why the visit had been made; "and why
do you always have that old ass at your heels, Mr.
Simon Leigh, parson of Barship Parish, God help the
people?" grumbled Mallien, as he pushed his visitor
into a chair and banged the door.
"Titus," said Leigh in his precise tones. "Oh, we
were boys together—that is, he was a young man when
I was a boy. Poor fellow, his generation lies under
the ground, so I take him about to comfort him with
talk about old times. He quite brightens up when we
have our talks and walks."
"I'd brighten him if I had the power," growled the
gracious host. "He ought to be under the turf with
his confounded generation, or in the workhouse. I
don't see any use for such a stiff-jointed old skeleton
being above ground."
"He is eighty," said Mr. Leigh, placidly. "Great
age. A comfortable room this, Mr. Mallien; there is
something of the sybarite about you."
"Don't call names, vicar. The room is less like a
pig sty than yours, and that is the best to be said
about it."
"I often wonder, Mr. Mallien, that with your bring-
ing up, you have not learned better manners," said
Leigh, putting on his pince-nez and blinking. "You
are certainly a most ill-conducted person. You should
marry, and see if the softening influence of the femi-
nine natures"
Mallien turned from a cupboard of black oak, in
which he was rummaging, and answered viciously. "I
have been married."
'"Dear me," mused the vicar, as if aware of this for


52 THE LOST PARCHMENT
the first time, "so you have been. And how is Miss
Dorinda?"
"I believe his wits are going," grumbled Mallien to
himself: then raised his voice. "She's busy, and can't
waste her time in seeing you. Here"—he flung a
heavy sheaf of papers on the table—"this is the diary
kept by my silly father when he was treasure hunting
in Yucatan. Old fool, he got nothing but rheumatism.
If he'd found gold and jewels, there would have been
some sense in his explorations. Don't you think so?
don't you think so? don't you? Oh, hang you, vicar;
one might as well call the dead."
Leigh nodded absently, for the sound rather than
the sense of this polite speech had reached him. Al-
ready he had opened the manuscript diary at random
and, with his nose close to the pages, was pouring
over the faded writing. Mr. Mallien growled as usual,
and walked across to the mantelpiece to pick up his
pipe for a morning smoke. When blue clouds made a
haze round the eagerly reading parson, Mr. Mallien
brought out a handful of precious stones of little value
from his trousers pocket, and began to fiddle with
them, after his ordinary fashion. He strewed ruby and
emerald and moonstone about the table, where a shaft
of sunlight struck across the room, and watched the
many colored sparkles, emitted by the tiny gems.
Leigh, taking no notice, turned over page after page
with great interest. After a long while he grunted and
spoke, maliciously anxious to spoil the scholar's pleas-
ure if he could.
"Dull stuff my father wrote, didn't he?"
"Dear me, Mr. Mallien, are you there? Dull stuff.
Oh, dear me, no. Most interesting. These Maya
buildings are quite fascinating, and the manuscripts


THE COTTAGE 53
he discovered, and the stone carvings, and the hiero-
glyphics, similar to those of Egypt. Yes," went on the
vicar dreamily, "I must go there."
"Go there; go to Yucatan," cried Mallien, staring;
"an old buffer like you?"
"Yes, sir," said the vicar with dignity. "For quite
a year since you mentioned the diary of your father,
it has been in my mind to fit out an expedition to so
interesting a place."
"How can you fit out an expedition on your in-
come?"
"Money. Ah yes, I shall require money, of course."
"And a jolly lot, too. Expeditions are not fitted out
for nothing."
"I believe not," murmured Mr. Leigh, again dipping
into the manuscript. "Well, well, the money will be
forthcoming."
"Who will give it to you?" asked Mallien con-
temptuously.
"I thought that Rupert?"
"Pooh! You might as well try and get blood out
of a stone, Mr. Leigh. And why the dickens should he
give you money to go on a wild-goose chase? Rupert
is a wise man, and keeps his cash in his pocket, as I'd
do if I had his income."
"Would you not give me the money if you had four
thousand a year?" asked the vicar, with an extraordi-
narily keen look.
Mallien stared, quite unable to speak, so indignant
was he at the audacity of the parson. "Give it to
you?" he burst out. "I'd give it to nobody."
"Ah, then I hope you'll never get money," said Mr.
Leigh, placidly, "you would make bad use of it."
"I would," retorted the gracious host, "if I gave it


54 THE LOST PARCHMENT
to you to make ducks and drakes of in expeditions.
You can be buried less expensively in England than
in Yucatan, believe me."
"I have no idea of being buried anywhere," said
the vicar with dignity, and yet with a scared look
which puzzled Mallien. "I am old, it is true, but my
health is good and I live a reasonable life."
"You wouldn't if you went exploring Yucatan," re-
torted the other.
"I would take the risk of that, Mr. Mallien. The
place is so interesting"—his nose was glued to the
manuscript again—"that I really must raise the money
and go. I have plans—oh yes, I have plans to get it."
"You won't from Rupert."
"Nor from you, apparently," said Leigh, who ap-
peared to be much more alert than usual, "but I prefer
Rupert's youth to your avaricious age. However, I
shall come again and resume my reading of this man-
uscript—unless you will let me take it away."
"I'll do nothing of the kind, nor help your expe-
dition," said Mallien grimly, "nor even give you the
rubbish my father wrote."
"Rubbish," cried the parson indignantly; "that diary
is worth all the property which John Hendle left to
the son he didn't love. Well! Well, it's a case of
pearls before swine," and, paying back Mallien in his
own coin, by making this remark, the vicar departed
with his shadow at his heels.
"Old fool," commented Mallien; "but I wish John
Hendle had made that will."


CHAPTER V
A REVELATION
It was with joy and relief that Dorinda communi-
cated her father's decision to Rupert, and he was as
pleased as she was at the prospect of their speedy
marriage. Hitherto Mallien, not wishing to make
himself uncomfortable by losing his housekeeper—
which Dorinda really was—had always objected to
the performance of the ceremony. Certainly he
gained five hundred a year when the two became one;
but, during the twenty-four months of the official en-
gagement, this fond parent had not been in particular
want of money, and in any case had always borrowed
what small sums he required from his liberal-minded
cousin, at intervals. But now his heart was set upon
purchasing the blue sapphire which he had mentioned
to Dorinda, and it was not likely that Rupert would
give him the price of that. Therefore, to get his new
income assured, he allowed the young couple to have
their own way. Also—and this had a good deal to do
with the granted permission—he really dreaded lest
Carrington should obtain any influence over the young
Squire, and thought that the gaining of such could
best be prevented by giving Rupert his desire. With
Dorinda beside him, it was unlikely that Hendle would
allow Carrington to draw on his purse.
Seeing that Miss Mallien had a small opinion of her
55


56 THE LOST PARCHMENT
father, and spoke to him pretty freely on subjects of
dispute between them, it seemed strange that she
should have laid such stress on obtaining his consent
to the marriage. But Dorinda, considering that her
father was her father, in spite of his unamiable nature,
wished him to exercise this last act of paternal au-
thority. She would not have been happy had she pro-
voked a quarrel by going contrary to his views, and so
had waited until he thought fit to issue his commands.
Had Mallien, indeed, wholly forbidden the marriage
taking place, Dorinda would have rebelled, but she
gave way on the minor point of an unusually long en-
gagement. She saw Rupert almost daily; they under-
stood one another thoroughly, and, as both were
young, there was no particular hurry. Nevertheless,
the girl was pleased at the lordly permission of her
irritating parent, and set about her preparations
straightway. It was now July, and after a conver-
sation with Rupert, it was decided that the Rev. Simon
Leigh should make them man and wife toward the
end of August. And Dorinda confessed to her future
husband, that she would be glad to escape from the
constant society of her father, who of late had been
unusually trying. On his side, Rupert was extremely
glad to get the dearest girl in the world all to himself.
So the important matter was settled, and Hendle re-
turned to The Big House very contented with the
world in general and with himself in particular.
In his delight he called in Mrs. Beatson to the li-
brary to inform her of his intended change of life,
although he rather dreaded the woeful looks and sad
words with which she would receive his communica-
tion. Mrs. Beatson made her appearance, looking
more like a Christian martyr than ever, but assumed


58 THE LOST PARCHMENT
was not in danger. "I am glad to stay on, Mr. Hen-
die," she said, with the air of making a concession. "I
look on The Big House as in some sense my home."
"That's all right. Continue to look upon it as your
home, until Kit marries Miss Tollart and you go to
live with them."
"Pardon me, Mr. Hendle," said Mrs. Beatson with
icy scorn; "but you little know my nature when you
suggest such a thing. I don't approve of Sophy Tol-
lart, whose views regarding our sex are anything but
pacific. Besides, young people rarely take the advice
of those who are older and wiser than they are; con-
sequently, it is best for them to live by themselves.
Would you like Mr. Mallien to dwell at The Big
House when you wed with his daughter?"
"Good Lord, no," replied Hendle hastily. "It is the
last thing either I or Miss Mallien would desire. We
can manage our own affairs."
"So you think, Mr. Hendle; but the mistakes you
will make will be endless."
"Nonsense, I am not a fool, and Miss Mallien has
plenty of good sense."
"Sense isn't experience," lamented Mrs. Beatson,
shaking her head and smiling in a most dreary man-
ner. "However, I am no prophetess of evil, and wish
you and Miss Mallien well. But mistakes you will
make, say what you will, and sorrow will come to you
as it comes to all."
"There! There! Don't croak any more, Mrs.
Beatson."
"Me croak," repeated the lady in surprise. "Why, I
am trying to look on the bright side of things, for
whatever you may say there is always a black side."
"Well, well," observed Rupert testily, for her words


60 THE LOST PARCHMENT
riage, so that she might be prepared to be turned out
to die. With this in her mind, she hovered uneasily
about the dining-room and drawing-room both before
and after dinner, in the hope of catching some stray
word, which might reveal Rupert's expected treachery.
Meanwhile Rupert, after a hearty laugh at Mrs.
Beatson's cheerful manner of looking at the future,
went upstairs to dress for dinner.
"Hang Mrs. Beatson," he thought, when he de-
scended to the drawing-room. "I do wish she would
keep her dismals to herself. She's about as cheerful
as tombs, and not at all the person to have in the house
of a young married couple," and from this mental
speech it may be guessed that the dreary old lady was
within an ace of being dismissed, as she dreaded, al-
though such an idea had never entered her master's
mind until she began her wailing.
Mr. Leigh, who had brushed and washed at Mrs.
Beatson's request, for he was dusty and grimy after
his work in the Muniment Room, was wandering
about the big drawing-room, peering at pictures and
statues and old silver through his pince-nez. He-
turned to greet Rupert in his usual mild absent-minded
way, when the young Squire, smartly groomed and
eminently handsome, entered.
"Quite Greek," murmured the vicar, balancing him-
self on his toes and with his hands behind his back.
"I must say that your looks are in your favor, Rupert.
For the well-being of the race you should marry and
beget children."
"Well, I am going to," said Hendle, used to the
vicar's eccentric speeches. "I make Dorinda my wife
next month."


A REVELATION 61
"Oh, indeed," said Mr. Leigh alertly. "Dorinda is
a very desirable damsel. I hope you will be happy."
"You seem to have your doubts, from the tone you
use," remarked Rupert dryly.
Mr. Leigh shook his head. "Life has its troubles,"
he observed sententiously.
"For heaven's sake, vicar, don't croak. I have had
enough of that from Mrs. Beatson," a remark which
the housekeeper, hovering outside the door, overheard
and registered in her mind as a bad omen for her fu-
ture continuance at The Big House. "I beg your par-
don," went on the Squire, rather ashamed of his mo-
mentary irritability, "but I do wish people would look
on marriage as marriage and not as a funeral."
"Of course, of course," ruminated Mr. Leigh. "One
is always sure of a funeral, though not of a marriage."
"Vicar!" burst out the young man, much vexed at
this persistent lamentation, "you are—well." He
linked his arm in that of Mr. Leigh, knowing it was
useless to argue, "you are hungry and there's the
gong."
"Am I hungry?" Mr. Leigh asked, when he was be-
ing conducted into the dining-room. "Really I believe
I am. For three or four hours I have been busy in
the Muniment Room."
"I wonder you don't grow tired of fumbling
amongst those dusty parchments."
"No! No! No! They are most interesting. Yet,"
went on the vicar, as he spread his napkin across his
spare knees. "I may have to postpone my history of
Barship Parish after all—until I return from Yucatan,
that is."
"Yucatan!" Rupert nodded to the butler that he
should fill Mr. Leigh's glass with sherry, for the vicar


A REVELATION 63
can see into the matter for myself when I go there."
"Go to Yucatan—to Central America," said Hendle
staring. "Why, at your age, it is dangerous to attempt
such an expedition."
Mr. Leigh only caught the last word. "Expedi-
tion! Yes! It will be costly, as Mallien, in his rude
way, observed. But I have arranged how to get the
money, Rupert. A thousand pounds—perhaps more.
Really I am not sure what it will cost. But we can
arrange the sum later."
"We?" Rupert stared harder than ever.
"You and I," said Leigh placidly. "After all, I
am glad you have the money and not Mallien, as you
are more likely to do what I want than he is. A dour
man, grasping and avaricious."
Rupert glanced at the butler and the footman. "I
don't quite understand," he said, in a puzzled way.
"Perhaps you will explain."
In his turn Leigh, following Hendle's eyes, glanced
at the servants. "When we are alone I can tell you all
about it over our coffee."
More bewildered than ever and, in a vague way,
sensing danger, Rupert would have asked for an ex-
planation. But the servants being present, he decided
to wait until he was alone with his erratic friend.
Therefore the conversation passed on to other subjects
connected with Mr. Leigh's discoveries in the Muni-
ment Room, of various documents connected with the
behavior of dead and buried Hendles toward the
parish. Rupert said very little. What with Mrs.
Beatson's gloom and the vicar's cryptic utterances,
he felt as though some storm were approaching, and
was anxious for the meal to end, so that he could go
to the root of the matter. All the same, he laughed


6* THE LOST PARCHMENT
•
at himself for entertaining such a wild fancy. There
was no quarter of the heavens from which any storm,
big or little, could blow, as all was serene and bright.
And, as Hendle happened to be one of those very ma-
terial persons who only believe in what can be seen,
heard or touched, he scouted the idea of any premoni-
tion heralding any possible evil. Yet the premonition
was in his consciousness sure enough, and the young
man, prosaic as ever, put it down to indigestion. A
weaker explanation considering his splendid health
can scarcely be imagined.
When the dinner was over, Mr. Leigh, who had
contented himself with a single glass of port wine to
round off the entertainment, rose more briskly than
usual, and announced his wish to go.
"You must not mind my speedy departure, Rupert,"
he said, slipping his pince-nez into his waistcoat
pocket; "but I have much work to do in connection
with my proposed expedition. I hope Titus Ark is
waiting to accompany me home. I told him to call for
me about half-past six."
"Ark is waiting in the kitchen," said Rupert, after
a quiet word with the pompous butler. "He came at
six and has stayed on. There is no hurry for you to
go, Mr. Leigh. Remember you have something to tell
me," and Hendle, taking the old man's arm, led him
gently but firmly into the drawing room.
"Something to tell you," repeated the vicar puz-
zled; then suddenly his face cleared. "Oh, dear me,
yes; how fortunate you reminded me, Rupert. It has
to do with John Hendle."
"John Hendle. Do you mean my great-great-grand-
father"
"Who died in the Waterloo year. Yes, I do. When


A REVELATION 65
we are alone,"—Mr. Leigh broke off and glanced
meaningly at the footman who was bringing in the
coffee. "It is lucky you reminded me," he ended aim-
lessly, "very lucky. My expedition, ah yes, this hangs
on that and that on this."
"What on earth are you talking about?" questioned
Hendle, much vexed at all this unnecessary mystery.
"Sit down and drink your coffee and tell me all about
it. You don't smoke, I know, but I shall."
"Certainly, certainly," murmured Leigh vaguely,
"of course, your marriage with your cousin will bring
together the two branches of the family. That, in the
long run, will put things right."
"Put what things right?"
"Money matters."
Hendle echoed the word and stared. "I wish you
would talk plainly," he said, with some irritation.
"Oh, certainly. I am rather apt to wander in
worldly matters." Leigh cleared his throat and sat
up briskly with all his wits about him for once in his
dreamy life. "Mallien is descended from Walter
Hendle, and you from Frederick Hendle, their father
John being your common ancestor."
"Yes, that is so. But Mallien descends through the
female line, although he is the elder branch of the
family."
"There is no entail?"
"No. If there was, it would be in my favor, as I
descend through the male heirs. But what does all
this mean?"
"I shall tell you if you will allow me to collect my
thoughts. While searching in the Muniment Room,
Rupert, I came across letters of John Hendle, which
show that he loved his elder son Walter and greatly


66 THE LOST PARCHMENT
disliked his younger son Frederick. Walter was a
brave man, who fought for his country and who died
at Waterloo. Frederick, as the letters say, was a
scamp—what in those days was known as a blood.
Reckless, extravagant and evil, he alienated his fa-
ther's affections, and John Hendle desired to disin-
herit him."
"It is the first time I have heard of Frederick's in-
iquity," said Rupert with a shrug, "and I see little use
in raking up the evil done by a man who lived about
one hundred years ago."
Leigh took no notice of this observation. "John
desired that his granddaughter Eunice, the child of
his favorite son Walter, should inherit. As the prop-
erty was entirely at his own disposal, he made a will
in her favor."
Rupert jumped up so suddenly that he upset his
coffee. "What?"
"Pray don't act in so excitable a manner, Rupert,"
protested the vicar, raising his thin hand. "You irri-
tate my nerves."
"But—but—what you say—oh, it's absurd," stam-
mered the Squire. "There was never any question
about Frederick's inheriting the property. I don't
know much about the matter, as the thing didn't in-
terest me. But, if Frederick inherited wrongly,
surely the question would have been raised before."
"How could it be when the will in favor of Eunice
was missing?"
"Missing?"
"Yes. John made the will and apparently died sud-
denly before he could make it public. I found it,"
said Mr. Leigh slowly, "in the chest."
"In the Muniment Room?"


A REVELATION 67
"Yes. It is a will drawn up quite legally on parch-
ment as was the case in those days, although I don't
think wills are drawn up now on"
"Oh, never mind these minor points," broke in Ru-
pert hastily. "You say that you found a will, made
by John Hendle, leaving the property to Eunice, from
whom my cousin Mallien is descended?"
"I did. Some weeks ago I came across the docu-
ment. But I did not say anything until I ascertained
for myself as to which of you two was the right per-
son to have the money. I am inclined to think that
you had better keep it, Rupert, since Mallien is so
avaricious, and will not help anyone—not even me,
when I desire money for my expedition to forward
the cause of science."
"If this will is in order," said Rupert, rising to pace
the long room, and feeling painfully agitated. "Mal-
lien should have the property."
"I fear so; I fear so," murmured the vicar uncom-
fortably. "The same leaves the property unreserv-
edly to his grandmother Eunice. I have not told Mal-
lien, who would undoubtedly contest your right to
the estates, as I do not consider him a fit and proper
person to have much money."
"Right is right," said Hendle, whose face was pale
and whose lips were dry. "If Mallien is the rightful
heir, he must be placed in possession. But all this may
be a mistake on your parb Where is the will?"
Mr. Leigh looked nervous and distressed. "Dear
me, Rupert, I am afraid-1 have mislaid it. I took
it home to study it at my convenience, so as to make
sure that it really gave the property to Eunice. I did
examine it, and became quite positive that Mallien is
Jhe rightful heir. Then, somehow—you knowphovfeabg n >j y
•op r.-S ,


68 THE LOST PARCHMENT
sent-minded I am—I laid it aside and since have not
been able to find it. I have searched without result."
"You should have given it to me at once," said
Hendle, severely.
"But, my dear boy, I had your interest at heart,"
protested the vicar, wiping his forehead. "I know
how quixotic you are, and guessed that you would give
the property to Mallien without demur, if the will was
correct, which I fear it is. For your own sake I took
time to consider the discovery I had made."
"You must find the will at once," commanded Ru-
pert manfully, "and it must be submitted to the law-
yers. If Mallien is the heir, Mallien gets the money."
Mr. Leigh rose, much agitated. "I don't think he
should get it, Rupert. He is a greedy man, who
would only hoard up gold and make a bad use of
newly acquired wealth. I tell you he declined to help
me to fit out my expedition. I know you will, so you
ought to keep the money."
"How can you advise me to be so dishonest," cried
the Squire, indignantly, "you who are a clergyman of
the Church of England?"
"I have the greater sense of right from being so,"
rejoined the vicar, quite tartly for so amiable a man.
"And when I remember that you and yours have en-
joyed the property for one hundred years, it seems
ridiculous to hand it over to another man."
"Who belongs to the elder branch, remember," said
Rupert swiftly. "And who is, according to your
reading of this newly discovered will, the rightful
heir." He took a turn up and down the room, then
stopped to face the vicar who was fidgeting on the
hearth rug. "You must turn your house upside down
to find the will, Mr. Leigh, and it must be handed over


A REVELATION 69
to our family lawyers, so that Mallien may be placed
in possession of the property forthwith."
"Rupert, I implore you not to act hastily or fool-
ishly. "Say nothing about this belated testament,
which will do Mallien more harm than good consid-
ering his greedy and misanthropic nature. I will look
for it and will give it to you. Throw it into the chest
again."
"No! no! no! I would never have a moment's
peace if I did that. I know that Mallien is not the
man to have too much money, but I can't help that.
If he is the rightful heir, he must enter into his king-
dom. Besides, if I marry Dorinda, the property will
come back to me, representing the younger branch."
"If Mallien gets the property," said Mr. Leigh de-
liberately, "he will not allow you to marry Dorinda."
"I can trust her," said Rupert curtly.
"Quite so. But you will have no money to marry
her, and Mallien will cut her off with a shilling. He is
quite capable of doing so."
Hendle knew this well enough and reflected for a
few moments. "Say nothing to Mallien or to any-
one," he remarked finally, "until you find the will
and we can look over it together."
"Oh, I shall certainly hold my tongue," said the
vicar quickly. "Believe me, it is only my esteem for
you which makes me urge you not to notice the will.
Sleep on the question, Rupert, for the morning is
wiser than the night. This matter will remain strictly
between ourselves. Now good night; good night."
Hendle shook hands, not objecting to the vicar's
abrupt departure, and when alone groaned over the
unexpected fulfilment of his premonition.


CHAPTER VI
COUNSEL S OPINION
When Hendle, having a weight on his mind, woke
shortly after dawn, he remembered the vicar's pro-
verb, and thought that it might be true. Morning
certainly was wiser than the night with him, as he
began to ask himself why he should be so much dis-
turbed over an unproven matter. Leigh certainly as-
serted positively that he had found a hundred-year-old
will, made in favor of the elder branch of the Hendle
family, and, undoubtedly, he spoke in a way which
appeared to be genuine. But then, the vicar was a
queer, eccentric person, who sometimes believed his
visions to be facts, and who had on occasions some
difficulty in distinguishing between the real and the
unreal. In a perfectly honest way he might be mak-
ing a mistake, and Rupert, turning over the matter be-
fore rising, hoped fervently that such might prove to
be the case.
On the other hand, unless Mr. Leigh's statement
had some foundation, in fact, it seemed improbable
that he would even think of such a thing. There had
never been any question as to the legitimacy of Hendle
holding the property, and after a whole century had
elapsed, it seemed strange that such an odd question
should be raised. Assuredly the vicar must have
found something which had to do with the inheritance
70


COUNSEL'S OPINION 71
of the estates by the elder branch, else the fantastic
idea would not have entered his rather wavering
mind. But the will might not be good in law; it
might have been signed and not witnessed, or there
might be some flaw in its drawing up which would
nullify its provisions. If this was the case, Rupert
was far too sensible to think of surrendering his lands
and income to a man, who, on the face of it, would
make a bad use of the same. On the other hand, if
the will was quite in order, the Squire was honest
enough to step down from his throne and allow the
rightful king to take his seat thereon, evil as might
prove to be his rule. The whole question of right or
wrong turned on the production of the will.
Having reached this point in his meditations, Ru-
pert arose, and cleared his brain by a cold bath. It
would be foolish to say that he was not worried, for
he felt very much upset, as was natural, seeing there
was a chance of his being reduced to the condition
of a pauper. Mallien was not rich, but he had enough
to live on, so the acquisition of more money would
only result in his greater extravagance in the purchase
of jewels. But if the will proved to be legal, Hendle
foresaw that he—the Squire of Barship—would be
turned out of his pleasant home without a single
penny and without any means of earning one. He had
no profession; he had no trade; he was not over-
clever, and Mallien—he was sure of this—would not
allow him anything out of the estate. This was un-
comfortable enough in itself for a young man who
liked the good things of this life, but there was worse
to follow. He would lose Dorinda, since her father
would undoubtedly prevent the marriage with a pau-
per. The girl herself, as Rupert had said to the vicar,


72 THE LOST PARCHMENT
would remain true; but how could he ask her to be-
come his wife, when he could not support himself,
much less a helpmate? It was all very painful and
very disagreeable, and Rupert descended to breakfast
with a bad appetite.
"You don't look at all well, Mr. Hendle," remarked
Mrs. Beatson, when she came for orders after break-
fast. "Perhaps you are sickening for a fever."
"Not at all," replied her master, more crossly than
he was accustomed to speak to this dismal woman. "I
have had a wakeful night, that's all."
"Ah well, sir, it's natural, considering you are go-
ing to take such a serious step as marriage without
thinking about it."
Rupert allowed Mrs. Beatson a certain amount of
latitude, but here she overstepped the mark. He
passed over her observation in silence, and gave his
orders for the day. "I shall have dinner at eight," he
remarked, having arranged matters, "as I am going to
town and will not be back until late."
"Going to see the lawyers, I suppose, sir," men-
tioned the housekeeper with an odd look on her dreary
face.
Rupert looked up suddenly, wondering why she had
made such a pertinent observation, for it was in his
mind to do what she had suggested. "Why do you
suppose that, Mrs. Beatson?"
"Well, sir, it's only natural, as no doubt there are
marriage settlements to be prepared, and all must be
in order for the ceremony."
Mrs. Beatson said this glibly enough, and her rea-
son appeared to be very plausible. Nevertheless, her
glance was so significant that Hendle wondered if she
had guessed his trouble It seemed to be incredible,


COUNSEL'S OPINION 73
since Leigh had promised to hold his tongue until the
matter was properly threshed out. Yet there was a
certain malicious triumph lurking in the housekeeper's
look, which hinted that she was rejoicing at his ap-
proaching downfall. After swift reflection Rupert
thought that he was mistaken, and was in the position
of a man who sees a bird in every bush. He therefore
ignored Mrs. Beatson's remark and merely repeated
that he would return late to dine. The woman hesi-
tated for a moment, as if she wished to speak more
plainly, then tossed her head and glided out in her
ghostly way. Rupert frowned, for her behavior made
him uncomfortable. Yet it was impossible that she
should know anything of the thunderbolt which had
struck him.
And after all, as the Squire reflected when he
started to walk to the railway station, the thunderbolt
had not yet reached its mark and might not reach it
at all. Only an examination of the will would prove
if he was a rich man or a pauper, and in his anxiety to
learn this, Hendle called in at the Vicarage as he
passed the rickety gate. Strange to say, Mr. Leigh
proved to be absent, as he had gone to see a dying
parishioner.
It was only a short walk to the little wayside sta-
tion, at which the London trains stopped occasionally
during the day. Rupert caught the ten o'clock train
easily, and, although it was very full, managed to se-
cure a compartment to himself. Here, when the en-
gine started, he gave himself up to meditation, not, as
it may be guessed, of the most pleasant kind.
Hendle, as Mrs. Beatson ignorantly or knowingly
had suggested, really intended to consult lawyers. But,
before going to his family solicitors, he thought that


74 THE LOST PARCHMENT
he would ask the opinion of counsel in the person of
Carrington, as it struck him that there might be a
Statute of Limitations in connection with long-lost
wills. Even if there were, Rupert knew, in his own
heart, that if Mallien proved to be the rightful owner
of the property, he—the present owner—would never
be able to take advantage of any law quibble. It all
depended on the will, for, if not produced, he would
not be required—even by his own uneasy conscience—•
to surrender his house and income. He wondered if
Leigh had lost the will forever, in which case things
could remain as they were; he wondered if there was
a will at all, or, if there was, whether the vicar might
not have made a mistake; he wondered if the will
were found, if it would be all ship-shape, so as to de-
prive him of his kingdom. Indeed, Hendle wondered
in a more or less worried way throughout the journey
to town, and stepped out onto the platform of the
Liverpool Street station in anything but a happy
frame of mind. Carrington had envied him his
wealth and quiet existence; it was anything but quiet
now, and the wealth—if the vicar proved to be cor-
rect—was about to take wings to itself and fly away
into Mallien's gaping pockets. In a dismal frame of
mind, Rupert took a taxi to Friars Inn.
It was in this set of tall buildings that Carrington
had his chambers for business purposes.
"Hendle!" said the barrister, when his visitor was
ushered into a bare room sparsely furnished and look-
ing very business-like, "this is a surprise. How are
you, old chap; not up to much, from the look of you."
"I'm bothered out of my life," replied Hendle, tak-
ing the cane chair—a most uncomfortable one—
which was pointed out to him.


COUNSEL'S OPINION 75
"Oh, I think there is sufficient life left in you to
stand a trifle more strain," was Carrington's flippant
observation, as he resumed his seat at a very business-
like desk. "I can't guess in any way what can bother
you."
"No one, but the wearer, knows where the shoe
pinches," quoted Hendle grimly.
"Quite so, and no one ever will know unless the
wearer explains the bad fit, my friend. Bothered?
You! With beeves and lands and money, and the
promise of a beautiful and desirable damsel to be
your wife."
"That's just it," said the visitor, seizing the open-
ing. "I may lose all these things, Carrington."
The barrister wheeled his chair round to stare, and
his keen dark face was alive with curiosity. "Have
you been outrunning the constable?" he asked; "has
the lady changed her mind? Has"
"You are wide of the mark. To put the matter
in a nutshell, it's a will."
"A will! What about it?"
"This much. It exists and may disinherit me."
"The deuce. In whose favor?"
"In favor of Julius Mallien, my cousin."
"Then he will have his rights, if he has a leg to
stand on," said Carrington grimly. "Mallien struck
me as a man who would go through fire and water for
himself. Why did your father make a will in his
favor?"
"He did not. The will was made one hundred
years ago, by John Hendle, from whom Mallien and I
are descended."
"One hundred years ago," echoed the barrister puz-


76 THE LOST PARCHMENT
zled. "Then how comes it you have to do with it
now?"
"Leigh found it in the Muniment Room."
"Confound his zeal. But still I don't quite under-
stand. Perhaps you will tell me the whole story from
the beginning. I suppose you have come to ask my
advice as a friend?"
"Yes, and as a barrister."
"My best forensic lore is at your disposal. Well?"
Hendle at once began his explanation, and, as he
proceeded, became much too restless to remain seated.
Midway in the recital he started to his feet and be-
gan to pace the narrow limits of the office. Shading
his eyes with his hand and drawing figures on the
blotting paper, Carrington listened to the rather
amazing story of Leigh's discovery, and when in pos-
session of the facts looked rather skeptical. "I un-
derstand that you have not seen the will?"
"No. Leigh, as is natural with so untidy a man,
has mislaid it."
"Then how do you know the will exists?"
"Leigh says so."
"Humph!" Carrington threw down his pencil and
leaned back with a doubtful look. "I think the vicar's
wits must be wool-gathering. He has no enmity
against you, I suppose?"
"Enmity?" Hendle stopped in his walk and stared.
"I mean he is your friend."
"Oh, yes. Leigh and I are great friends."
"And his attitude toward Mallien?"
"He doesn't like him overmuch. Mallien is so rude
to him."
"And to everyone," finished Carrington with a
shrug. "A most disagreeable person. Well, as Leigh


COUNSEL'S OPINION 77
likes you and doesn't like your cousin, I take it he
could not have invented this story to do you out of
the property in Mallien's favor."
"No. Leigh is the best of good fellows, though
rather eccentric. He must have found the will; it is
impossible that he could have suggested its existence
otherwise."
"I suppose not," murmured Carrington vaguely;
then glanced shrewdly at his client. "Does he know
your family history?"
"Everyone in Barship knows that," replied Hendle,
dropping again into his chair with a sigh. "There is
nothing to know really, as we have always been a dull,
homely lot of people."
"Tell me how your descent runs from John Hen-
dle?"
"In the direct male line. Frederick, the son;
Henry, the grandson; Charles, the great-grandson,
and myself, the great-great-grandson."
"And Mallien's descent?"
"He comes in the female line from Walter, the
eldest son of John Hendle. Eunice, the daughter of
Walter and the granddaughter of John, married
George Filbert. Mrs. Filbert had a daughter Anne,
who married Frank Mallien, and her son is Julius, my
cousin, who has, as you know, a daughter."
"Dorinda, to whom you are engaged," commented
Carrington; "that marriage will bring the elder and
the younger branches of the family together. A very
good arrangement. Will Julius marry again?"
"I don't think so. He hates women."
"I should think every single member of the sex re-
turned the compliment. But what I mean is, that


78 THE LOST PARCHMENT
when you marry Miss Mallien, the money will come
to you and her when her father dies."
"It should, as we two represent the elder and
younger branches of the family, joined, as you ob-
served. But Mallien is quite capable of leaving the
money elsewhere out of devilment. He tolerates me
because I lend him money, and he has very little affec-
tion for Dorinda. We are to marry next month, be-
cause I have promised Mallien five hundred a year
when I make Dorinda my wife, and he is now in a
hurry for the money. But," added Rupert anxiously,
"if he knew that he was the rightful heir, he would
forbid the marriage."
"It is probable he would, since he has such a sweet
nature," said Carrington dryly; "but would Miss Mal-
lien obey him?"
"No. She loves me too well for that. But, of
course, if I lose the property, I am reduced to pauper-
ism pure and simple, and could scarcely ask the girl
to share my nothing."
The barrister nodded sympathetically. "It's a
beastly position," he said, after a pause, "especially
as you haven't been brought up to earn your own liv-
ing in any way. But, of course, we are building on
sand. Nobody but this weird parson has seen the will,
so it may not exist."
"I don't see why Leigh should think of such a thing
if the will does not exist," said Rupert impatiently.
"True enough. Well, let us grant that the will
does exist and leaves the property to Eunice Filbert,
from whom Mallien traces his descent. Still, posses-
sion is nine points of the law, and your lot has held
the property for close upon one hundred years. There
is a Statute of Limitations."


80 THE LOST PARCHMENT
without a penny, especially when Mallien is such an
unamiable person?"
"It's hard, I grant," replied Rupert ruefully; "yet,
as an honest man, what else can I do?"
"It seems to me that there is a limit to honesty,"
said Carrington tartly. "I scarcely think that I could
act so quixotically if I had to do with the matter.
However, we can discuss this point when the will is
in your possession, and we can make sure that what
Leigh says is true. When do you hope to get it?"
"Well, I don't know. Leigh said that he had mis-
laid it and would search for it, so I have called this
morning on the chance that he might have found it.
He was absent attending to a dying woman, and of
course I couldn't interrupt him at his business. I left
a message that I would call again when I returned
this evening."
"When do you return?"
"By the seven o'clock train. I shall arrive in time
for dinner. I told Mrs. Beatson that I would dine at
eight."
"If Leigh finds the will, I presume he will bring it
to you this evening at The Big House?"
"He might and he might not. And in any case I
shall call."
Carrington considered the remark for a few mo-
ments and stared out of the window at the chimney
pots. "I don't think that I would call if I were you,
Hendle," he said at length.
"Why not?"
"Because this case needs a more careful handling
than you are able to give it, my friend. Leave Leigh
alone until to-morrow, and I'll come down some time
about midday to interview the vicar along with you."


COUNSEL'S OPINION 81
"It's very good of you, Carrington," said the per-
plexed Squire gratefully. "I don't expect one night
will make any difference, as I shall be certain of the
bad news soon enough. I'll wait until you can go with
me to-morrow to the Vicarage; perhaps, by then,
Leigh will have found the will."
"I don't leave the Vicarage until he has found it,"
said Carrington grimly. "It's too important a docu-
ment to be left in the hands of a shiftless creature
such as Leigh. He is quite capable of taking it to
Mallien, if it is in favor of Mallien's grandmother,
as he asserts."
Hendle, standing up to go away, shook his head.
"I don't think he will go past me," he remarked
slowly. "In the first place, he dislikes Mallien be-
cause of Mallien's brusque manners, and in the sec-
ond Mallien refused, out of his present income, to
help him to fit out an expedition to Yucatan."
"Central America. Why does the vicar want to go
there?"
"Oh, he's been reading some diary of Mallien's fa-
ther, describing certain researches amongst buried
cities in those wilds, and wants to go there and look
up things for himself."
"I dare say if you finance this expedition, Leigh
will say nothing about the will—that is, if he has
already said nothing to anyone," said Carrington.
"He told me that he had not. Save you and I no
one knows about Leigh's discovery. It's just as well
that Mallien doesn't know," ended Rupert, with a
shrug, "or he would tear down the Vicarage, or rob
it, to get the testament which would make him a rich
man."
"Well, I don't think a weak old buffer like Leigh


82 THE LOST PARCHMENT
could put up much fight, Hendle. Well, my advice
is for you to hold your tongue, and refrain from see-
ing Leigh until to-morrow afternoon. Then we can
tackle him together. Buck up and face the music,
old chap," added the barrister, clapping his friend on
the back, "after all, the thing may prove to be a false
alarm. I don't place much reliance on that dreaming
parson."
"Nor do I," answered Rupert, as he took his leave,
"but, in this case, I fancy there must be a fire to ac-
count for the smoke. Leigh could not have invented
a will which does not exist. Well then, good-bye. I
shall see you to-morrow."
"At one o'clock or thereabouts; anyhow, before
two. Meanwhile, don't see anyone and particularly
not Miss Mallien. She is sure to spot your dismals,
and if she begins to question you may give yourself
away."
Rupert halted on the threshold, hesitating for a
while, but finally promised not to see Dorinda.
Then, as there was nothing else to be done, he went
to a matinee of a successful play to distract his mind,
and returned, as he had arranged, in time for his
eight o'clock dinner. After the meal, he spent a very
dull evening, reading the newspapers and playing pa-
tience. But for his promise to Carrington he would
have walked to the cottage to see Dorinda, and he
sorely felt the want of her society at this crisis. How-
ever, he saw the wisdom of the barrister's advice, not
to acquaint her with the trouble until more was ascer-
tained for certain, lest, by arousing Mallien's suspi-
cions, that gentleman might learn too much. And
Mallien was very quick as a rule to guess that some-
thing was being kept from him.


COUNSEL'S OPINION 83
So Rupert possessed his soul in patience and re-
tired to bed early. After a somewhat restless night,
he descended to breakfast to find that ill news travels
fast. It was Mrs. Beatson who conveyed this espe-
cial information, and she did so with delight, always
anxious to pass on any news of any disaster.
"Oh, Mr. Hendle," she cried, bursting into the
breakfast room without knocking; "such a terrible
thing has happened! Mr. Leigh is dead! Mr. Leigh
has been murdered!"


CHAPTER VII
A NINE DAYS' WONDER
The information concerning the vicar's violent
death was so extraordinary and so wholly unexpected
that Rupert could not believe it to be entirely true.
However, Mrs. Beatson's tempestuous announcement
spoiled his breakfast, and, leaving the meal unfin-
ished, the Squire hurried down to the village. Here
everything was in a state of commotion, as it was
rarely that so untoward an event disturbed the placid-
ity of Barship. No one—from the flying rumors
Hendle gathered during his progress—appeared to be
acquainted with the exact facts of the case. Some
said that Mr. Leigh had committed suicide; others,
that a burglar, surprised at midnight, had struck the
blow; while a few declared that the vicar was only
wounded and would recover. But when Hendle
reached the untidy house, he learned from the tearful
Mrs. Jabber that the information was only too true.
Mr. Leigh, with a nasty ragged wound on his right
temple, had been found dead in his study at seven
o'clock in the morning, and Kensit, the village con-
stable, was already on the premises looking into the
matter along with Dr. Tollart. The two, it seemed,
had arrived simultaneously, Kensit having picked up
the doctor on the road.
"And you could have knocked me down with a
84


86 THE LOST PARCHMENT
man as we know Mr. Leigh always was. He was
struck down by a loaded cane or a bludgeon, unex-
pected like, if my experience goes for anything."
"But who on earth could have murdered him,
Kensit?" asked Rupert, greatly puzzled. "Mr. Leigh
was such a harmless man and had no enemies."
"P'raps a burglar, sir," suggested the constable
wisely.
"But who would commit a burglary here?" said
Rupert, looking round the entrance hall where they
were standing. "There is nothing to carry off except
books, and no man would risk a rope round his neck
for such antique rubbish."
"True enough, Mr. Hendle. And, knowing that he
had nothing worth stealing, Mr. Leigh never bothered
himself to lock up the house at night. There's no
catches to speak of on the windows, and the bolts of
the doors ain't up to much. Anyone could walk in
and walk out at any time without trouble, as he did."
"Oh. Then you think that the assassin was a
man?"
"Well, sir, I don't suppose a female would come
along assaulting people with blows on the back of
the head. To be sure, there's Miss Sophy Tollart,
who is a suffragist," mused the constable; "but Mr.
Leigh never argued with her over them votes for
women as I've ever heard."
In spite of the seriousness of the case, Hendle
could not help smiling. "I think we can acquit Miss
Tollart, Kensit," he observed. "The militant suf-
fragist destroys property and not human beings. Ah,
here is the doctor. Well?"
Tollart emerged into the hall as the Squire spoke,
but did not seem to be over-eager to reply. He was


A NINE DAYS' WONDER 87
a tall, bulky man, with a large red perspiring face,
eyes like poached eggs, and a loose mouth sug-.
gestive of the hard drinker. As Mrs. Jabber had
hinted, he had already had his morning dram, and
his wits seemed to be muddled. Not at all the man,
as Rupert thought with some disgust, to examine a
murdered fellow-mortal's remains.
"Whew, isn't it hot, Hendle?" he remarked, mop-
ping his streaming face with a dingy handkerchief.
"That in there"—he jerked his head toward the study
—"will have to be buried pretty smart; it won't keep
long. The sooner he's under ground the better."
"He won't be put under ground," said Kensit,
smartly. "The Leighs have their family vault, you
know, doctor."
"Well! Well, vault or grave, the weather's too
hot to keep the thing sweet," was Tollart's unpleasant
reply. "Nice business, isn't it, Hendle? I always
thought that the old man would be knocked on the
head."
"Why?" asked the Squire, and Kensit looked the
same question.
"Why!"—Tollart leaned against the pile of books
near the wall, as his constant nipping made him
shaky on his ponderous legs—"why, because he never
locked up the house, and it stands away from the vil-
lage in quite a lonely fashion. Anyone could break in
here, or rather walk in, as Leigh never bothered about
bolts and bars."
"There was nothing to guard, Tollart. I don't think
it was worth any burglar's while to risk his neck for
nothing."
"The man who downed Leigh was of a different
opinion," said Tollart grimly.


90 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"Then it was a burglar," declared Kensit, positively.
Hendle shrugged his shoulders. "I don't see what
there was to steal," he replied carelessly, and then he
went away, after leaving a message that he would
like to interview the Tarhaven Inspector when he was
at leisure.
There was a crowd round the rickety gate—now
closed for the first time for many years—but a po-
liceman, summoned by Kensit from a neighboring
village, was on guard, and would not allow anyone
to enter. He saluted Rupert as he passed out, and
the young man mechanically touched his hat in re-
sponse. Down the road he came suddenly upon old
Titus Ark, who was ruminating against a stone wall,
looking more prehistoric than ever. The ancient
grunted as the young Squire sauntered along thought-
fully in the blazing sunshine, and raised a gnarled
hand to his battered hat. Considering that he was
Leigh's bodyguard, who followed him everywhere
like a dog, Hendle expected to find the old man tear-
ful with the weakness of age. But Titus was smiling
in a way which showed his toothless gums, and piped
out an ordinary greeting, quite oblivious of the tre-
mendous event which was disturbing the village.
"Morning, Squoire," said Ark, with his usual grunt.
"Fine weather fur they crops I du think. Hor! Hor!
Hor!"
Rupert stopped to rebuke this levity. "Don't you
know that Mr. Leigh is dead?"
"Oh, no, he bain't dead," said the ancient easily.
"A knock on the head don't settle such as he."
"Nonsense, man! Why, the vicar was extremely
weak, and a mere tap would settle him. What are
you talking about?"


2 NINE DAYS' WONDER 91
"About Muster Leigh. Hor! Hor! Hor! He
ain't dead. I've seen him dead afore, but he nivir
come my way fur the berryin', Squoire."
"He'll come your way this time, Titus, I am
afraid," replied Rupert, wondering why the old man
was so stubborn. He surmised that, as Leigh—ac-
cording to the doctor—had heart disease, he must
have fainted at times in Ark's presence, which would
account for the sexton's saying he had seen him dead.
"I suppose you don't know who murdered him?"
"He bain't murdered, Squoire."
"Then you don't know who struck him?" said Hen-
die, amending his question.
"Naw. Muster Leigh, he said good-bye to me last
night at six when he left Mussus Pattens, who is my
datter. She's taken a turn for the better."
"I'm glad to hear it, Titus. Did Mr. Leigh say
if he expected any visitor last night?"
"Naw," said the ancient again. "He niwer told
naught to I, Squoire. You can ask him himself when
he comes aloive again."
Plainly Ark declined to believe that his lifelong
friend was dead, and it seemed useless to impress
him with the undoubted fact. He complained that the
policeman would not allow him to enter the Vicarage,
and that no one would take any notice of his protes-
tations that Leigh was not dead. Rupert, although in
a hurry to return to his unfinished breakfast, stayed
to persuade Titus to take a more reasonable view of
the situation.
"Dr. Tollart says that Mr. Leigh has passed away.
Besides the knock on the head he had heart disease,
and either the one or the other was enough to kill
him."


92 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"Dr. Tollart," grunted Ark stolidly, "he be better
wi beer than wi curing folk. I nivir heard tell as
Muster Leigh had heart-badness. He be aloive, I tell
ee, Squoire."
"Well, Titus, have your own way. But it will be
your duty within a couple of days if not less, seeing
that the weather is hot, to put our late vicar in his
family vault."
"Oh, I'll put him there, Squoire; but he bain't dead
'fur all that. Hor! Hor! Hor!"
With another shrug Rupert passed on, and re-
turned to The Big House to find Dorinda. She
greeted him hastily and appeared to be very dismayed
at the dreadful news of the vicar's murder. "Who
could have hurt him, Rupert?" she asked, again and
again. "He had no enemies. He would not have
harmed a fly."
"I'm sure I can't tell you, dear. Kensit seems to
think that it was a burglar did the trick."
"But there was nothing in the Vicarage to rob,"
protested Dorinda.
"Just what I say. However, some burglar from
London might have believed that Leigh was a miser
and had treasure."
"Has any stranger from London been seen about
the village?"
"No. Kensit can't make head nor tail of it," Ru-
pert shook his head and thought for a moment. "Un-
less some very startling evidence turns up, Dorinda, I
don't believe that the truth will ever become known.
What does your father say, dear?"
"Nothing. You know father did not care much for
Mr. Leigh. He told me that he was sorry, but that
.


A NINE DAYS' WONDER 93
Leigh was a fool, or he would have locked up his
house regularly every night."
"Your father hasn't much sympathy, Dorinda."
"He never has. You know how badly he thinks of
everyone. What is to be done about the murder, Ru-
pert?"
"The Inspector from Tarhaven is coming to-day,
and he will arrange for an inquest this afternoon or
to-morrow. Upon what evidence is obtainable will
depend the next step. I expect the body"—Dorinda
quivered and turned pale—"will be buried almost im-
mediately."
"Why. Don't they keep bodies a week?"
"Sometimes. But in this case, Tollart says that the
sooner poor Leigh is buried the better. The corpse"
—Rupert hesitated—"won't keep."
"Oh, don't"—Dorinda made a wry face—"poor Mr.
Leigh. He was such a good man, Rupert. Who in-
herits his books, which are all he has left."
"I think there's a distant cousin of sorts, a ship
captain. He won't benefit much by Leigh's death. I
wonder if the old man made a will."
"Oh, yes. He told me a year ago that he had, but
did not mention to whom he had left his library. You
are the executor."
"Am I, indeed? That is news to me, as Leigh
never asked my permission. However"—Hendle was
thinking of the probability of his ancestor's will being
among the papers and books—"it is just as well under
the circumstances."
"What do you mean by that?"
Hendle tugged at his moustache and replied in an
embarrassed fashion, "Oh, nothing, only I can look
after things better than a stranger, you know. By


A NINE DAYS' WONDER 95
dare say it is a foolish, silly feeling; but it's here for
all that," and she laid her hand on her heart.
Rupert took as much pains to argue away this
fancy as he had done to argue away the fancy of
Titus Ark. But Dorinda was quite as stubborn in her
belief that evil fortune was coming to prevent the
marriage, as the sexton was that Leigh was alive.
Finally, because Rupert laughed at her, she parted
from him rather irritated at the corner, where he
branched off to the station road. She would not even
look back when her lover went away, and Rupert
walked on to meet Carrington with the reflection that
women were kittle cattle, as the Scotch say. As a
rule, Dorinda was amiable and calm, so it seemed
strange that she should be so easily annoyed this
morning. But there was a reasonable excuse after all,
as Hendle concluded, since the girl, always having
been markedly friendly with the vicar, the poor man's
violent death naturally shocked and upset her greatly.
Moreover, the heartless comments which Mallien the
cynic was more than likely to make, assuredly would
add to Dorinda's distress. By the time he reached the
station, Rupert had explained away to his own satis-
faction the unusual emotion of the girl.
True to his promise Carrington arrived by the mid-
day train and hopped out onto the platform as lively
as a cricket. In gray flannels, a straw hat and brown
shoes, the barrister looked handsome, well-bred and
very much alive. The sight of his keen face and in-
telligent dark eyes comforted Hendle, as he knew that
Carrington, if anyone, would be helpful in the matter
of the vicar's mysterious murder.
"Here you are and here I am, Hendle," cried the
new arrival briskly, as he gave up his ticket and


96 THE LOST PARCHMENT
walked out of the station along with the Squire. "I
say, old chap, you're worrying considerably over this
will business. There's a drawn, tired look on your
face, which shows that you haven't slept a wink."
"Well, I didn't have a particularly restful night,"
admitted the other with a sigh. "And what has hap-
pened this morning doesn't help to make me feel any
happier, Carrington."
"Eh, what?" the barrister stopped. "Then Leigh
has found the will and"
"Leigh is dead," Hendle informed him abruptly.
"Dead!" Carrington stared. "Dead! What are
you talking about?"
"About what has happened," replied the other
heavily. "Leigh was found dead in his study this
morning."
Carrington looked at Hendle doubtfully. "You're
pulling my leg," he said, in a disbelieving tone.
"I don't pull people's legs over such a serious mat-
ter. I tell you positively that the vicar is dead. All
the village is in commotion."
"Dead!" repeated Carrington once more as they
moved on toward Barship. "The unexpected has hap-
pened with a vengeance. Well, well, he wasn't young,
and looked like a delicate man, who would pop off at
any moment."
"This death has nothing to do with delicacy, Car-
rington. Leigh has been murdered."
"Oh, Lord!" Man of the world as he was, Car-
rington received a shock. "Poor old chap. Mur-
dered! What a beastly thing to happen! Who mur-
dered him?"
"No one knows. The police are looking into the
matter now. He was found dead in his study at


A NINE DAYS' WONDER 97
seven this morning, and there is a wound on the right
temple. So far, the only conclusion arrived at is that
some one tried to rob the house, and, being discov-
ered, struck Leigh down."
"I can't see that there was anything in the house
worth a burglar committing such a crime for," re-
marked Carrington, taking off his hat.
"There wasn't. No one in the village would have
attempted a burglary, since Leigh was known to be
very poor. Besides, Leigh was too popular for any-
one to hurt him. But a stranger"
"Ah," broke in Carrington swiftly, "a stranger.
Has any stranger been seen hovering about the Vicar-
age?"
"No. Kensit, our village policeman, was on his
rounds as usual last night, but declares that he saw
no one."
"But some tramp"
"No tramps have been hanging about the village
Of late."
Carrington looked puzzled. "It seems to be a mys-
tery. At what time was the poor chap murdered?"
"No one knows. But Dr. Tollart thinks the blow
was struck about eleven o'clock last night."
"Has the weapon been found?"
"No!"
"Did that housekeeper hear any noise?"
"No! Nothing was known of the murder until
she found her master dead near his writing table.
The Inspector has been sent for to Tarhaven and will
be here shortly. Indeed, I expect he is here now. He
will take charge of the house and look into the mat-
ter."
"Humph!" remarked the barrister thoughtfully.


98 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"As I said before, it seems to be a mystery. This In-
spector will take charge of all Leigh's books and pa-
pers, I suppose."
"Yes. Why not?"
"Oh, I am not saying against his handling them.
But the will"
"The will. Yes?"
"Can't you see, Hendle. If this Inspector looks
through the papers left by Leigh, which he probably
will, he is bound to come across that hundred-year-
old testament you mentioned yesterday."
Rupert winced. "I expect he will, unless poor
Leigh has so carefully mislaid it that it cannot be
found. But what if he does?"
"Well, then all the fat will be on the fire," said
Carrington with an air of finality.
"I suppose you mean that the will must be made
public. Why not? If it is a legitimate document,
Mallien must get the money, and if it isn't, my posi-
tion remains unchanged. In any case, whether Leigh
lived or died, what he discovered would have to be
shown all round."
"Quite so. But you didn't want it to be shown all
round until you looked into the matter privately along
with me," argued Carrington, quickly.
"True enough. I should like to have seen the docu-
ment before Mallien became aware that it existed.
However, as things stand, the will is bound to be
found, and Mallien is bound to know. We must
thresh out the matter openly straightway, and I shall
do my best to avoid trouble."
"I don't see how you can avoid it, Hendle. Mal-
lien is not the man to let a chance of getting a for-
tune go."


A NINE DAYS' WONDER 99
"I am sure he isn't," retorted the Squire positively.
"And he is certain to make things as disagreeable
for me as possible. But if I surrender the property,
should the will prove to be legal, I don't see that he
can worry me."
"You will lose everything," warned the barrister,
significantly.
"Unfortunately, yes."
"Including Miss Mallien."
"I suppose so," admitted the Squire reluctantly.
"Even if she remains true to me, as I am sure she
will, I can't ask her to marry me on nothing a year."
There was silence for a few minutes as the two men
walked into the village, and it was Carrington who
spoke first. "I'm awfully sorry for you, old man."
"I'm rather sorry for myself. However, what must
be must be, so there's no more to be said. By the
way, Dorinda told me that Leigh had made me his
executor. I never knew that he had, until she told
me.
"Leigh took your friendship for granted, it seems.
Who inherits?"
"I don't know. His sole relative is a sea captain,
somewhere in Australia. I have heard him speak of
the young fellow—a cousin of sorts—as the last of the
Leighs. There isn't much to leave in the way of
property."
"So you are executor," murmured Carrington
thoughtfully. "In that case, you will have the han-
dling of the papers, and may be able to get possession
of the will before the Inspector lays hands on it."
"What good will that do?" asked Hendle, irritably.
"You can suppress the will."
"I shouldn't think of doing such a thing."
luuj/uii


CHAPTER VIII
MALLIEN SPEAKS
Anxious to help Rupert, and, at his friend's re-
quest, Carrington remained at The Big House until
the inquest was over, and the burial of the murdered
man took place. Both he and the Squire could do
little save watch the course of events, as neither of
them wished to say anything about the missing will,
and neither could suggest any reason why the crime
should have been committed. And, indeed, the police
were equally unable to solve the problem, since the
murder, on the face of it, appeared to be purposeless
and the assassin could not be discovered. Inspector
Lawson, of Tarhaven, did his best to find a clue, but
from first to last was unsuccessful. He did not even
know where to look for one, and when the inquest was
held, had absolutely no evidence to place before the
Coroner and jury. Leigh's murderer had come out
of the night and had gone into the night; but why
he had come to commit so dastardly a crime, and
whither he had gone after achieving his aim, it was
wholly impossible to say. The affair was unpleasant,
mysterious and uncanny.
Pursuant to the opinion of Dr. Tollart, proceedings
in connection with the death were hurried on as
speedily as possible. The weather was certainly
amazingly hot, as for weeks a powerful sun had been
blazing in a cloudless blue sky. The gardens glowed
101


102 THE LOST PARCHMENT
with many-colored flowers, but the growing crops
were parched for want of rain, and everywhere in
the district people were complaining of the shortage
of water. Under the circumstances, and because
nothing relevant to the assassin could be discovered,
Tollart's advice seemed to be very sensible. There-
fore the inquest was held at The Hendle Arms on the
day after Mrs. Jabber had discovered her master's
corpse, and on that same afternoon the body was
placed in the family vault of the Leighs. The trouble
had happened so suddenly, the proceedings had been
carried through so swiftly, that everything in con-
nection therewith was over and done with before peo-
ple had time to wholly realize what had taken place.
With regard to the inquest, that necessary function
was dispatched very quickly. There was little to be
done and little to be said, as no new details were
forthcoming concerning the dreadful event. The
jury inspected the body at the Vicarage, and then
went on to The Hendle Arms to hear what could be
said about the matter. Several reporters from Lon-
don journals were present, but the interest in the
case was more local than general, as there was noth-
ing in it likely to cause a sensation. The general
opinion was that some burglar had entered the ill-
guarded Vicarage, and that the parson had been
struck down while trying to capture the thief. But,
as nothing was missing from the house, many scouted
this idea, and ascribed the death to a deeper cause.
But what that cause might be, this minority were un-
able to say. Nor did the evidence procurable tend to
lighten the darkness which shrouded the crime.
Mrs. Jabber, more respectably dressed than usual,
and even more voluble, gave her evidence with many


MALLIEN SPEAKS 103
tears and sighs. The old woman had been deeply at-
tached to the vicar, and could not understand why he
should have met with so terrible and unexpected a
death. She deposed to going to bed at ten o'clock as
usual, after taking into the study a glass of milk for
her master.
"And there I left him, as happy as a trout in a
pond," cried Mrs. Jabber, with tears running down
her face, "busy with his books as usual; he, enjoying
them the more after having been to see Mrs. Patter,
as I'm glad to say is getting better, though it's more
nor she deserves, her being such a gossip, and"
Here the witness was checked by the Coroner, on
the ground that she was dealing with matters irrele-
vant to the inquiry. "Did Mr. Leigh expect anyone to
visit him on that night?"
"Lord, bless you, no, sir, and if he did, he wouldn't
have mentioned it to me."
"You retired at ten o'clock?"
"Me and Jabber, yes, sir, both being tired with the
heat and the day's work."
"And you saw nothing of Mr. Leigh until seven
the next morning?"
"Not even the nose of him, sir, and I heard no
noise, me being a heavy sleeper as Jabber is, although
I don't snore, say what he likes."
In fact Mrs. Jabber's statement did nothing to solve
the mystery. She admitted that the b6lts and bars at
the Vicarage were not what they should be, consid-
ering the lonely position of the house. "But, Lord
bless you, sir, there ain't never been no trouble with
thieves and robbers nohow, as there wasn't anything
to tempt them."
"Then you don't think that a burglar"


104 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"No, I don't, sir. There's nothing missing." *
Mrs. Jabber stuck to her tale, and what she said
was corroborated by her husband, a meek, trembling
little man, wholly dominated by his stronger-minded
wife. He had gone to bed at ten o'clock; he had
heard nothing during the night likely to arouse his
suspicions, and the first news he had of the murder
was from his wife, when she stumbled on the dead
body at seven in the morning. "And then I went and
told Kensit all about it," finished Mr. Jabber with a
very white face, evidently afraid lest he should be
accused of committing the crime.
Tollart, who was just as red-faced, but much more
sober than usual, stated that he had been called in by
the village constable within an hour after the body
had been discovered. Mr. Leigh had been struck on
the right temple by some heavy instrument—proba-
bly a bludgeon—and the blow, taken in connection
with his weak heart, must have caused death instan-
taneously. The certificate of death was worded to
that effect. Leigh was a patient of his, and had never
been very strong, added to which, his mode of life
had weakened him considerably. On the whole, the
shabby, disreputable doctor, knowing that the eyes of
his little world were on him, gave his evidence very
clearly and resolutely, so that he created a good im-
pression. There was no question as to the cause of
death after Tollart's statement, even though his coup-
ling of heart disease and a blow seemed rather mud-
dled. No one in the village had expected Leigh to
live to any considerable age, owing to his delicate ap-
pearance, so it was quite certain that the violent as-
sault had killed him. It would have been a wonder
to many had he survived the blow.


MALLIEN SPEAKS 105
For no very apparent reason Hendle was called,
but all that he could say brought nothing to light. He
related how Leigh had dined with him, and how he
had called at the Vicarage next day while on his way
to London. So far as the witness knew, Leigh was
in good health and spirits. "The announcement of
his death came as a shock to me," finished Rupert.
"Had he any enemies?" questioned the Coroner.
"Not to my knowledge. A more amiable man never
existed."
"Do you know anything of his past life?"
"Only that he had been vicar here ever since I was
a child, and was devoted to books and to archaeology.
With the exception of his parishioners, myself and
Mr. Mallien and his daughter, I don't think be ever
saw anyone. He was wholly wrapped up in his
books."
"Then there was nothing in his past life which
suggests any reason why this crime should have been
committed?"
"Certainly not, so far as I know."
Inspector Lawson and Kensit, the village police-
man, gave what sparse evidence they could. The lat-
ter declared that while on his rounds on the night of
the murder he had met ho one and had seen nothing
suspicious when he passed the gate of the Vicarage.
At the hour when the crime was said by Dr. Tollart
to have been committed, witness was on the other side
of the village. Lawson deposed that no weapon had
been found, that no evidence of any intruder had been
discovered.
"I understood that the study was in a state of dis-
order," said the Coroner.
"I gather from many sources that the study was


106 THE LOST PARCHMENT
always in a state of disorder," retorted the Inspector.
Kensit, recalled, said that he did not think that the
study was even more untidy than usual. Everything
was turned upside down—books and papers, "Just as
if some one had been searching for something," de-
clared the witness.
"Then you think that the murderer killed the vicar,
and then looked about to find something, which he
wished to get, and for the possession of which he
committed the crime?"
Kensit hesitated. "I am not prepared to go that
far," he remarked, after a pause. "All I can say is
that I gained some such impression."
When this speech was made, Rupert glanced at
Carrington and Carrington looked at Rupert. The
same idea struck them simultaneously, that the mur-
derer might have been searching for the will of John
Hendle. But then the existence of that document was
known only to the dead man, to the barrister and to
the Squire. Rupert had been fast asleep when the
crime was committed, and Carrington had been in
London, so, of course, neither of the two could have
had anything to do with the matter. Still, it seemed
strange that the books and papers of the deceased
should have been messed up. If search had not been
made for the will in question, for what had the mys-
terious murderer been looking? This question both
the young men asked themselves, and asked each other
when the inquest was over.
It came to an end very speedily. The Coroner
could only direct the attention of the jury to the facts
laid before them, and did not offer any opinion, as
indeed he could not. The jury brought in a verdict
of "Willful murder against some person or persons


MALLIEN SPEAKS 107
unknown," which was all that could be done. Then
the meeting broke up, the reporters slipped away with
their loaded notebooks, grumbling at the dullness of
the matter, and the crowd of villagers dispersed to
wonder, for the hundredth time, who could have
killed their amiable and kindly natured vicar.
"The beast who murdered Leigh could not have
been looking for that will."
It was Hendle who spoke, as he walked back to
The Big House with Carrington. The barrister
shrugged his shoulders and replied, "I had the same
idea when that policeman made his statement, and I
saw you look at me. I agree with you, although it is
strange that the books and papers should have been
turned upside down. But only you and I know of
"Of course, of course," broke in the Squire quickly,
"and, as I was in bed, and you in London, of course
we had nothing to do with the matter."
"Did you tell anyone else about the will?"
"No. I never mentioned it to a soul."
"Good. I shouldn't if I were you."
Carrington's tone was so significant that the Squire
turned on him in a sharp, inquiring way. "What do
you mean?"
"I mean that if anyone knew about the existence
of John Hendle's will, and what it meant to you, it
is possible that on you suspicion might rest."
"What rubbish!" said Rupert uncomfortably. "I
was in bed and asleep at the time the crime was com-
mitted."
"How can you prove that?"
Rupert looked surprised. "Why, I saw that the


108 THE LOST PARCHMENT
butler locked up as usual, and he knew that I went to
bed earlier than usual."
"Quite so. But when all the house was asleep, you
might have risen from your bed and have gone
through the sleeping village to see Leigh."
"Why should I do that?"
"I don't say you did," persisted Carrington. "I
am only suggesting what people would say if the ex-
istence of the will were known."
"Hang it, Carrington," fumed the big man, "you
don't mean to insinuate that I had anything to do
with so cowardly a crime."
"No! No! No! I don't insinuate anything of the
sort, as I know that you are incapable of such a thing.
But other people have nasty, suspicious minds."
Hendle looked more uncomfortable than ever. "I
understand," he murmured, after a pause; "it is just
as well to say nothing about the will. I dare say I
shall find it among Leigh's papers when his lawyer
writes to me about my being the executor."
"And if you do not?"
Rupert shrugged his big shoulders. "Then there's
nothing more to be said or done," he remarked with
resignation.
"There is this to be said," observed Carrington,
thoughtfully, "that if the assassin really was looking
for the will, and turned over the books and papers to
obtain the reward of his crime, the will is sure to turn
up sooner or later."
"I don't follow you," said Hendle, both perturbed
and puzzled.
"Think for a moment. That will is of the greatest
value to you, and the man who murdered Leigh must
have stolen it to—shall we say—blackmail you. When


MALLIEN SPEAKS 109
everything has blown over, he will certainly make
some attempt to gain the reward he risked his neck
for, by taking the will to you or to Mallien."
"If he comes to me I shall hand him over to the
police," said Rupert vigorously. "And Mallien, in
spite of his misanthropic ways, would do the same.
I don't see, however, how anyone can have killed
Leigh for the sake of that will, as no one but you
and I knew about it."
"True enough. Did you tell Miss Mallien about
it?"
"No, I told no one. And if I had told Dorinda j>
"She might have told her father, to whom the will
was of importance, seeing that it might possibly place
him in possession of four thousand a year."
"Good Lord, Carrington, you don't infer that Mal-
lien murdered the vicar?"
"No, I don't, because I have no grounds to go upon.
But if you told Miss"
"Confound it, man, I didn't. Haven't I been say-
ing for the last half hour that I told no one but you.
Even if I had told Dorinda she would never have
spoken to her father without my permission. And
even if she had done so, her father would never have
murdered Leigh to get the will, as he would know
very well that I am not the sort of man to conceal
such a document."
"H'm! I'm not so sure of that," said Carrington
doubtfully. "Mallien is not a particularly scrupulous
man, from what I have seen of him. He may judge
you by himself."
"I don't care if he did judge me to be a scoundrel,"
retorted Rupert, "that would not make me one. But


110 THE LOST PARCHMENT
aren't we twisting ropes of sand, Carrington? I tell
you solemnly that I told no one about John Hendle's
will, save you."
"Oh, I'm only suggesting what people might say
about you and Mallien, did the existence of the will
become known. After all," added Carrington cheer-
fully, "there may not be any will at all. You have
never seen it, and have only the word of a dead man
to go upon. It may not exist."
Rupert shook his head seriously. "I think it does
exist, and that I shall probably find it among Leigh's
papers."
"And if you do?"
"I shall take it to our family lawyers and call in
Mallien to talk the matter over."
"It's a risk, considering that Leigh has been mur-
dered."
"I don't see it. Even if anyone was crazy enough
to suggest that I killed the poor old man, the mere
fact of my producing the will would show that I had
no reason to murder him. Pouf!" ended Rupert con-
temptuously, "it is all froth and foam. Don't talk
rubbish and make mountains out of molehills."
Carrington shrugged his shoulders and said no
more, since on the face of it he was, as Rupert stated,
twisting ropes of sand. No more was said on this
particular phase of the case, but during luncheon the
young men discussed the matter freely. Naturally,
on what had been set forth in the evidence, they could
arrive at no conclusion, and went to the funeral of
the vicar as much in the dark as anyone in the great
crowd that gathered in the churchyard. Mallien was
there, but beyond scowling at Carrington, for whom he
had little love, and nodding curtly to his cousin, he


MALLIEN SPEAKS 111
took no notice of the two men. Titus Ark was there
and mumbled every now and then something to the
effect that the vicar could not possibly be dead. But
no one took notice of so crazy a statement, since the
doctor had given the certificate of death. It was
knewn how Ark idolized the parson, and how con-
stantly he had been with Leigh, therefore everyone
thought that it was simply the senile weakness of age
on the sexton's part, to disbelieve that his only friend
was gone. And, finding that no one heeded his pro-
tests and mutterings, Titus became stolidly silent, at-
tending to his part of the burial sullenly.
So far as Ark's duties were concerned, he had little
to do, not even having had to dig a grave. The family
vault in a quiet corner of the churchyard was duly
opened, and the coffin was carried down the damp,
worn steps. For a few centuries the Leighs had been
buried here, as formerly—before the Hendles came
on the scene—they had been the Lords of the Manor.
Now, save the seafaring cousin, who was on the
distaff side, the last of the race had been laid to rest.
A neighboring clergyman read the service, which was
listened to with reverent attention, and when the door
of the vault was closed again, the crowd of mourners
slowly dispersed. Judging from the observations
made, it was widely believed that the mystery of the
death was hidden away with the dead man in that
dreary vault.
"I can't see, sir," said Inspector Lawson to Rupert,
"how anything is to be discovered. I looked over the
poor gentleman's papers, but could find nothing in his
past life to suggest that anyone would kill him."
"Yet, according to Kensit, the papers were searched


MALLIEN SPEAKS 113
for the commission of the crime. A stray tramp,
moving from one town to another under cover of
night, had probably killed the vicar, so as to escape
arrest for burglary. And it might be that he did not
even mean to murder Leigh, but only intended to stun
him, so as to get away. The heart disease, as much
as the blow, was the cause of death, according to Tol-
lart, and the presumed tramp could not have been ex-
pected to know that the parson suffered in this way.
At all events, the explanation of Lawson seemed
likely to prove the sole explanation which would be
forthcoming.
Carrington stayed for the night, but his consulta-
tions with Rupert led to nothing. Then he took his
departure, on the understanding that if Hendle, as
Leigh's executor, did find the will, or did not find it,
he would call down to Barship again to give his help.
"I don't say that I am rich enough to do so for
nothing, Hendle," confessed the barrister frankly,
"but I'm not greedy, and you can give me what you
consider fair."
"Oh, I don't mind," answered Rupert, rather con-
temptuously, for he thought that Carrington might
have behaved more as a friend and less as a profes-
sional adviser. "You shall name your own price, if
the will proves illegal, and I am left in possession of
the property. Otherwise, you will have to get your
fees from the new heir."
"Mallien. H'm! He is too avaricious a man to
pay if he can help. I want to work for you and not
for him, Hendle. However, I understand the posi-
tion, and you can depend upon my doing my. best to
pull you through."
"I shall expect that, if I am to retain your services


114 THE LOST PARCHMENT
professionally," said the Squire rather dryly, and
then, mindful of the obligations of hospitality, he
drove Carrington to the station in his motor to catch
the midday express.
Nevertheless, he was disappointed that his old
school chum should bring pounds, shillings and pence
into the matter. It imported a sordid element into
their friendship, and when Rupert reached The Big
House again, he came to the conclusion that perhaps
Dorinda was not far wrong in her estimate of the law-
yer's character; or Mallien either, for Mallien also
mistrusted the man. And now it appeared that there
were grounds for a certain amount of mistrust, as
Hendle ruefully confessed to himself.
In a short time, Leigh's lawyer, having seen the re-
port of the murder, inquest and burial in the news-
papers, made his appearance and intimated to Hendle
that he was the dead man's executor. Besides his in-
come as a parson, Leigh only had a few hundred
pounds invested in Consols, so it was evident that the
sea captain in Australia would not benefit overmuch.
The solicitor arranged to write to the legatee in Aus-
tralia, and promised to send some one down to value
the books with a view to selling them. Mrs. Jabber
remained on at the Vicarage along with her husband
pending the arrival of the new parson, who was to be
appointed immediately by the Bishop. Rupert, as
executor, went to the untidy house, after the solicitor
departed for London, to look over all papers belong-
ing to Leigh, and to put affairs shipshape. The lawyer
had no time to attend to the matter, since the estate
was hardly worthy of his professional attention, and
when Hendle explained that certain documents had
to be restored to the Muniment Room, and that a


MALLIEN SPEAKS 115
search for them would be necessary, the attorney al-
lowed him to attend to the matter wholly by him-
self. Thus it came about that Rupert found himself
three days after the burial digging among the bookish
rubbish in the study.
Of course, his chief aim was to find the will, which
Leigh had so positively asserted existed. But, al-
though the young man turned over every paper and
parchment, hunted through various boxes, and even
examined irjany of the books, on the chance that it
might have been slipped into one of them, he was
unable to find what he wanted. At the end of three
or four hours, and when the afternoon was waning,
Hendle began to think that the will was a myth. It
probably had never existed save in Leigh's dreamy im-
agination. On the other hand, it might have existed,
and the assassin might have taken it. But this was too
fantastical an idea for Hendle to accept for one mo-
ment. Seeing that only himself and Carrington knew
about the will, whether it was real or fictitious, it was
impossible to believe that the crime had been commit-
ted for its sake.
By the time five o'clock came, Rupert, working, for
the sake of coolness, in his shirt sleeves, was hot and
dusty and weary. Looking for a needle in a bundle of
hay did not appeal to him as an amusing task, and he
was about to abandon the search for the day, when
a quick, firm step was heard, and Mallien, looking like
a thunder cloud, entered to scowl a greeting.
"Well?" he asked disagreeably, have you found
John Hendle's will?"


CHAPTER IX
A SERIOUS POSITION
Sitting on the floor in a grimy snowdrift of scat-
tered papers, and surrounded by piles of dingy books,
Rupert stared at his cousin, scarcely taking in the
purport of his words. Mallien appeared to be pleased
with the expression of genuine bewilderment on the
other man's face, but did not improve the occasion by
speaking immediately. Since the afternoon was op-
pressively hot, he wore a suit of cool white flannel,
which made him seem blacker in his hairy looks than
ever. In the heavy yellow sunshine streaming through
the dusty room, his many jewels twinkled and shot
fire; scarfpin and studs, sleeve links and rings. Near
the door, which he had closed, the newcomer leaned,
against the many volumes filling the book shelf, with
folded arms and crossed legs; an odd, and, as it im-
pressed Hendle, a sinister figure. It was the Squire
who spoke next, as he was not entirely sure if he had
heard Mallien's astounding question.
"What do you say?" he asked, almost mechanically.
"You heard me right enough," sneered the other.
"John Hendle's will?"
"Ah, I thought so. None so deaf as those who
won't hear. Well, have you found it, Rupert?"
"John Hendle's will," repeated the Squire, greatly
taken aback by this sudden display of knowledge on
the part of his cousin.
116


A SERIOUS POSITION 117
"Yes! Don't pretend that I am talking nonsense;
you know better."
Hendle gradually collected his scattered thoughts,
and rose slowly to his feet. Then, quite in a me-
chanical way, he took out pipe and tobacco pouch.
"I should like to know who told you," he remarked,
filling the bowl.
"You shall know—Mrs. Beatson told me."
"And how did she know?"
"As women generally know things they are not
meant to learn—by eavesdropping. You understand.
She listened to the conversation between you and the
parson, when he dined at The Big House, on the eve-
ning before his death."
"He did dine with me," admitted Hendle seriously.
"And he did tell me about the discovery of the will
you mention. But why did Mrs. Beatson listen, since
she could not have guessed what he was going to
speak about."
"It seems to me, Rupert, that you are asking ques-
tions, whereas it is my right to do so. However, to
make things clear, I don't mind in the least answering
you. Mrs. Beatson explained to me, in excuse for her
eavesdropping, that you had told her of your ap-
proaching marriage with Dorinda, and she was afraid
lest you should turn her out."
"I told her I wouldn't."
"Oh, did you? Then evidently she did not believe
you, and hovered round the dining-room and draw-
ing-room, hoping to hear anything you might say to
the vicar on the subject. Leigh hinted at some mys-
tery he had to impart to you. Mrs. Beatson heard his
remark through the open door of the dining-room and
it aroused her curiosity. When you went to the


118 THE LOST PARCHMENT
drawing-room, she was outside the window drinking
in every word."
"Hum!" said Rupert, lighting his pipe. "I remem-
ber that the windows of the drawing-room were open
on account of the heat. She stole along the terrace, I
presume."
"Yes, and heard every word," repeated Mallien sig-
nificantly. "In the first instance, you will understand
that Mrs. Beatson only hovered round you and the
vicar to hear anything connected with her possible
dismissal. But, when she grasped the fact about the
will, she became aware that she had overheard a se-
cret, which she could turn to her own advantage. For
a time she hesitated whether to let you or me buy her
silence. Then, thinking that I would get the money,
she came and told me all about it."
"Hum!" said Rupert again, and very calmly.
"Rather treacherous behavior toward me, considering
how kind I treated her."
"Treachery be hanged!" burst out Mallien, leaving
the wall and throwing himself onto a convenient pile
of books, which afforded him a seat. "She wanted to
see me righted."
"She wanted a price for her secret, I think you
said."
"Well, and why not?" demanded the hairy little
Timon, in a blustering way. "It is only natural that
you should wish to keep the secret, and only natural
that Mrs. Beatson should try and make money out
of telling it to me."
"I suppose it is, with some natures. So you are
going to pay her."
"Yes! She's done me a good turn. I'll give her
an annuity when I come to live at The Big House."


A SERIOUS POSITION 119
"You are not there yet," said Rupert, dryly. Now
that he knew the worst he was perfectly calm. And
he had every right to be since he had done nothing
with which to reproach himself.
"I shall be there, when this will comes to light,"
bullied Mallien fiercely. "Naturally you wish to
hide it"
"There you make a mistake," interrupted the big
man leisurely. "As soon as the will is found, I shall
take it to our family lawyers, and have it looked
into."
"Oh, yes, you say so now, because you can't keep
the secret any longer, thanks to Mrs. Beatson," re-
torted Mallien coarsely.
"I never intended to keep any secret."
"Then why didn't you tell me as soon as Leigh told
you?"
"Because I had not seen the will, and so far as that
goes, I have never set eyes on it yet. It may be a
myth, and it was useless for me to speak about it until
I was sure that such a document was in existence."
"It is in existence," insisted Mallien uneasily.
"We have only the vicar's word for it."
"Oh, of course you say that."
"What else can I say? Listen to me, Mallien. Un-
pleasant as it is for me to lose my property, I am
quite willing to surrender it to you without the inter-
vention of the law, if the will proves to be legal. If
it doesn't, of course I shall keep my own."
But even this generous and reasonable speech did
not appeal to the grasping hearer. "You can do what
you like," he replied doggedly; "but if I don't get the
property, I shall bring the case before a judge and
jury."


120 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"There will be no necessity for you to do so, if the
will is legal."
Mallien sneered. "I suppose you'll try and prove
that it isn't."
"Certainly," retorted Hendle, angered by this ex-
treme selfishness. "You may be sure that I shall do
all I can to protect my own interests. Would you
not do the same were you in my position?"
The other shirked a straightforward reply as a
selfish man would. "That is neither here nor there,"
he snapped, "I want my rights."
"You shall have them, if you have any."
"From what Mrs. Beatson told me"
"Mrs. Beatson knows no more nor no less than I
do," interrupted the Squire patiently. "She is aware
that Leigh found—or said that he found—a will made
by John Hendle one hundred years ago, leaving the
property to Eunice Filbert and her descendants. If
such is the case, and you are rightfully entitled to take
my place, well" Rupert shrugged his square shoul-
ders, and completed his sentence by waving his hand
vaguely to the four corners of the room. Mallien
scowled and tried to pick holes.
"Oh, you can be certain that I shall claim my
rights to the last farthing," he growled savagely, and
rather annoyed by Rupert's reasonable attitude.
"Naturally. That is only fair. I am not the man,
as you well know, to keep what does not honestly be-
long to me. But," added Hendle with emphasis, "the
will has yet to be found."
"It must be found," declared Mallien violently.
"That is easier said than done. Leigh seemed to
have mislaid, or hidden it, very thoroughly. Inspec-
tor Lawson did not come across it, and I can't lay my


A SERIOUS POSITION 121
hands on it nohow. And, remember, even when it is
discovered, the legality of it has yet to be proved."
"If it is signed and witnessed properly I inherit,"
shouted Mallien, doggedly, and objecting, as such an
illogical man would, to the mere shadow of a contra-
diction.
"Don't go too fast," said the Squire dryly. "There
is such a thing as the Statute of Limitations."
"Oh, is there? And what deviltry is that?"
"A law which, in most cases, operates against the
restoration of property devolving under a lost will,
found—as this one has been—after so long a period
of time."
"You talk like a book," sneered Mallien, uncom-
fortably, for here was an obstacle which he did not
expect to meet. "And you will take advantage of this
infernal Statute?"
"Why not?" demanded Rupert, calmly. "Would
you not do the same under the same circumstances?"
"I prefer not to enter into any argument on that
point," said Mallien loftily. "It seems to be a silly
law. And what about not keeping what isn't your
own."
"If the Statute of Limitations acts in my favor, the
property would be my own," answered the Squire
coolly.
"Hair-splitting!"
"Common sense! And I would not have used such
an argument, but for your display of greedy selfish-
ness."
"Me selfish. How dare you!" Mallien fumed and
fretted, and made as though he would throw himself
on his cousin.
Hendle held out one hand to keep him off. "None


122 THE LOST PARCHMENT
of that, Mallien. No violence or it will be the worse
for you. If it comes to a physical tussle, it will not
be difficult for me to lay you on your back."
Mallien knew this, so tried verbal bullying. "I or-
der you not to address me in that insolent tone."
"Don't be a fool, man. And don't talk about inso-
lence until you learn how to behave yourself. Every-
one far and near considers you a most objectionable
person."
"Indeed I" Mallien grew livid. "And you?"
"I am of the same opinion," replied Rupert, smok-
ing placidly. "If you were not Dorinda's father, I
should have thrashed you ages ago."
"You shall never marry my daughter," gasped the
other, panting with rage.
"Dorinda and I can afford to do without your per-
mission. See here, Mallien, don't you think it's time
you stopped playing the fool. I said before, and I
say again, that if the property is proved to be right-
fully yours, as the descendant of Eunice Filbert, I
shall not stand in the way. So the best thing you
can do is to behave your silly self and help me to
search for the will. We can leave the question of
my marriage to Dorinda alone just now. Until the
will is found, or is proved not to exist, you are well
aware that no marriage can take place."
"And if the will is found, and I am put in pos-
session of The Big House, no marriage shall take
place," retorted the other, still fuming.
"On the other hand, if the will is found and proves
to be illegal? What then will be your attitude?"
"Even then I shall refuse to"
"Not you," broke in Rupert with a broad smile.
"You are too anxious to buy that blue sapphire you


A SERIOUS POSITION 123
were talking about. If you want the five hundred
a year that my marriage with Dorinda will put into
your pocket, you will have to put your pride in the
same receptacle."
"We'll see about that!" snarled Mallien vindictively,
but in a more subdued tone, for he did not wish to
cross the Rubicon too soon. "The will has yet to be
proved illegal."
"The will has yet to be found," answered the
Squire, thinking how difficult it was to hammer an
idea into the man's obstinate head.
"Ah!" Mallien's tone was significant. "I am
quite sure that it never will be found."
Rupert opened his big blue eyes in genuine sur-
prise. "You seem to have changed your opinion," he
remarked, after a pause. "Just now you made sure
it would be found."
"Bah!" Mallien's pent-up rage burst forth anew.
"Do you think that I can't see through your pre-
tended search?"
"Pretended search." Hendle rose slowly and tow-
ered above the stout little man like a giant. "Explain
what you mean."
"It's easy to see," snapped the other, sulkily. "Law-
son could not find the will among the papers of Leigh
and you will not find it. And why? Because it is
already in your possession, and has been destroyed
for all I know."
"Still, I don't understand," said Rupert, and his
eyes grew hard as he began to have an inkling of
Mallien's meaning. "Leigh did not give the will to me
before he died."
"I dare say not. He had his own fish to fry, and
would only have given it to you on getting your prom-


A SERIOUS POSITION 125
told me about the will, as Mrs. Beatson informed you,
and she can bear witness that the vicar declared that
he had mislaid the document. I called to see him the
next morning, but he was away—as Mrs. Jabber can
testify—seeing Mrs. Patter, who was reported to be
dying. I then went to Town to consult Carrington ft
"Oh, you have brought that beast into it," sneered
Mallien vindictively.
"I consulted him as to what was best to be done,
and he advised me not to see the vicar until the next
day, and then in his company. Carrington, as you
well know, came down by the midday train, for the
purpose of seeing Leigh along with me. But by that
time Leigh was dead."
"Quite so. And you killed him."
The accusation was so absurd that Rupert merely
shrugged his shoulders, and wondered why he had
lost his temper with this gad-fly even for a moment.
"I think you will find it difficult to prove that," he
observed, suavely. "I did not see Leigh on the night
he was murdered; I did not even call at the Vicarage,
thanks to Carrington's advice. My servants can
prove, if you like to question them, that I locked up
and retired to bed at ten o'clock."
"Oh, I dare say you did," scoffed Mallien; "but,
remember, that Leigh was killed—if Dr. Tollart is to
be believed—at eleven. It was easy for you to slip out
of The Big House and come along to"
"I did not." Rupert started to his feet again, but
maintained his calmness.
"How can you prove that you did not?"
"How can you prove that I did?" counterquestioned
the Squire.


126 THE LOST PARCHMENT
Mallien rose and brushed the dust from his flan-
nels. "I shall leave Lawson to find the proof," he
cried, triumphantly. "Oh, yes. Once Lawson knows
that the will, which would rob you of your property,
exists, it will be easy for him to assign a cause why
Leigh should have been murdered. Remember, the
papers were all tumbled about, as Kensit can witness.
The burglary business is all rubbish. It was to get
the will that Leigh was murdered, and you are the
culprit."
Hendle did not reply for a moment, for so skillfully
had the venomous little man built up the case, that he
was quite taken aback. Then he remembered how
Carrington had warned him that, if the business of
the missing will was known, it was possible some such
accusation might be brought. Thanks to Mrs. Beat-
son's treachery, Mallien had been placed in posses-
sion of dangerous facts, and Mallien, sooner than
forego the chance of acquiring the Hendle property,
was quite prepared to have his cousin handed over
to the police. Not only was a strong motive for the
murder provided, but Rupert knew that he would have
the greatest difficulty in proving an alibi. After ten
o'clock, all his own servants and the inhabitants of
Barship were in bed, so it was perfectly feasible, on
the face of it, that to protect his own interests he
might have stolen through the village to commit the
crime. Of course, he knew very well that he had not;
that any idea of securing the will in this way had
never entered his head. Nevertheless, the position
was both uncomfortable and dangerous, and, for the
moment, he did not know what to say. Mallien noted
his cousin's silence, and concluded that guilt pre-
vented his speech. >
v


A SERIOUS POSITION 127
"You can't deny what I say," he cried viciously.
"I am too much taken aback by your audacity to
reply, or to deny," retorted the young man, drawing
a deep breath. "Knowing me as you do, can you think
me guilty of so cowardly a crime, as to strike down an
old man?"
"I think you capable of acting anyhow to retain
your own property," answered Mallien cynically.
"You judge me by yourself. You might act so, but
I should not. However, it is useless to prolong this
talk. I now know that you are an envious and disap-
pointed man, and to get my money you are willing
to go to the length of getting me hanged."
"You shouldn't murder people, you know," taunted
Mallien, believing that he was now top dog and could
have everything his own way.
Rupert passed over the accusation. "I suppose,"
he remarked, laying a trap for his foe, "that if I hand
you over the property, will or no will, you won't say
anything to the police?"
Mallien's dark eyes gleamed with greed and tri-
umph, as he had not expected to gain so sudden a vic-
tory. Hendle had evidently surrendered without fir-
ing a shot. "Yes," he said eagerly. "After all, I don't
want to wash dirty family linen in public, and it
would be unpleasant for me and for Dorinda to see
you in the dock. After all, also, the will leaves every-
thing to me, as the descendant of Eunice Filbert."
"The will has yet to be found; it has yet to be
proved legal," said Rupert calmly, "and we are not
even certain if this presumed will is not a figment of
Leigh's brain."
"Leigh could not have invented such a story," said


128 THE LOST PARCHMENT
Mallien doggedly. "And whether he did or not mat-
ters little. The property is mine"
"That has yet to be proved," interpolated Hendle
quietly.
"If you don't climb down, it will be proved at the
expense of your arrest for the murder," threatened
Mallien.
"I see." Rupert's lip curled with contempt. "And
if I give you all I have, you will condone a felony?"
"I don't care what beastly terms you use," snapped
Mallien uneasily. "You know that it is in my power
to have you arrested."
"And in Mrs. Beatson's also."
"Oh, I'll make it worth her while to keep quiet."
"I wonder how Dorinda ever came to have so dis-
honorable a man for her father," commented Rupert
reflectively. "I always knew you to be a bully and an
avaricious animal, but I did expect some decency."
"Take care," raged Mallien, growing livid again.
"I shall tell the police what I know, if you insult me
further."
"It is impossible to insult you. A man who had
agreed to hush up what he supposes to be a crime
cannot be insulted. He is beyond the pale of decency.
I presume, Mallien, that it never occurred to you that
if I were weak enough to agree to your blackmailing,
that you could be arrested later as an accessory after
the fact, always supposing that I am guilty, which I
am not."
"Oh, for your own sake you'll hold your tongue,"
said the other confidently, "and Mrs. Beatson can be
squared. I don't think she'll connect the murder and
the will, anyhow, as I have done."
"I see. She is not quite so clever as you are. Well,


A SERIOUS POSITION 129
then, if I hand over the property to you straight-
way, and not bother about finding the will"
"Which you have already got and destroyed."
"I see. We'll let it go at that. I am guilty, and
you will condone my guilt on condition that you get
my money?"
"Yes," said Mallien impudently.
"And you will take the risk of being proved an ac-
cessory after the fact?"
"Yes! Because I know that you'll hold your
tongue for your own sake."
"Of course, you will keep Mrs. Beatson quiet?"
"Certainly. She won't say a word if I give her
an annuity; and she is not likely to connect the will
and the murder, as I remarked before. Well?"
"Well?" echoed Rupert ironically. "I'm not taking
any, thank you."
Mallien's face fell when he found that, in the
moment of his fancied triumph, victory was sud-
denly snatched from his grasp. "You refuse?"
"I do. Go to Inspector Lawson and bring your
accusation. I am quite ready to meet it."
"You'll be arrested," threatened Mallien.
"I am quite willing to be arrested. That's better
than being in the power of a blackmailer."
"You are mad; you are quite mad."
"You would like me to be, but, as it happens, I
am perfectly sane. Meanwhile, until you have me
locked up, help me to search for the will."
Mallien could not understand his cousin's attitude.
He had insulted him; he had brought a vile accu-
sation against him; yet Rupert coolly refused his
greedy terms, and evidently did not mind being in his
company. Knowing how he would have cringed and


180 THE LOST PARCHMENT
agreed to anything under similar circumstances, Mal-
lien at once sought refuge in a taunt. "I thought you
were a man?"
"Obnoxious animals such as you are cannot judge
what is a man and what isn't, my friend," retorted
Rupert, putting on his coat. "Will you walk along
with me toward The Big House and discuss the matter
further?"
"No, hang you, I won't."
"As you please. And your denunciation of me to
the police?"
Mallien hesitated. "I'll give you a week to think
things over."
"Thank you," said Hendle gravely, and, the treaty
having been made, the conversation ended with vic-
tory for the Squire—a victory won by sheer honesty.


132 THE LOST PARCHMENT
with his mind in a turmoil, and his head aching with
anxious thought.
Aware that Mrs. Beatson had acted treacherously,
Rupert's first idea was to call her in and dismiss her
straightway with a month's wages. But, on second
thoughts, he decided to do nothing until he had con-
sulted with Carrington. Certainly, the barrister, by
refusing to help as a friend, had shown himself almost
as greedy of gain as Mallien; but Hendle decided that
the prospect of a fat fee would make the man more
alert to earn it. Carrington, when all was said and
done, had a shrewd brain and a great deal of experi-
ence connected with the seamy side of life, so he was
just the man to handle the problems Fate had so un-
expectedly given Rupert to solve. Mallien did not
like Carrington, and if Mallien secured the property,
Carrington would not even get his costs for taking
up the case. Therefore, both as a professional man
and as Hendle's friend, the barrister had every reason
to work on the side of the Squire. What he would
advise in the matter of Mrs. Beatson and her eaves-
dropping Rupert did not know; but he thought it
would be just as well to see what he said. With this
idea the Squire made no difference toward his treach-
erous housekeeper, and concealed his feelings so well
that Mrs. Beatson had no idea that her batteries had
been unmasked. All the same Hendle saw as little of
her as possible, and, beyond giving her necessary
orders, did not speak to her.
It must be noted that Mallien's estimate of Mrs.
Beatson's brain was a perfectly correct one. She did
not in any way connect the conversation about the
missing will with the death of the vicar. All she
knew was that Mr. Leigh had found an ancient testa-


DORINDA 133
ment which would probably transfer the property to
Mallien, as the descendant of John Hendle's grand-
daughter; and, for this reason, she worshipped the
rising sun. Had she guessed that there was any doubt
about the legality of the will, or any danger of its not
being found, she would have held her tongue until
such time as she saw on what side it was best to range
herself. But, in the conversation she had overheard,
Leigh had seemed so certain that Rupert would lose
the property and as certain that his cousin would get
it, that Mrs. Beatson had lost no time in reporting the
position. Mallien's conduct had justified her action,
for he had promised her an annuity whenever he came
into his own. And, to gain a certain income, the
housekeeper was quite willing to see her kind-hearted
young master driven as a pauper from his house.
Some natures are so strangely constituted that they
resent kindness, and the more benefactions they re-
ceive, the more do they hate the person who bestows
them. Mrs. Beatson was a woman of this class, and
all Hendle's consideration for many years had only
increased the dislike she had felt when she first set
eyes on him. Moreover, she detested Dorinda for her
beauty and sweetness, and for the certain happiness
which the marriage with Rupert would surely give
her. Mrs. Beatson knew enough of the girl's un-
sophisticated nature to be sure that no amount of
money would make up to her for the loss of her
promised husband. She did not like Dorinda getting
a fortune through her father, but that could not be
helped, and, after all, the breaking of the engagement
would assuredly prevent the girl from enjoying the
same. Therefore, the good lady smiled comfortably
to herself as she went about her duties, and rejoiced


134 THE LOST PARCHMENT
to think, as she put it, in quite a Biblical way, that
the pride of the young couple would soon be brought
low. She might not have rejoiced so prematurely had
she guessed the contents of the after-dinner letter
which her master wrote. But she did not and gloried
in her fool's paradise. Dorinda would be made miser-
able; Hendle would be made a pauper; and she, who
had brought about these things, would retire on an
annuity of two hundred a year for her services, as
she thought that Mallien could not possibly give her
less.
Meanwhile, after a meal to which he gave little
attention, Hendle retired to the snug little library of
The Big House and sat down to his desk. After
a few moments of reflection, he wrote a long and
exhaustive letter to Carrington, setting forth what
had taken place in the study of the late vicar. He
pointed out that what the barrister had conjectured
had actually come to pass, for Mallien, in possession
of the secret, now deliberately accused him of the
crime. Rupert added that he had been given a week
to think over things, and then asked whether it would
not be well to dismiss Mrs. Beatson at once, lest she
should act in a further treacherous manner. Finally,
the young man ended with inviting Carrington to
come down and stay at The Big House until every-
thing was put straight, hinting that any fee Carring-
ton liked to demand would be given to him for his
services. In a postscript, Rupert significantly added
that if Mallien got the property, Carrington would
either receive less remuneration, or none at all. There-
fore, and this was the end of the letter—it remained
for Carrington to say whether he would give his ser-
vices on these doubtful terms. Having placed the


DORINDA 135
position before the barrister thus fairly and squarely,
Hendle slipped the epistle into an envelope, addressed
and sealed it, and sent a special messenger to post it
in the village. Afterward, as there was no more to
be done, he lighted his pipe, and, sitting in one chair
with his feet on another, he began to read the morn-
ing paper, which he had not yet glanced at, so deeply
had he been involved in the direction of his own
affairs.
But the young man's brain declined to interest
itself in public doings and, before he knew where
he was, Rupert found himself thinking of what had
happened in connection with Dorinda. Laying the
newspaper on his knee, and placing his hands behind
his head, he leaned back to think what was best to be
done. He sorely needed a sympathetic soul to con-
verse with, and there was no one so fitted to help
him as Dorinda. Carrington's request for a fee had
placed him in the position of a business man rather
than in that of a friend, so there was nothing to be
gained in that quarter. But Dorinda always under-
stood and always gave good advice, and always soothed
his feelings. Hendle longed for her looks, and touch
and words so much, that he very nearly decided to
cross the park and visit the cottage. But two con-
siderations caused him to alter his mind, one was that
Mallien, now openly hostile, would be present at the
interview; the other was, that he could not speak
straightly to the girl, seeing that her father had so
much to do with the matter. Dorinda knew that her
parent was what is known as a hard case, and had
not much respect or affection for him, since he did
not deserve the first, nor demand the last. All the
same, it was impossible, as Hendle felt, for him to


136 THE LOST PARCHMENT
tell the girl frankly that her father was little more
than a blackmailer. With such a delicate percep-
tion of what was right and just as Rupert possessed,
such a course of action was not to be thought of, so
he subsided again into his chair, whence he had
risen, and determined to carry his heavy burden all
by himself. And, considering that the young man
had no experience of burdens, he carried it well and
bravely.
Then Fate, who had interfered so much in his
affairs that matters had been brought to this pass,
interfered again with a kinder motive. Just as Rupert
was wondering how he was to get through the long
night without receiving human sympathy, there was
a tapping at the right-hand window of the room,
which brought him to his feet. In the stillness of
the library, the sound was so unexpected and im-
perative that even Hendle's steady nerves were un-
strung for the moment. With an effort he pulled
himself together, and went to the window to lift it
and see who had made the signal. Through the glass
he saw Dorinda standing on the terrace in the lumi-
nous summer night, and she nodded smilingly to him
when he lifted the sash.
"Why didn't you go to the door?" asked Rupert,
leaning out, and more astonished by her unexpected
appearance than he would admit.
"I don't want that prying Mrs. Beatson to see
me," replied Miss Mallien, advancing toward the win-
dow, the sill of which was so low that she could
very easily step over it. "I don't want her to know
that I am here. Help me in, Rupert. No!" she
suddenly stepped back. "Better come out and join
me in the garden. I have much to say to you, and


DORINDA 1ST
X
I don't want to risk Mrs. Beatson listening at the
door."
"You never did like her," said Hendle, vaulting
through the open window onto the terrace. "But
why do you suspect her of eavesdropping?"
"My father has told me what she told him," re-
joined the girl calmly. "It is for that reason that I
have come over."
Rupert took her arm, and they descended the shal-
low steps to the second terrace, and then gained the
lawn, which was dry and warm to the feet. For
a few minutes the Squire said nothing, but guided
her down a narrow path, which wound deviously to
a kind of glade, wherein stood an ancient sundial.
Near this and against a dense shrubbery stood a low
marble seat on which he placed the girl. Then he sat
down beside her and, still remaining silent, strove
to collect his scattered thoughts. Dorinda did not
hurry him into speech by making any further obser-
vation. She had said all that was necessary, and the
next remark must be made by her lover. So the
two sat quietly under the calm beauty of the stars,
breathing the cool fragrance of the night, and the
myriad odors of the dreaming flowers. There was
no moon, yet the light of the dying day, which still
lingered, revealed the garden in a kind of warm
twilight. It was such an evening as would have in-
spired Romeo to venture into the magical garden of
Juliet; and love-talk was the only language fitted for
such an hour and scene. Yet the stern necessities of
the hour demanded that this bachelor and maid should
talk on more prosaic matters. A sad waste of time
and opportunity, to be sure, as both regretfully
thought; but there was no help for it, if future


138 THE LOST PARCHMENT
X
peace was to be insured. Only by the two solving
the problems which Fate had set, could happiness
come.
"I am sorry that your father told you," said Rupert
at last.
"Why?" Dorinda turned her thoughtful face to-
ward him, and saw his white shirt-front glimmer in
the half-light.
"Because I did not intend to tell you myself."
"Why?" she asked again, and very calmly—even
wonderingly.
"Is there any need to worry you?" fenced the young
man evasively.
"If you are worried, as you are, it is only fair that
I should be worried also, which I am. We are not
yet married, dear; all the same, we are as perfectly
of one mind as any two people can be. And, if I am
to be your wife, I must naturally share your burdens;
it is easier for two to bear them than one. You
understand?"
Hendle took her hand, which lay lightly on her lap,
and pressed it in token of thanks. "I understand
that you are a staunch and true woman," he said, in
a soft voice, "how you came to have such a
father?"
"Oh, don't let us speak of him," interrupted Dorinda
impatiently.
"My dear, we must speak of him, as he is part
and parcel of the affairs which we must discuss.
Yet, had he not spoken to you, I should have held
my peace, although I was sorely tempted to come to
you for sympathy no later than a few minutes before
you tapped at the window."
"I knew, from what my father said, that you were


DORINDA 139
in trouble, Rupert, and I felt that you needed me.
For that reason I flung a cloak over my dinner-dress
and came on here. Mrs. Beatson would be very
shocked if she knew that I was sitting alone with
you in the garden in this hour."
"Mrs. Beatson is the kind of woman who would
be shocked, however innocent the thing that startled
her might be. So your father told you of our inter-
view in Leigh's study?"
"Yes. That is, he told me about the missing will,
and how Mrs. Beatson overheard what poor Mr. Leigh
had to say on the matter."
"What else did he tell you?" asked Hendle anx-
iously.
"My dear," Dorinda's eyes opened widely, "what
else was there to tell?"
"Hum!" murmured the Squire doubtfully. "Your
father let out just as much as suited him. Let us
talk of what he did tell you to begin with; afterward,
we can talk of what he did not tell you. Yet"—
Rupert tugged at his moustache nervously—"I am not
quite sure if I should speak frankly."
"I am," retorted Dorinda, giving his hand a squeeze,
"if I am to help you, I must know everything."
"I don't feel quite certain if that is playing the
game."
"Is my father playing the game?" questioned the
girl, with a shrug.
"No," answered Rupert decidedly, "he isn't. And
it is that which makes it so hard for me to be frank.
After all, your father is your father, dear, and I have
no right to say anything which will lower him in your
esteem."
Dorinda laughed rather sadly. "Dear, I have no


140 THE LOST PARCHMENT
illusions left about my father," she said, in a low
tone, "he has never been a father to me, as you
know very well. I have tried my best to respect and
love him, but his actions and life are such that I can
do neither. Be as open with me as you can, Rupert,
for you know that my father will not spare either of
us where his own feelings are at stake. Therefore,
it only seems fair to me that we should not spare
him, more than is necessary, on account of my unfor-
tunate relationship to him."
"Do you really think so, Dorinda?"
"Yes, I do. If my father deserved filial affection,
he should have it. But, as he has made no attempt
to secure it, how can I give it to him? And remem-
ber, you are to be my husband and your interests
are mine, even though my father's selfish desires inter-
vene. You have the greatest claim on me."
Rupert heaved a sigh of relief. "I am so glad to
hear you say that," he remarked thankfully, "for I
badly need some one who can help me and sympa-
thize with me. I thought Carrington would prove to
be a pal, but, like everyone else, he is eaten up with
greed for money."
"What makes you say that?"
"He said that he would only help me on condition
that I paid him."
"Ah-r-r-r," said Dorinda, much disgusted. "I told
you that I did not like him, Rupert. He is a bad
man."
"Oh, not so bad as that, dear. A little greedy
perhaps, but not wholly bad."
"He is a bad man," repeated Dorinda, obstinately.
"As my father said, long ago, all he wants is to get
money out of you."


DORINDA 141
"As your father does," said Rupert dryly.
Dorinda looked down at her white shoes and placed
them both together before she answered. "I have
told you my opinion of my father," she said with a
sigh, "so what is the use of going over old ground.
But time is passing, Rupert, and there is much to say.
I wish to go home soon, lest my father should find
out that I have come here. I left him busy in his
study with his jewels, so we are safe for half an hour,
at least. Come now, what took place in the Vicarage
library?"
"What did your father tell you?"
"He said that Mrs. Beatson told him about the
will found by Mr. Leigh, and how Mr. Leigh had
mislaid it. The will, he declared, left the Hendle
property to him entirely."
"I have not yet seen the will," answered Rupert,
cautiously, "and, beyond Leigh's word, I don't even
know that it exists. But he maintained that it did,
as he came across it in the Muniment Room, and
took it to the Vicarage to look into. Then he lost it,
or mislaid it somehow. As I have access to his papers,
as executor, I am trying to find it."
"Does it leave the property to my father?"
"Not directly, I understand," admitted Rupert,
quietly, "but Leigh explained that John Hendle, from
whom we are both descended, dear, hated his younger
son Frederick, who inherited, and loved his son Wal-
ter, who was killed at the Battle of Waterloo. In
the year when that battle was fought, he made this
will, leaving the Hendle property to Walter's daugh-
ter, and cutting off Frederick, who represented the
younger branch."
"Eunice Hendle was the daughter, my father said."


142 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"Yes. She afterward became Eunice Filbert, as
she married a man of that name," explained Rupert
laboriously. "Her daughter, Anne Filbert, married
Frank Mallien, your father's parent, so, if the will
proves to be legal, your father will certainly get the
property through his descent on the distaff side."
"And you?" asked Dorinda, apprehensively.
Rupert rested his elbows on his knees, linked his
hands loosely together, and looked down at the shad-
owy turf of the lawn. "I shall lose everything," he
stated calmly. "I descend in the male line from
Frederick through Henry Hendle and Charles Hendle.
And, as Frederick was cut off by his father in favor
of Walter's child, Eunice, I am an interloper and a
fraud. If this will is found, and can be proved to be
legal, Dorinda, I shall not have a penny. As things
stand, your father is better off with his five hundred
a year than I shall be. It is a very unpleasant posi-
tion, as it stops our marriage."
"Oh, does it?" cried Dorinda, flaming up, "in what
way?"
"Well, in the first place, your father would never
agree to your marrying a pauper, and in the second
the pauper could scarcely ask you to share his nothing
a year."
"Darling,"—Dorinda drew closer to her lover and
laid her cheek against his—"I will marry no one but
you. I don't care what my father says."
"It is not of your father that I am thinking of,
but of my honor," rejoined Rupert, slipping his arm
round her waist and holding her tightly to him. "If
we got married, how could I support you? I have
no trade, and no profession, so the only thing that
I could do to keep body and soul together is to enlist.


DORINDA 143
I might emigrate certainly, but then your life as my
wife would be as hard and impossible in the back-
woods as it would be if you followed the drum along
with me."
Dorinda sighed. "You take a very prosaic view of
the position."
"In justice to you I must take a prosaic view.
Romance is all very well, but without money romance
means trouble and sordid cares."
"Yes," sighed the girl again; then added, after a
pause. "And if the will is not found?"
"I shall keep my own," answered Rupert firmly.
"It's no use my being a silly fool, and giving up
what isn't proved not to be mine. But I am looking
for the will, Dorinda, and if it comes to light, I shall
hand it over to the family lawyers to be adjusted.
And, of course, you may be certain that I shall take
advantage of everything likely to prevent my losing
The Big House and the income."
"That is quite right," said Dorinda, in a tone of
satisfaction, patting her lover's hand consolingly. "I
daresay my father will fight, but if you have right
on your side, you will be sure to win. Money would
do my father no good, as he would only waste it in
collecting jewels, whereas you make good use of
your income. After all the will may not exist. Mr.
Leigh may have dreamed that there was such a docu-
ment."
"He seemed to be very positive that it did exist,
dear," said Rupert, with a shrug, "and, although
Leigh was a bit of a dreamer, I don't think he would
have or could have made up such a fairy tale as this.
For my part, I believe that there ir such a testament,


DORINDA 145
Remember that I had every reason to steal it, even
at the cost of a life."
"What rubbish," declared the girl, vehemently.
"You would never, never, never"
"No," said Rupert positively, and his heart leaped
when she defended him. "I would never save my
property at the cost of a crime, however small or
however necessary. You know, Dorinda, that I would
let everything go rather than lose my honor and my
good name. Your father thinks otherwise, so he is.
determined to get my money and my position, and my
good name into the bargain."
"I can't believe it, I can't! I can't!" gasped the
girl, overwhelmed. "My father may be selfish, but
he wouldn't surely"
"But he has. He accuses me of committing the
crime, and has given me one week to think over the
matter. If I come to his terms, he will shut up Mrs.
Beatson's possible chatter and will hold his own
tongue."
"Did he offer you safety on those terms?"
"He did, and I refused them."
Dorinda flung her arms round his neck and her
lips sought his. "I knew you would; I knew you
would. Oh! don't say anything more, Rupert. I am
glad you told me, as I now know where I stand—
where you stand. We have a week to think over
things, and in that week much may happen. God
will never permit such an injustice. Cheer up, dear-
est"—she kissed him again—"it will all come out
right; it will all come out right."
"I hope so," said Rupert, doubtfully, and adjusting
the cloak on her shoulders. "But what will you say
to your father?"


146 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"I don't know, I can't say, I must think. Mean-
while, see me home, Rupert."
Thus abruptly she ended the interview, and the
Squire escorted her to within sight of the cottage.
But he did not enter.


148 THE LOST PARCHMENT
serious portion of his interview with Rupert, and
Dorinda was strongly inclined, not only to intimate
that she knew about the accusation, but to tell her
father how strongly she disapproved of his conduct.
More than this, she wished to state that she was on
the side of her lover. Dorinda was straightforward
herself? and greatly desired that Mallien should be
straightforward also. To bring such rectitude into
being, plain speaking was necessary. Yet the girl
hesitated to broach the subject, knowing only too well
her father's temper, his tricky nature and his un-
scrupulous greed. But at breakfast, her hesitation to
make trouble was ended by Mallien himself, as he
began to speak furiously the moment she laid her hand
on the coffee-pot.
"This is a nice thing, Dorinda," he raged, with-
out returning her morning greeting. "You went out
last night and did not return until after nine; in fact,
it was nearer ten. Don't deny it. You slipped out
when I was busy in my study, but I came to ask you
something and found you had gone out. What do
you mean by such conduct?"
Dorinda lifted her eyebrows. "I am not aware
that there is anything strange about my conduct. I
have been out late before. I am quite capable of
looking after myself, I assure you, father."
"I don't think so," retorted Mallien, bristling
with anger; "and I don't like such underhand con-
duct."
"I never behave in an underhand way," returned
Dorinda, her color rising and her eyes flashing. "You
know that quite well."
"You slipped out last night and slipped in, without
telling me."
"


CARRINGTON'S ADVICE 149
"There was no need to tell you."
"There was. Don't contradict me. If your con-
duct was not underhand, why did you not come and
say good-night to me in my study as usual?"
"Because I could not," said Dorinda coldly, and
looking straight at her angry parent. "What Rupert
told me about you disgusted me too much."
"Rupert!" Mallien rose and pushed back his chair
noisily. "You went to see that—that—that scoun-
drel?"
Dorinda rose in her turn. "He is not a scoundrel."
"He is, I tell you, and I forbid you to see him
again."
"As I am engaged to my cousin, I shall see him
when and where I please," said the girl deliberately.
"Don't try me too far, father, or you will be sorry
for it. I am not in the best of tempers this morning."
"You—you—minx!" gasped the angry man, chok-
ing with rage. "How dare you address me in that
way?"
"And how dare you accuse Rupert of murdering
Mr. Leigh," she retorted boldly.
Mallien's wrath suddenly died away, and he dropped
back into his chair with an uneasy look. "Who says
that I accuse"
"Rupert himself told me. I saw him last night, to
hear what he had to say about this missing will, and
he told me what you did not tell me."
"He's a mean hound to put my daughter against
me!" shouted Mallien.
"Please"—Dorinda flung up her hand—"I am not
deaf. Rupert did not wish to tell me. I made him
speak out, as I saw that he was hiding something.
If you were as honorable and scrupulous as Rupert,


150 THE LOST PARCHMENT
father, you would not need to get into these rages
with me, as I don't deserve them. And it's no use
your behaving in this way. I can hold my own,
as you well know, and I intend to do so. We may
as well understand one another."
"I am your father; you owe me respect."
"How can I give you what you don't deserve?
You are my father, and God help me that I should
have such a one."
"If you talk to me in this way," snarled Mallien,
blustering, "I shall turn you out of doors neck and
crop. What will you do then?"
"Marry Rupert," rejoined the girl promptly.
"A ruined man," sneered the other.
"He is not ruined yet; he never may be ruined.
That will has yet to be found; it has yet to be proved
legal, and you may be sure that Rupert will take all
the advantage he can, to keep what he has."
"I see. You are fighting against your father."
"I fight on the side of right. If the property is
yours, Rupert is willing to hand it over; if it is his,
he has every right to keep it. But you have no right,"
cried Dorinda, striking the table passionately, "to
accuse an innocent man of committing such a cowardly
crime."
"You are talking nonsense," said Mallien, doggedly
and folded his arms. "He is guilty."
"He is not. No one knows that better than you."
Mallien cringed at that last sentence, and his dark
face grew strangely pale as he avoided his daughter's
steady blue eyes. "I don't know why you should say
that," he muttered.
"What else can I say when you have known Rupert
for so many years?" was the passionate reply. "Has


CARRINGTON'S ADVICE 151
he ever behaved otherwise than honorably? Is he
the man, father, to kill a weakling like poor Mr.
Leigh, for money which he cares very little about?
You know better."
Mallien recovered his self-possession during his
daughter's speech and shook his shoulders as he
laughed harshly. "I know that the will stands be-
tween Rupert and absolute poverty," he retorted
obstinately; "and if a man has to make a choice"
"A man like Rupert would chose poverty rather
than crime," interrupted Dorinda imperiously. "What
reason have you to believe that Rupert would do such
a wicked thing?"
"My knowledge of human nature"
"Oh, is that all?" There was an expression of
relief in Dorinda's voice as she interrupted him again.
"So your evidence is purely circumstantial?"
"Yes!" admitted Mallien sullenly, and feeling that
Dorinda was too strong for him to deal with. "All
the same, a very powerful case can be built up against
the fellow. The will has disappeared in the nick of
time, and Rupert had every reason to make it dis-
appear."
"You seem to forget that no one but Mr. Leigh
has seen the will," said Dorinda crisply; "it may not
exist."
"It does exist," stormed Mallien violently, "and it
leaves the property to me as the descendant of Eunice
Filbert."
"That is what Mr. Leigh said, but he may have
imagined the whole thing. He was always a dreamer,
you know. Anyhow, father, I don't see much use in
your threatening Rupert with shadows."


CARRINGTON'S ADVICE 153
"It is your own fault that I am so frank. If what
I say doesn't please you, I can easily go to London
to see my old schoolmistress and ask her to get me a
position as a nursery governess."
"You wouldn't do that?"
"Yes, I would, and you know that I would. I
should like to respect you and to love you, father,
but I cannot. Your last action, in threatening to de-
nounce an innocent man, widens the gulf between
us. If you dare to go to Inspector Lawson, I shall
go out as a governess until such time as Rupert is
ready to marry me. Now you know exactly what I
mean."
Mallien did know, and was well aware that she
would act precisely as she declared she would. It
was no use to storm and bluster and try to reduce
her to tears, as Dorinda was not a tearful woman.
She knew how to hold her own and intended to hold
it. Mallien, having tried rage, was reduced to at-
tempting pathos, which he did very badly. "My own
daughter! my own daughter!" he murmured sadly.
"It's heartbreaking."
"It's pretty uncomfortable, I grant you," answered
Dorinda, with a queer smile, "for me as for you.
But as you have made the position entirely your-
self, I don't see what you have to complain of. But
now that we understand one another, let us call a
truce."
"Very good. I will overlook your unfilial behavior
and try to forget this conversation. All the same,"
cried Mallien, blazing up again, "I intend to get my
rights."
"Certainly. And if the will is found, you shall
have them."


154 THE LOST PARCHMENT
This was cold comfort to Mallien, who doubted
if the will ever would be found. Leigh might have
made a mistake, and there might be no will in exist-
ence, in which case, by making an enemy of Rupert,
he would be worse off than he was at present. He
thought that until the truth came to light, it would
be just as well to temporize, and let things stand
as they were. Therefore, as an outward sign of
reconciliation, he dropped a cold kiss on his daugh-
ter's white brow, and retreated to his study. Dorinda,
left alone in the little dining-room, had no desire to
eat any breakfast, as the struggle to secure Rupert's
safety had exhausted her greatly. She hastily drank
a cup of coffee, then wrote a note to her lover, say-
ing that he need not be afraid of the intervention
of the police, and relating in detail the conversation
just ended. Having sent this by hand to The Big
House, the girl went about her daily duties, reso-
lutely cheerful. Only by assuming a bold front could
she combat the great trouble which threatened to over-
whelm her and her lover. When the worst came to
the worst, there would be time enough to think of
further defense. But Dorinda believed that further
defense would not be required.
Rupert was very well satisfied when he received
Dorinda's note, as he had winced at the idea of In-
spector Lawson intervening. He, of course, had been
very certain that there was no chance of his being
arrested, owing to the fact that the will could not be
proved to exist. Still, Lawson was ambitious of pro-
motion and obstinate in his own opinion, therefore,
if Mallien had told his story, there might have been
a chance of scandal. However, Dorinda having re-
duced her father to neutrality, the only thing that


CARRINGTON'S ADVICE 155
remained to do was to find the will. Rupert intended
to search again among the papers at the Vicarage; but
could not do so until the afternoon, as Carrington had
sent a wire saying he would be down by the midday
express. The Squire intended to meet him at the
station, and talk to him on the way home, since he
was anxious to know what was the best way to deal
with the treacherous Mrs. Beatson. Knowing that
she was a spy and an enemy, Rupert could hardly
bear to see her about the house. However, he toler-
ated her presence until he heard what Carrington had
to say.
By this time, all excitement had died out of the
village, as the crime had been so thoroughly discussed
that there was no more to be said about the matter.
In their stolid bovine way, the rustics accepted the
positive fact that their late spiritual adviser was dead
and buried—accepted, also, the evident truth that the
murderer would never be caught and punished. This
being the case, they dismissed the past, and looked
eagerly forward to the future when the new incum-
bent would arrive. It was reported that a vicar had
already been appointed by the Bishop and that he
had a family, and would make the Vicarage a much
more lively place than it had been in Mr. Leigh's time.
Oh, there was plenty to talk about and The Hendle
Arms was filled with conversational yokels from
morning until evening.
On the way to the station, Rupert stumbled across
Titus Ark, who grinned in a toothless manner, touched
his shabby hat, and shuffled along in a manner sur-
prisingly spry for a man of eighty-odd years of age.
Hendle stopped to give him a sixpence for snuff, to
which the ancient was much addicted.


156 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"You miss Mr. Leigh, Titus," he said, pityingly,
for the old man was a lonely figure in the midst of
the new generation.
"Hor! Hor! Hor!" croaked the aged sexton. "Why
should I miss him Squoire when he bain't dead?"
"Why, Titus, you buried him—that is, you helped
to place the body in the family vault. Poor Mr. Leigh
could not have been buried alive."
"Who said as he was alive, Squoire? I never
did."
"You say that he isn't dead."
"No more he be."
"Then he must be alive."
"No, he bain't. Hor! Hor! Hor! Crack that nut,
Squoire!" and the ancient shuffled along the dry dusty
road, chuckling to himself.
Hendle shrugged his shoulders, wondering if it
would be necessary to lock up Titus in a lunatic
asylum. He appeared to be quite crazy, and talked
in so confused and contradictory a manner that no
meaning could be extracted from his speech. Evi-
dently his brain was far gone in decay, and although
so far he had kept his legs, he would shortly be bed-
ridden. Ark's office as sexton was a sinecure, as his
grandson, an active young fellow, dug the graves, and
attended to funeral details. The activities of Titus
were confined to appearing in the churchyard and
telling what he knew about the deceased. On the
whole, the old creature was harmless enough, so
Rupert banished from his mind the idea of shutting
him up, satisfied that, so long as his grandson looked
after him, he could be permitted to be at large. Ark's
incomprehensible talk reminded Hendle of Words-
worth's poem—"We Are Seven." No more than the


CARRINGTON'S ADVICE 157
child therein could Titus understand what death
meant. And this was strange, considering that he
was an old and accomplished sexton.
However, Rupert had more important things with
which to employ his mind than in thinking about the
babble of the ancient. He forgot all about Ark when
he came in sight of the station, the more readily when
he saw Carrington on the lookout for him. The
train had arrived early, and the barrister was waiting
for his friend's arrival. After greetings, Carrington
linked his arm within that of his old school-friend,
and they sauntered leisurely toward The Big House.
"That was a strange letter you wrote me, Hendle,"
said Carrington, when the two settled into their stride.
"I could scarcely believe it."
"Why not? I wrote plainly enough."
"Oh, yes. But I never thought that my idea of
risk to you would ever become an established fact
so soon. It's queer that Mrs. Beatson should have
listened on that particular night to that particular
conversation."
"Well, you see, she got it into her head that I in-
tended to dismiss her when I married Dorinda, and
so kept her ears open to hear if I spoke to the vicar
about my intention. As a matter of fact, I had no idea
of turning her away."
"Then, you had not. But now?"
"She must go," said Rupert shortly. "I can't have
a spy at my elbow."
"Have you said anything to her?"
"No! She is quite in the dark as to her treachery
having been discovered."
Carrington thought for a few moments. "If Mai-


158 THE LOST PARCHMENT
lien goes to the police, she will then learn that you
know how she has behaved."
"Mallien is not going to the police," said Rupert,
quietly.
"But I thought you said in your letter that he had
given you one week to"
"Yes, yes," interrupted the younger man, "I did
say so, and such was the case when I wrote. But
circumstances have changed since then, thanks to
Dorinda."
"Miss Mallien? What has she to do with the
matter?"
"A great deal. Last night she came over, as her
father had told her about the will. I was forced to
tell her that Mallien threatened to accuse me of the
murder."
"Oh! Oh!" said Carrington significantly. "So Mal-
lien did not tell her that?"
"No. He was ashamed to, I suppose, as he is well
aware that I am innocent. But this morning he had
a row with Dorinda about her engagement to me, and
she stood up for me, bless her. What she said, or
what he said, I don't know, but Dorinda sent over a
note this morning saying that her father had changed
his mind about speaking to Lawson."
Carrington heaved a sigh of relief. "That makes
things easier, anyhow. We can take our own time
to work out the case. Have you found the will?"
"No. I haven't seen a sign of it. I intend to
look again this afternoon, and you can assist me if
you care to."
"Oh, yes. Four hands are better than two, and
two searchers better than one, Hendle. And if the
will isn't found?"


CARRINGTON'S ADVICE 159
"Well, I suppose things will remain as they are."
"Don't you make any mistake, Hendle," replied the
barrister shrewdly. "Mallien won't stop until he gets
that will."
"I don't mind. In fact, I told him that he could
help me look for it."
Carrington frowned. "I hope I won't be brought
into contact with him. He's such a rude beast."
"Well, after our quarrel of yesterday. I don't think
he'll put in an appearance," said Hendle consolingly.
"Anyhow, whether he does or not matters little. Our
business is to find the will, and thus knock Mallien's
possible accusation on the head."
"As you please, what must be, must be. Miss
Mallien is a charming girl, but if marriage with her
meant a father-in-law like that boor I should cry
off."
"Ah, you are not in love, you see," said Rupert
calmly; "besides, when we are married, we will see
very little of Mallien. I am bribing him with five
hundred a year to make himself scarce. As he doesn't
care a cent for his daughter, he will probably agree
to clear out."
"Not before he has had a try to get the whole of
your money," said Carrington dryly. "The man is a
shark, and a sponge, and a greedy animal."
"Why call him names, Carrington? He is Dorinda's
father after all, so it is best to leave him alone."
"He won't leave you alone," retorted the other. "I
wonder you can be so calm over the matter, Hendle."
Rupert cast a side-look of surprise at the flushed
dark face of his companion. "I am quite innocent,
so why shouldn't I be calm?"


160 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"Hum!" growled the barrister. "Innocent men have
been hanged before now."
"Well, this innocent man won't be hanged, Car-
rington. No one can prove that I was near the Vicar-
age on that night."
"Probably not. But you had every motive to go
there and get the will, seeing that it may render you
a pauper."
"If I am to be a pauper I must become a pauper,"
replied Rupert coolly; "but I certainly would never
attempt to save myself from poverty by murdering
an old man who was my friend."
"Well, you see, people will talk as Mallien has
talked," said the barrister with a shrug. "You and
I alone knew about the will. I was in town, so no
one can say a word about me. But you, near at
hand, and"
"What is the use of talking rubbish?" interrupted
Rupert sharply. "I never was near the place on that
night, and if people talk, well, they must just talk, as
I am perfectly innocent. Besides, you forget that
Mallien knew about the will."
"Only after the murder, as Mrs. Beatson probably
did not tell him beforehand."
"I don't suppose she did. Hum I" Rupert stopped
and looked down at his neat brown boots and gaiters.
"Queer that I never thought of asking Mallien when
she did tell him. I'll ask him next time we meet.
Just now we can cross out Mallien as knowing. But
Mrs. Beatson"
"Exactly," interrupted Carrington gravely; "it oc-
curs to me that she knows more about the matter than
she chooses to say."


CARRINGTON'S rADVICE 161
"But you don't mean to infer that she killed the
vicar?"
"Why not? She knew about the will and guessed
that if she could get hold of it she could make you
squeal."
"At the risk of being accused of murdering Leigh."
Carrington nodded. "Perhaps. But then she may
think that you would hold your tongue about that if
she gave you the will."
Hendle walked on sharply. "I don't believe a word
of what you say," he cried, looking much worried.
"Mrs. Beatson has behaved treacherously, but I don't
think for one moment that she would kill the vicar."
"Perhaps not," said Carrington soothingly. "Well,
then, let us say nothing to her, but watch. If she
is guilty, she is bound to betray herself. The main
thing is not to let her suspect that you have found
out her treachery."
Hendle took off his cap and let the balmy air play
on his hot head. "It is very unpleasant," he said in a
vexed tone.
"Very," assented the barrister cordially; "but for
your own sake"
"Well, well, do what you like, Carrington. The
case is in your hands."


CHAPTER XII
ON THE TRACK
Generally speaking, it seemed as though Mallien's
prophecy of Carrington picking Rupert's pockets was
likely to come true. Owing to circumstances, the
barrister had found a perfectly legitimate way of get-
ting money from his friend, and intended to take
every advantage of the opportunity. He explained to
Hendle that it would be necessary for him to remain
at The Big House until all these crooked affairs were
straightened out, and that, his time being valuable,
he would require a handsome fee for his services.
The Squire professed himself quite willing that things
should be so arranged, but he was scarcely so dense
as Carrington believed him to be. He saw that the
visitor was anxious to make money, and concluded
that perhaps it was best to settle matters on this coldly
legal basis. The cut-and-dried situation was thus per-
fectly understood by both men, and they got on very
amicably together. On the surface everything was as
it should be.
But below the surface, things were scarcely so
pleasant. Rupert's susceptibilities for Carrington,
dating from Rugby days, had received a shock. He
had looked to find in the barrister an intimate friend,
only to discover that he was a hard business man.
Had Carrington looked into matters without stipulat-
162


ON THE TRACK 163
ing for a fee, and had behaved as a chum, Hendle
would have gladly dealt handsomely with him, know-
ing that he was not particularly successful in his pro-
fession. But the Squire, with the memory of his
school hero-worship in his mind, was dismayed to find
that his former idol had feet of clay, and that Car-
rington was quite willing to use him as a means to
an end. Rupert was by no means sentimental, yet he
felt.anxious for sympathy in his present unpleasant
position. That sympathy should be sold, as the bar-
rister was selling it, chilled his ardent nature, and
made him less confidential with his school-friend than
otherwise he would have been. Everything seemed
to be for sale, and nothing appeared to be given as a
gift. Mallien, Mrs. Beatson, Carrington, all had an
eye to the main chance; and even the late vicar had
hinted in a veiled way that the will would be given
up if his Yucatan expedition was financed. It seemed
to Rupert that his only true friend was Dorinda, who
loved him for himself, and not for what she could
get out of him. And Dorinda was nearer and dearer
than a friend, since she was to be his wife. Hendle,
who was deeply religious in his unobtrusive way,
silently thanked God that he had one staunch com-
rade. And such Dorinda was, therefore their mar-
riage would certainly be happier, when founded upon
so solid a foundation, than if it were a mere romantic
passion.
For the next three days, the two men paid daily
visits to the Vicarage and hunted high and low for
the missing will. They examined every paper; they
opened every book; they looked through the pockets
of old clothes, and turned out every cupboard. Rupert
expected that Mallien, being so keen about his rights,


164 THE LOST PARCHMENT
would search also; but the day after Carrington's
arrival, he went up to London, and remained absent
for some time. Apparently he disliked coming into
contact with the sharp-tongued barrister, and prob-
ably would not return until his enemy took his de-
parture. Carrington, of course, was not Mallien's
enemy, as he had no reason to be, but Mallien in his
odd misanthropic way regarded him as such. He
therefore would not have been pleased had he learned
that on the third day of his absence, Dorinda enter-
tained the two men at dinner.
Miss Mallien did not like Carrington any more than
did her father, but for the sake of helping Rupert,
she extended the hand of hospitality. In fact she
gave quite a little dinner-party, as Kit Beatson and
Miss Tollart were also present The master of the
house always objected to these small entertainments,
as they cost money; but Dorinda paid no attention to
his objections, as she claimed a reasonable right to
amuse herself. Nevertheless, she considered her
father's feelings so far as only to ask her neighbors
to luncheon, afternoon tea and dinner when he was
absent. Yet, notwithstanding this concession, there
was always trouble when Mallien returned; and, since
Carrington had been invited, it was probable that, on
this occasion, there would be a royal row. Dorinda
did not mind, as she was used to rows. The only
way in which she could make her situation bearable
was by standing up for herself and defying her father
in small matters. If she did not do so, he would bully
her still more, for every inch she gave meant several
ells with him. Her mild entertainments were there-
fore useful in preserving her independence, and in
coloring a somewhat drab existence.


ON THE TRACK 165
With the assistance of the small servant, Miss
Mallien had prepared a simple but appetizing meal,
which was done full justice to by the quartette of
guests. Afterward, they sat in the tiny drawing-room,
and enjoyed a real old English evening of the Albert
Period type, including games and music. Carrington
had brought some jig-saw puzzles from London, and
when the excitement of putting tricky pictures to-
gether palled, music supplied new pleasure. Sophy
Tollart, who had been well-trained, rendered scraps
of very up-to-date harmony, which began anyhow and
ended nowhere. Kit sang sentimental ballads in a
pleasant uncultivated tenor, and Dorinda delighted her
hearers with old time songs such as "Kathleen
Mavourneen" and "Robin Adair." Finally, as the
evening waned, the company gathered near the open
window to chat about this and that and the other
thing. Sophy recounted her experience as a militant
suffragist; Kit informed everyone of what progress
the motor industry was making, and, of course, the
coming of the new vicar supplied interesting conver-
sation. It was Miss Tollart who introduced the topic.
"He will arrive in a fortnight," she explained, bend-
ing her black brows in quite a tragic way, "and has a
family of four girls. I hope to interest them all in the
movement."
"Votes for Women?" asked Carrington, who found
Sophy very amusing, since she knew little and as-
serted much.
"Of course. What other Movement is there?"
"Well, you see, Miss Tollart, Women's Rebellion
isn't the only pebble on the beach. Humanity has
other interests also."
"Then it shouldn't have," retorted Sophy daringly.


166 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"Until women have votes, the world will never be put
right."
"Things have gone on very well so far," ventured
Rupert, only to be crushed.
"How can you say so, Mr. Hendle, when there's
nothing but war and bankruptcy, and silly football
matches, and smart society, and"
"Sophy! Sophy! that's enough to go on with," cried
Dorinda, smiling. "Don't give us too much to think
about."
"You never think at all, Dorinda. You are faint-
hearted about our votes."
"I don't think you'll get them by destroying prop-
erty and having hunger strikes," replied Dorinda, with
a shrug. "What do you say, Kit?"
Kit blushed and wriggled, for Sophy's eye was on
him. "I don't say anything you know. I never do.
The motor business takes up all my attention." Then
he hurriedly changed the subject, lest his lady-love
should fall foul of him for his shirking. "I hope
Sophy will gain her ends easier in Australia."
"I'm not going to Australia, Kit. I told you that
and I told your mother."
"Mrs. Beatson," said Carrington, pricking up his
ears. "Does she want you to go to Australia, Miss
Tollart?"
"She wants to go herself."
"That's news to me," observed Hendle, with a start.
"It's news to all of us," put in Kit, dismally. "The
worst of mother is that you never know what she'll
be up to next. The other day she came to me and
said that she soon hoped to inherit an annuity of two
hundred a year and intended to go to Australia. She
wants Sophy and me to come with her."


ON THE TRACK 167
Hendle, Dorinda and Carrington exchanged glances.
"Who is leaving this annuity to your mother?" asked
Rupert, guessing the source of the windfall.
"She didn't say," replied Kit, "some old aunt, I
fancy. But I don't want to go with mother. She and
Sophy never get on well together."
"How can we when she wants everyone to bow
down to her?" said Miss Tollart, who hated Mrs.
Beatson thoroughly. "I'm not of the bowing-down
sort. And when I marry, I want my house to myself."
"Natural enough," observed Carrington, who was
listening eagerly. "And Mrs. Beatson wants you all
to live together on her annuity?"
"Not exactly that," said Kit reluctantly. "She
won't keep us, but hopes that in Australia I shall
make more money out of motors."
"She may hope," said Sophy positively; "and, if
she is disappointed, she will have to be. You are not
going to Australia, Kit. My father needs my care,
and I can't leave him."
It seemed to Carrington that between Kit's mother
and his future wife's father, the poor young fellow
was in a most uncomfortable position. However, for
obvious reasons, connected with Sophy, he did not
say so and contented himself with the remark that
he thought Dr. Tollart very clever. "When I came
down here first, I called in to get a cure for tooth-
ache and he gave me one which acted like a charm."
Sophy, who seemed to have a deep affection for
her disreputable parent, colored with pleasure as she
rose to go. "Father has his faults, but he is a very
clever man," she said emphatically; "but for his fail-
ing he would be m Harley Street as a Specialist."
"Great men have more room for faults than small


168 THE LOST PARCHMENT
men," quoted Carrington. "Don't look angry, Miss
Tollart; I really mean what I say. Your father is
clever."
"I'm glad to hear that some one does him justice,"
said the girl bitterly, and looking more womanly as
she spoke. "Usually everyone is against him. But
Kit will help me to keep him straight when we are
married. Mrs. Beatson would drive him crazy."
"Sophy! Sophy! She is my mother," expostulated
Kit, blushing.
"I know that," snapped Miss Tollart tartly. "It is
the only thing I have against you as my husband. But
so long as she lives at a distance—well, it's no use
talking. Dorinda, I'm going now."
She went out to put on her hat and cloak, while
Kit stood irresolutely by the door he had just opened,
looking so downcast that Hendle clapped him on the
back. "Cheer up, old boy; it will be all right," he
said, feeling profoundly sorry for the lad since Mrs.
Beatson was decidedly a very disagreeable mother.
And then Carrington put a question.
"When does your mother expect her annuity?"
"She says she may get it at any time," replied Kit,
rather stiffly, as he did not see why a stranger like
the barrister should interfere; "but I know very little
about it. All she told me was that she was to get
two hundred a year and would leave Mr. Hendle to
go to Australia."
"Oh, I shall place no obstacle in her path," ob-
served Rupert somewhat grimly. "After all, as I soon
marry Miss Mallien, there will be no need for me to
have a housekeeper."
It was at this moment and before Carrington could
ask further questions, which he very much wished to


ON THE TRACK 169
do, that Sophy returned. Evidently she had been
crying, for her eyes were red, but her emotions were
quite under control and, after taking leave of her
hostess and the two men, she went away with Kit.
They seemed to be rather a forlorn young couple.
Dorinda remarked as much when she returned to the
drawing-room after seeing them to the door.
"What else can you expect," asked Cairrington
coolly, "when they are connected with a drunkard
like Tollart and a shrew like Mrs. Beatson? So
she intends to go to Australia, does she? I don't
want to hurt your feelings, Miss Mallien, but I see
your father's finger in this."
"Say as little about my father as is possible," an-
swered Dorinda, with a rich color flushing her fair
cheeks. Little as she respected her shady parent she
did not intend to discuss him with a stranger whom
she disliked.
Carrington was diplomatic enough to skate away
from the thin ice. "Rupert and I have taken all the
papers and clothes and odds and ends of Leigh to
The Big House," he remarked; "and there they can
stay until we hear from the Australian sea-captain
who inherits. The London lawyer has written him."
"And the will?"
"We have not found it yet."
"I don't think we ever will find it," commented
Hendle soberly. "I have searched the Vicarage from
cellar to attic without success. I really believe,
Dorinda, that, after all, Leigh was dreaming, and
that the will doesn't exist."
"Either that," said Carrington deliberately, "or Mrs.
Beatson made away with Leigh and stole it."
"I can't believe that," protested Dorinda, turning


ON THE TRACK 171
Her father had been prepared to hush up the matter
when he believed Rupert to be guilty, so it was not
improbable that he would make terms with Mrs. Beat-
son, provided he secured the will. Still, the girl did
not intend to let Carrington know what she thought,
and therefore stood up for her absent parent. "I
don't believe that Mrs. Beatson is guilty of such
wicked conduct," she repeated, after a pause. "What
grounds have you to say such a thing?"
"Well," murmured Carrington with a shrug. "No
very good grounds, I admit. But Mrs. Beatson knew
about the will before Leigh was murdered, and I
firmly believe that he was got rid of for the sake of
the will. This suggestion of an annuity hints that she
has the will and is trying to dispose of it at a price.
Perhaps Hendle"
"She has said nothing to me," interrupted Rupert
quickly, "and, after all, Carrington, you have watched
her for the last few days without seeing anything
suspicious."
"Mrs. Beatson is a sly creature, who will not give
herself away easily," returned the barrister dryly. "I
shall continue to watch her. There's ten o'clock,
Hendle," he added, as the mellow tones of the church
bell floated through the warm night. "We must not
keep Miss Mallien from her beauty sleep."
Dorinda did not suggest that they should remain,
although she would have liked to speak privately with
her lover. But while Carrington was at his elbow,
that was impossible, and she did not wish to talk
freely in the presence of a man she mistrusted. The
two young men said good-night to their hostess and
went away, leaving Dorinda in anything but a happy
frame of mind. What had been suggested about her


172 THE LOST PARCHMENT
father trading with the housekeeper worried her con-
siderably. There might or might not be some truth
in the idea. She tried to dismiss it from her mind;
but it would not be dismissed, and troubled her far
into the small hours of the morning.
Meanwhile, Rupert and his friends sauntered
leisurely homeward. It was so hot that they did not
wear coats over their evening suit, and so dry under-
foot that they walked to and from the cottage in
shoes. The sky was radiant with innumerable stars,
and although there was no moon, there was ample
light in which to see surrounding objects. Through
the shadowy world, warm and peaceful, the young
men wandered, taking their way across the fields, as
the high-road was so dusty and hard. For a time
neither spoke, for each was busy with his own
thoughts, which had to do with the case. Finally,
Carrington broke the silence, and spoke soft, as though
he feared listeners.
"I did not press my point, Hendle," he remarked
significantly, "as the little I did say rather offended
Miss Mallien."
"You were rather libellous about her father, you
know, Carrington."
"If the saying, that the greater the truth the greater
the libel is true, I certainly was," retorted the bar-
rister, "for what I said I hold to."
"That Mrs. Beatson is the guilty person?"
"Yes. And that she is trading with Mallien to give
him what he wants."
"The will?"
"Of course. I am as certain of that fact as I am
that I live. She has the will, and she intends to
deliver it to him—if she hasn't done so already—on


ON THE TRACK 178
condition that he gives her the two hundred a year
annuity, which she told her son comes from a mythical
aunt."
"Well," said Rupert, after a pause, "since Mallien
was willing to come to terms with me, I see no reason
why he should not come to terms with Mrs. Beatson,
always provided that she is guilty."
"She is," insisted Carrington bluntly. "It is no use
my giving you my reasons again, I think."
"If things are as you say I don't see how Mrs.
Beatson's part of the business can be concealed. The
will is of no use to Mallien unless he makes it public.
And if he does, he will have to explain how he be-
came possessed of it. I suppose his confession of the
deal with Mrs. Beatson would bring him into trouble
as an accessory-after-the-fact?"
"It would, and I am wondering how Mallien intends
to make himself safe on that score. There is only
one thing to be done, Hendle. We must wait until
Mallien produces the will. Then we can move."
"It's an infernal messy business altogether," growled
the big man, restlessly; "and I wish we were all well
but of it. I don't want Mallien to get into any trouble
for Dorinda's sake."
"I think you can be pretty certain that Mallien will
look after his own precious skin," said the barrister
dryly; "and if—hush!—not a word." He dropped
his voice to a whisper. "Who's that?"
"What?" Ruppert looked round, as Carrington
caught his arm, and pulled him off the footpath into
a clump of hazels.
"Don't speak," whispered Carrington with his
mouth close to Rupert's ear; "and button your coat
as well as you can over your shirt-front. The white


ON THE TRACK 179
whisper. "Do you want to give the show away? It's
a wonderful chance of learning the truth. Come."
Hendle silently agreed with his companion, although
he found it hard to believe that Mrs. Beatson was
such a conspirator. Whether her night excursion had
to do with the missing will or not, he could not be
sure; but it was evident that she was bent upon some
shady business, into which he should inquire, as her
master. The adventure appealed to him as a welcome
break in his monotonous existence, and he felt his
nerves thrill, as with Carrington he followed cau-
tiously. In the half-light they saw the black figure
of the woman climb the stile at the end of the meadow
and enter a spinny, which belted the high road. By
the time they reached this, and emerged on to the •
travelled thoroughfare, Mrs. Beatson had vanished.
Carrington bent to run, but halted a moment to
whisper.
"If there is any truth in my belief, she has gone
to the Vicarage. There, if anywhere, she has hidden
the will in the jungle."
Hendle nodded without reply, and the two men
sped swiftly along the road until they came to the
bend. They were just in time to see Mrs. Beatson
vanish through the rickety gate, which, as usual, was
standing wide open. Carrington stopped, dodged,
stooped, then crossed the road to run alongside the
hedge until he halted just outside the gate. Peering
round the corner with Rupert breathing hard beside
him, the barrister saw that Mrs. Beatson carried a
lantern, which she had just lighted, for it gleamed
like a star in the darkness of the tall trees.
"We can wait here," whispered Carrington, delay-
ing Rupert, who wanted to enter the grounds. "She


176 THE LOST PARCHMENT
will come back this way. We may attract her atten-
tion if we make any noise in that jungle."
This was good advice which Rupert was sensible
enough to take. Keeping well within the shadow
of the hedge, and looking up the avenue, they waited
for the woman's return. They had put their collars
up and had buttoned their dress coats over the shin-
ing expanse of shirt-front, so there was no gleam of
white to betray them, as they crouched, two dark
figures, in the dry ditch under the hedge. With beat-
ing hearts they waited anxiously, taking a peep every
now and then. Mrs. Beatson was a long time absent—
Hendle judged about a quarter of an hour. Then,
unexpectedly, she appeared running swiftly down the
grass-grown avenue with her lantern swinging in her
hand. At the gate and within touch, she waited to
extinguish the light, but before doing so set it on the
ground to look at a rustling parchment by its gleam.
The moment she stooped with the document, Car-
rington's arm shot out and it was snatched away.
With a shriek Mrs. Beatson straightened herself to
face her master and his guest. She had, indeed, been
caught red-handed.


CHAPTER XIII
CONFESSION
Paralyzed by extreme fright, Mrs. Beatson stood as
motionless as a stone image, staring blankly at her
captors with open mouth and unwinking eyes. Her
face was whiter than the dingy parchment of which
she had been deprived, and her breath came and went
in short quick gasps, which echoed audibly through
the still night. Rupert looked at her for a moment
and then turned away his head; his manhood was
shamed by the silent agony of the miserable creature.
Carrington, more hardened by experience, stooped to
the light, and read, "This is the Last Will and Testa-
ment of John Hendle," in vividly black Latin letter-
ing. That was enough to assure him of the truth, and,
rolling up the parchment, he turned sternly on the
panic-struck woman.
"You are a clever fool, Mrs. Beatson," he remarked
quietly—"clever in getting the will and hiding it so
skillfully; but a fool to examine so compromising a
document here, when the village policeman may pass
at any moment."
The word "policeman" galvanized Mrs. Beatson
into life and action. With a final gasp she suddenly
became, as it seemed, conscious of her peril, and
bolted. Down the road and across the road she sped,
and was in the spinney before the two men could
grasp the situation. For a single moment they stared
177


CONFESSION 179
following. Call yourself a man, do you? Ha! Ha!
call yourself a man? God help the woman who
marries you, say I."
Neither of the two made any reply to this aimless
speech, and babbling incoherently, Mrs. Beatson was
led by Hendle to the house. Fortunately none of the
servants were in the entrance-hall, and when Rupert
opened the door with his latch-key, Mrs. Beatson swept
in toward the drawing-room, which was lighted up.
Carrington and his friend followed close behind, to
find her seated in an armchair, fanning her heated
face with the hood which she had removed. Her
color had returned and her self-possession, so that
she eyed the pair defiantly. Her attentions were
mostly directed toward Carrington, and if a look could
have slain him, he would have dropped dead there and
then.
"Come now," said the barrister, when the door was
closed and the trio were alone, "what have you got
to say to all this?"
"I shan't answer you," snapped Mrs. Beatson
viciously. "You aren't going to bully me."
"I think you had better answer," said Hendle,
sternly. "This is not the time to play the fool."
"Are you against me also, sir?"
"I am advising you for your good. As to being
against you, what attitude do you expect me to as-
sume toward you, seeing how treacherously you have
behaved, Mrs. Beatson?"
"Treacherously?"
"Yes! You listened to a conversation not meant
for your ears and reported the same to Mr. Mallien."
"Did he tell you so?"
"There was no need for him to tell Mr. Hendle,"


CONFESSION 181
"Indeed, I shall do it within ten minutes if you do
not speak out."
"I can—I can—exonerate—exonerate myself," stut-
tered Mrs. Beatson, her dry lips scarcely able to form
the words.
"You had better do so to us," advised Carrington
agreeably.
"And if I don't?" she snarled, turning on him.
"Then Inspector Lawson shall examine you."
"What do I care when I know that I am inno-
cent?"
"Well,"—Carrington shrugged his shoulders—"it's
your own affair. Ring the bell, Hendle, and send one
of the servants down for Kensit."
"No, don't!" cried Mrs. Beatson, when she saw
her master walk toward the fireplace to touch the
ivory button. "I can explain."
Hendle nodded and returned to his seat, while Car-
rington replaced the will in his pocket and waited for
the confession. Mrs. Beatson wiped her face and
glared at the two like a tigress at bay. Only the
knowledge that she was driven into a corner made
her speak out. "I overheard your conversation with
Mr. Leigh, sir," she said to her master and ignoring
Carrington. "Oh, I didn't mean to, you know. I
only listened as I thought you intended to discharge
me when you married Miss Mallien, and fancied you
might explain yourself on that point to the vicar."
"I understand. But why did you report the conver-
sation to my cousin?"
Mrs. Beatson looked down sullenly. "You don't
know what it is to be poor," she muttered irrele-
vantly. "I am born a lady, and through the fault of a
spendthrift husband I am reduced to act as your


182 THE LOST PARCHMENT
housekeeper. It is only natural that I should try and
improve my position, so when I learned about a will
which would give your property to Mr. Mallien, I
thought it wise to make money by speaking about it
to him."
"Why not to me in the first instance?"
"Because you are too honest," burst out the woman,
raising her pale eyes. "If you got the will you would
have made its contents public, even though, as Mr.
Leigh stated, you would lose all. For that reason
I had no hold on you and would never have got money
from you. By telling Mr. Mallien I managed to ex-
tract a promise from him that when he came into the
property he would give me an annuity."
"Of two hundred a year?" inquired Carrington.
"We did not mention any sum," retorted Mrs. Beat-
son, "but that was the amount I intended to ask."
"And the amount which you told your son a mythi-
cal aunt was leaving you."
"I had to give my son some reason for being pos-
sessed of the annuity."
"Hum!" said Carrington with a shrug. "You
haven't got the annuity yet, and -now you never will
have."
"I am not so sure of that. After all, if I hadn't
told, Mr. Carrington, the cousin of my master would
never have known of his good fortune."
"Then the will really does leave the property to
Eunice Filbert?" questioned Rupert nervously.
"I don't know. I have not read the will."
"Come now," said Carrington contemptuously, "you
don't expect us to believe that. You must have read
the will before you buried it."
"I didn't bury it."


CONFESSION 188
The barrister heaved a weary sigh and glanced at
Rupert as if to invite his attention to the way in which
the woman was lying. "I don't know why you are
wasting our time in this fashion," said Carrington
sharply. "Why can't you speak straightforwardly?
Twisting and turning won't help you now. You are
in a corner, and however you may fight you will not
get out of it. Be frank, Mrs. Beatson, and tell us
how you killed the vicar."
Mrs. Beatson rose white-faced and trembling, hold-
ing on to the back of the chair as she replied. "I
did not kill the vicar," she -insisted. "I would not
do such a thing. I haven't the nerve, and I'm honest
enough as people go. Only the sudden temptation
to make money easily made me tell Mr. Mallien about
the will. But I did no more. I wasn't near the vicar-
age, and no one was more astonished than I was when
I heard of the murder."
"Listen to me," said Carrington, making a sign to
Rupert that he should hold his tongue and leave the
examination to him. "The police could not find out
any reason why the vicar should have been killed,
because they knew nothing about this will. Kensit
unconsciously hinted at the truth when he said that
the papers and books in the vicarage study were all in
disorder, as if some search had been made. I believe
that such a search was made, and by you, for this will,
after you murdered the poor man."
"It's a lie!" screamed Mrs. Beatson savagely. "How
dare you sit there and tell lies about me?"
"If it is a lie," said Carrington, quite unmoved
by her sudden fury, "how comes it that the will is in
your possession?"
"I dug it up."


CONFESSION 185
difficulty in finding the place mentioned. I did not
think that you would return early from the dinner,
and so left the thing until it was too late. I dug up
the will easily, as it was only a little way under ground
and the earth was piled loosely over it. Then I came
out and stopped at the gate to make sure that it was
the will I had found."
"A silly thing to do, seeing that Kensit on his
rounds might have caught you," said Carrington, re-
turning to his seat. "Now how much of this tale are
we to believe?"
"The whole of it," retorted Mrs. Beatson, distinctly
amazed. "It's the truth."
"Hum!" said Carrington reflectively, "it may be;
but did you not send that letter from yourself to
yourself?"
"Me!" Mrs. Beatson's voice leaped an octave.
"Hush! hush!" said Hendle, hurriedly glancing at
the door. "You'll bring in the servants. I need
hardly tell you that it is best to thresh out this matter
among the three of us."
Thus warned, the housekeeper sank her voice, and
took refuge in angry tears, always a woman's last re-
source. "I'm so tired of being insulted," she sobbed
loudly. "Ever since you came across me, Mr. Hendle,
that friend of yours has been taking away my char-
acter."
"I rather think you have taken it away yourself
by behaving so treacherously to me," said Rupert
grimly. "However, I don't agree with Mr. Carring-
ton that you sent that letter to yourself from your-
self."
"How could I," sobbed Mrs. Beatson, "when I
haven't been near London? And I'm not a con-


186 THE LOST PARCHMENT
spirator. It's a shame blaming me for trying to help
myself. Why can't you leave me alone? Two men
on to one woman. You ought to go on your knees and
beg my pardon."
This amazing view of the case extorted a con-
temptuous smile from Carrington. He had much ex-
perience in his profession of the fair sex, and knew
the marvellous way in which women extricated
themselves from difficulties which would overwhelm a
mere man. Logic, as he was well aware, formed no
part of the feminine nature. "I shan't try to argue
with you," he said mildly, "for you would be sure to
get the better of me. But you have behaved very
badly to Mr. Hendle."
"No, I haven't. I had a right to look after myself."
"Not at his expense. He has always treated you
kindly and"
"Well, why shouldn't he?" demanded Mrs. Beat-
son, rolling up her handkerchief into a damp ball and
dabbing her red eyes. "I have always done my duty,
I hope, and at a small salary, too. I could get a
better place any day."
"Then I advise you to look out for one," said
Rupert, astonished at this ingratitude. "You certainly
shan't stay here."
"What?" Mrs. Beatson gasped and stared.
"Well, why should you when you can be happier
elsewhere?"
"I didn't say that I would. And if you discharge
me—as I knew you would when you talked of mar-
rying Miss Mallien—I shall ask for one year's wages
and a letter saying how thoroughly I attended to my
duties."
"I had no idea of discharging you until I discov-


188 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"Am I not saying so?" shrieked Mrs. Beatson, vir-
ulently. "I told him on the very afternoon of the
next day, and you know quite well that it was at
eleven o'clock of the same night that Mr. Leigh was
murdered. And no one was more astonished than I
was."
"Had you any idea who murdered him?'
"No. How should I have any idea?"
"Have you any idea now?"
"No, I haven't, unless it was the person who sent
that letter?"
"Who sent it?"
Mrs. Beatson stamped. "What a fool your are, Mr.
Carrington! You have the letter and know as much
about the matter as I do."
The barrister thought for a few moments, then
turned his back on the angry woman to address Ru-
pert. "Do you think she is speaking the truth,
Hendle?"
"Yes, I do."
"Of course you do," cried the housekeeper, looking
viciously at the pair. "I am not accustomed to hav-
ing my word doubted."
"Hold your tongue, or it will be the worse for
you," said Carrington sharply. "You have behaved
very badly and ought to be locked up. All the same, I
advise Mr. Hendle to leave matters as they are for a
day or so, until we examine this will and make in-
quiries as to who sent this letter."
"That letter is mine!" cried Mrs. Beatson, stretch-
ing out her hand.
Rupert put it into his pocket. "It will go to the po-
lice if you don't hold your peace," he threatened, for
strong measures were necessary in dealing with such


CONFESSION 180
a woman. "I agree with Mr. Carrington. Go away
and say nothing about anything, not even to Mr. Mal-
lien. Do you hear?"
"What are you going to do?"
"Never mind. You know what you have to do."
Rupert walked to the door and opened it. "Now go
to bed."
Mrs. Beatson tossed her head and moved toward
the door. She greatly wished to continue the con-
versation and defend herself, but a glance at Hendle's
stern face made her change her mind. Never had
she seen her good-tempered master so angry and so
decided. Foolishly as she had talked, the woman was
well aware that her position was a critical one, there-
fore she refrained from making bad worse. "I'm
going and I'll say nothing," she snarled; "but when
you are turned out of this house"
"Please," said Rupert, nodding toward the hall.
"Beast!" said Mrs. Beatson under her breath lest
the servants should hear, "both of you, beasts!" and
she sailed out of the room triumphantly, having se-
cured the last word, and so soothed her angry mind.
Hendle closed the door and returned to Carrington.
"Take out the will and let us have a look at it," he
said in a weary voice.
"Won't you wait until to-morrow?" asked Carring-
ton, glancing at him. "This row has upset you."
"No. I want to see the will now. It may disap-
pear again."
Carrington took out the crumpled parchment from
his pocket. "Look after it yourself, then, and you
can be certain that it is safe."
"All right. But let us look at it together. Move
that lamp nearer."


190 THE LOST PARCHMENT
Carrington did so, and Hendle spread out the rust-
ling sheets—three or four of them, as the will was
tolerably long. It was written, as wills of the early
nineteenth century usually were, on parchment in a
clear, scholarly hand, the writing being excellently
engrossed and excellently preserved. The parchment
itself was soiled and dog-eared, blotched here and
there with coffee-brown stains: but it had suffered
little damage during its hundred years' imprisonment
in the muniment chest. With Carrington seated be-
side him the Squire slowly read the faded brown writ-
ing, and gradually made himself master of the con-
tents. When he came to the signature of the testator
and the names of the two witnesses, he drew a long
breath and looked at the barrister in frank dismay.
"It seems quite legal," he said in a despairing voice.
"Quite," agreed Carrington. "So far I can't see
anything wrong."
"And John Hendle by this"—Rupert struck the
parchment—"leaves all his property, with the excep-
tion of sundry legacies to people now dead and buried,
to Eunice Hendle, afterward Eunice Filbert, and her
heirs. Yes. Leigh said as much. Frederick would
have been disinherited had this will been produced in
the year 1815. I wonder how it got lost."
"Frederick may have"
"No, he didn't," interrupted the barrister sharply.
"Frederick knew nothing about it, or he would have
put it into the fire. I expect John Hendle made it—
or rather his solicitor did—and then threw it into
the chest where it was overlooked. Queer that the
solicitor didn't mention it when the old man died."
"Perhaps he did," said Rupert sadly. "We know
nothing of what took place at Hendle's death, save


CHAPTER XIV
A CLUE
Needless to say, as it had been agreed to keep the
discovery secret for the present, Hendle did not dis-
charge Mrs. Beatson forthwith. Such an action, jus-
tifiable though it would have been, might lead to awk-
ward questions being asked, and Carrington, for ob-
vious reasons, advised caution. As things now stood
the housekeeper would keep silent for her own sake,
so the next day she went about her usual duties as if
nothing had happened. None of the servants knew
about her excursion, as it was supposed she had re-
mained in her own room, according to her usual cus-
tom. So far as the outside world was concerned
everything was safe, and the two men had time to
look into matters at their leisure. It made Rupert's
gorge rise to have the treacherous woman under his
roof, but until he was assured of the truth of the
will, he did not dare to get rid of her. Driven to bay,
Mrs. Beatson being a woman, who would wreck con-
tinents for a whim, would ruin herself and everyone
else in a whirlwind of rage. Being left alone, she
nursed her disappointed anger in secret.
Rupert's expressed intention was to take the will
up to London and show it to the family lawyer, who
would be able to explain matters. He had intended
to do this the very next day, but Carrington dissuaded
192


194 THE LOST PARCHMENT
world," he said warmly; "but there is such a thing as
overdoing honesty, you know."
"I don't know," retorted the other positively. "One
must be one thing or the other. There can be no tam-
pering with honor."
"Of course not. I should never suggest such a
thing. However, I do suggest that you should wait
for a day or so before seeing your lawyer."
"Why?"
"You forget that the will is mixed up with a crime.
If your lawyers decide that Mallien must have the
money, the matter is bound to be made public. In
that case it will become known to Lawson that Leigh
possessed the will. I leave you to guess what com-
plications will ensue."
Hendle tugged at his brown moustache moodily.
"It's an infernally difficult business," he said after a
pause. "What do you suggest?"
Carrington, rejoicing that he had succeeded thus far,
had his answer ready. "I suggest that you wait for
a few days, and meanwhile come with me to the vicar-
age.
"What for?"
"To look at the sundial, and see where the will was
buried."
"What good will that do?"
"One never knows," said Carrington sententiously.
"Who do you think buried the will?"
"The man who murdered Leigh to get it."
"And his name?"
"Pouf! Ask me another. How do I know?"
"Mrs. Beatson?"
"Well, why not she as well as another? She had
much to gain by possessing the will, and the will was


A CLUE 195
in her possession last night. But for the chance of
our stumbling across her when she went to unearth
it, we would never have known that."
"I can't think that Mrs. Beatson, bad as she is,
would commit a murder," mused the Squire reflec-
tively. "After all, if she had the will on the night
Leigh was got rid of, and committed the crime, why
should she bury it?"
"My dear fellow, that is where the woman's artful-
ness comes in," said Carrington quickly. "She had
to give some reason for possessing the will. By hid-
ing it in a hole, and then writing to herself that anony-
mous letter saying where it was to be found, she does
away with all suspicion against her."
"Not in your mind apparently," said Hendle, dryly.
"Of course not. But a long course of criminal law
has opened my eyes to the habits of the animals. I
may be unduly suspicious, I grant you, still the fact
remains that the story Mrs. Beatson told us last night
is too thin. Granting that the woman is innocent, why
should the real criminal tell her where to find that
which he risked his life to obtain?"
"It does seem strange. And yet"
"Oh, you are full of scruples, Hendle!" cried the
barrister pettishly. "What is Mrs. Beatson to you
that you should defend her so warmly?"
"She is a woman, and I have a great respect for
women."
Carrington made a grimace. "You answer like a
raw boy. My experience of the sex has not led me
to respect any single one."
"Yet you know Dorinda?"
"There speaks the lover. Well then, I do respect
her, if that concession will satisfy your chivalrous


196 THE LOST PARCHMENT
ideas. But I don't believe this cock-and-bull story of
Mrs. Beatson, and I certainly don't respect her."
"Neither do I. All the same, I credit her story."
Carrington shrugged his shoulders at this persistent
optimism. "Then let us agree to consider her inno-
cent until we prove her to be guilty. But you must
see that if you interview your lawyers to-day, within
the week a whole avalanche of troubles will descend
on your thick head."
"Well," replied the Squire, wavering, "I shall wait
for a few days, as you advise. I wonder what Do-
rinda will say?"
"Don't tell her," said the barrister quickly, for it
was difficult enough for him to deal with one honest
person without tackling a second. "She will tell her
father aboyt the discovered will if you do."
"I don't care if she does. Mallien has to know
some time, since he is so deeply concerned in the mat-
ter."
"Hendle," said Carrington seriously, "you are a
child. Don't say a word to Mallien, or to his daugh-
ter, who might tell him, until you have seen your law-
yers. That's common sense."
On reflection Rupert was obliged to confess that it
was, since his cousin would certainly make trouble
straightway. It would be best to have the opinion
of the lawyers beforehand, so that the situation might
be adjusted so far as possible before the probable in-
heritor came into the matter. Of course he knew that
Dorinda would tell her father nothing if asked to keep
silent, but to so ask would be to lay another burden
on her. Mallien was suspicious, brooding and perti-
nacious. If he thought that she was keeping any-


A CLUE 197
thing from him, he certainly would never rest until
he learned what it was.
"I shall not tell Dorinda until I have seen the law-
yers," said Rupert.
"And you will see them?"
"In two or three days. Now let us go out for a
walk—to the vicarage if you like. I can't stay indoors
worrying over things which at present I cannot rem-
edy. Come!"
"Won't it be better for us to have another look at
the will before we go?"
"I don't think so. I know the will by heart, and
have locked it safely away, Carrington. It disinherits
Frederick, from whom I am descended, legally
enough; and if the lawyers are of the same opinion
with their larger knowledge, why then my cousin must
enter into his own."
"There is the Statute of Limitations, you know,"
hinted Carrington pointedly.
"I shall take advantage of that and of anything else
if I can do so consistently with my honor. But what
is the use of arguing?" said Hendle with a burst of
bitterness, for the position pained him greatly. "We
can do nothing just now. Let us go for a walk."
Carrington was too politic to press the matter fur-
ther, as he saw how the Squire winced. But he had
by no means given up the hope of inducing Hendle to
refrain from publishing the possible loss of his es-
tates, and intended to talk about the affair when the
young man was more off his guard. Now with diplo-
matic skill bred from years of experience of shady
doings, he put on his straw hat and sauntered out of
doors along with his host, talking of many matters
which had nothing to do with the burning question of


198 THE LOST PARCHMENT
the disputed inheritance. But as they walked down
the avenue Carrington spoke of a matter which really
interested him. And that was of a qualm he felt
when passing under the spreading branches of the
oaks. He had felt that qualm before when he had
first visited Barship, and in the same place.
"I'm walking over my grave again," he muttered
uneasily, and although he would not confess to super-
stition, the coincidence struck him as disagreeable.
"What's that?" asked Rupert absently. He had
been busy with his own painful thoughts and had not
paid much attention to his companion's light noth-
ings.
"You know the saying that when one shivers, or
has what the Scotch call a grue, one is walking over
one's grave. Well, I had some such uncanny feeling
in this very avenue when I came to see you first, and
now, hang it all, I have it again. I don't like it."
Hendle, now more attentive, laughed. "A lawyer
and superstitious?"
"Oh, bosh! I am not in the least superstitious. But
there are some things which are hard to explain. It's
gone!" Carrington wiped his perspiring face and
looked round with an air of relief.
"What's gone?"
"That feeling of walking over my own grave."
"Rubbish!" said Hendle, who was much too stolid
to believe in such things. "I expect it was only a sud-
den chill."
"I dare say, although it is odd that I should get a
chill in this blazing sunshine," muttered the barrister,
who was more impressed than he cared to admit.
"But there are more things in heaven and earth"
"What a well-worn quotation! You need bucking


200 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"No," answered Rupert promptly; "but my friend
and I are now on our way to the Vicarage to see
what's doing. We may meet him there."
"I don't think so, sir. He came yesterday to set the
men to work and won't come to-day. The workmen
are painting and papering the house and digging up
the garden and making a nice place of it. Mrs. Jab-
ber remains on as caretaker until the family arrive.
She'd like to stay on altogether, but Lord bless you,
sir, what would the vicar do with such a slut? He's
a much more particular gentleman than Mr. Leigh,
I do hear."
Hendle put an end to the landlady's babble by fin-
ishing his beer and departing, although the common-
place gossip had distracted his worrying mind for a
few moments. As Carrington crossed the square be-
side his host he ventured a remark.
"Let us hurry on, Hendle, and have a look at the
hole by the sundial before the workmen turn up the
ground."
"What good will that do?" snapped the Squire
sharply.
"One never knows. It is just as well to look round.
Who knows but what the assassin may not have left
some clue?"
Hendle stared. "What clue could he, or would he,
possibly leave?"
Carrington laughed. "Oh, it's only an idea—a silly
one, maybe. But I have an idea that we will stumble
upon some clue."
"You and your ideas, Carrington. First your walk-
ing over your confounded grave business and now the
chance of picking up some impossible clue. -It's all
imagination."


2 CLUE 201
The barrister laughed again, but said no more.
Hendle was less amiable than usual, which was
scarcely to be wondered at considering what was in
his mind. He walked fast enough toward their des-
tination, as if he wished to rid himself of disagree-
able thoughts by swift movement. Shortly they came
to the rickety gate, and passed up the grass-grown
avenue, dank and unwholesome, and not to be warmed
even by the blazing summer sun. The surroundings
were the same, but the place had lost its uncanny iso-
lating atmosphere, and there was a stir of life in house
and grounds, which showed that the place was waking
up. Many men were moving in and out of the open
doors; there was the noise of conversation and cheer-
ful whistling, and scaffolding was being erected
against the ivy-draped walls. Even in the jungle two
gardeners were at work cutting down the tall tangled
forest of weeds, and opening out the spaces between
the trees. Most of the men employed were strangers,
but some of the village workers had been pressed into
service and these greeted the Squire and his friend
respectfully. Hendle nodded absently in return, then
strolled through the bare house, watching the ancient
paper being stripped off the walls, and the replacing
of mouldering boards. Afterward he and Carrington
walked into the jungle and, at the far end of a winding
path, found the lichen-covered sundial, half buried
among luxuriant weeds. It had not yet been dis-
turbed.
"I say, Hendle," remarked Carrington, as they
crushed the lush grasses under foot, "this dial is
pretty well hidden in this jungle."
"Yes?"


A CLUE 205
intend to give up the property to Mallien, if it is
legally his, even if it leaves me, as it will, a pauper.
The finding of this jewel will make no difference.
You understand?"
"Yes. But if the man is guilty he should be pun-
ished."
"We can't be sure if he is guilty."
Carrington laughed grimly. "It seems to me that
what we have discovered is an excellent proof of his
guilt when taken in connection with the known facts
of the case."
"I don't want to think about it."
"But you must. For the sake of justice, if not for
your own sake. Confound it, Hendle, take advantage
of the chance which Providence has placed in your
hands to save your skin. Only you and I and Mrs.
Beatson know about the will being discovered; only
you and I know about this jewel which brings Mallien
perilously near the gallows. For your sake I shall
hold my tongue, and you can have this Timon on
toast."
"There is something in that, Carrington. But I
can't expect you to hold your tongue for nothing."
"Oh, my terms won't be exorbitant. And, of
course," added the barrister, making light of his
knavery, "as a poor man I must make hay while the
sun shines."
"Oh, that is your opinion, is it?" asked Rupert
dryly, and, on receiving a smiling nod, walked on
rapidly in silence. He had laid a trap for Carring-
ton and the man had fallen into it. He was little more
than a blackmailer, who was prepared to make use of
his power to enrich himself. To prevent such a thing
Rupert temporized, although he could scarcely stop


CHAPTER XV
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
Rupert felt very uncomfortable. It was bad enough
to have Mrs. Beatson in the house, when he knew
how treacherous she was; but it was worse to enter-
tain Carrington as his guest. The barrister undoubt-
edly was determined to make money at the cost of
honor. And what was more, he would probably gain
his ends, unless the truth came to light. And the
truth required to adjust matters was to learn beyond
question what was the name of the individual who
had murdered the vicar. If, indeed, Mallien was the
culprit, Rupert felt that he was in Carrington's power.
It was impossible to allow that truth to come to Law-
son's ears, as then Mallien would be arrested and
there would be a public scandal. Yet if Carrington,
who knew all details, were not bribed largely to keep
silence, it seemed likely that he would denounce the
miserable man. Of course, as yet, Hendle could not
be certain that his cousin had committed the crime;
but circumstances were against him, and if the police
took up the matter, ruin would stare Mallien in the
face. For Dorinda's sake such publicity was not to
be thought of for one moment.
Hendle had no love for his cousin, who was as dis-
agreeable and selfish a mortal as ever existed. He
was capable of the most unscrupulous conduct to feed
his egotism, but Rupert thought—and with some de-
207


208 THE LOST PARCHMENT
gree of truth—that the very egotism in question would
prevent the man from risking his neck. Yet, even if
he were innocent, as Rupert tried hard to believe for
Dorinda's sake, the evidence against him was very
strong. Mallien, thanks to Mrs. Beatson, knew all
about the will before Leigh's death; the discovery of
the ornament, near the sundial, proved that he had
been where the will was buried. Also possession of
the will meant a fortune to Mallien, and the sole rea-
son for which the vicar could have been murdered was
for the criminal to obtain possession of the parch-
ment. Indeed, it was very certain that if Inspector
Lawson became possessed of these facts, he would
not have the slightest compunction in arresting Mal-
lien, and in doing his best to have him hanged. The
evidence was certainly purely circumstantial, but so
strong that Rupert felt convinced both judge and jury
would accept it as positive truth. And, failing Mrs.
Beatson, whom the Squire did not believe to be guilty,
it really looked as though Mallien with his greedy na-
ture and bad temper had struck the fatal blow. Never
was a man in such a dilemma.
Carrington, afraid of losing his chance, remained at
The Big House, and kept a strict watch on Mrs.
Beatson and on Mallien himself. That gentleman had
returned from London in the best of spirits, having
managed to pick up a most wonderful ruby for a small
price. Hendle had been under the impression that
when so much was at stake his cousin would
abandon his hobby to prosecute a search for the will
and push on as rapidly as possible his claim to the
property. But Mallien never came near the place,
and, according to Dorinda, was wholly taken up with
arranging his collection of gems in a new set of cabi-


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 209
nets. This abstinence from action at such a critical
period argued fear on the man's part lest dangerous
information should come to light, if he made himself
too conspicuous. More and more Rupert became con-
vinced that his cousin was the guilty person, and he
did not know very well how to act. He could not talk
to Dorinda, as what he had to say was too terrible,
and he was unable to converse freely with Carring-
ton, since he now mistrusted him so greatly. Of
course, Carrington never guessed that such was the
case, as Rupert kept a careful guard over his words
and actions, so that the barrister believed that his
friend was quite willing to act in the dishonorable
way suggested.
And what Carrington did suggest was that Rupert
should inform Mallien of what had been discovered,
and then threaten to denounce him to the police if he
did not surrender all claim to the property. Then the
will could be thrown into the fire, Mrs. Beatson could
be sent to Australia with a sum of money, to close her
mouth, and all would end up with the marriage of
Hendle and Dorinda. For this suggestion, and for
services rendered in connection therewith, Carring-
ton plainly stated that he required the sum of five
thousand pounds. After beating round the bush for
some time during the next two days Carrington in-
formed Hendle frankly of his scheme and of the
amount he expected for its carrying out. Then Ru-
pert forgot his caution and told his old school friend
in the most indignant way what he thought of him.
The two men were walking in the park one morning
when the explosion took place. Rupert, as usual, was
unable to remain in the house quietly, since his very
painful thoughts did not permit him to take an interest


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 211
five thousand pence, I can tell you," said Hendle, with
his usually kind eyes growing hard.
"Not from you perhaps, since you are such a fool.
But Mallien"
"Mallien can defend himself. What he does has
nothing to do with me."
"It has a lot to do with Dor"
"If you mention that name I shall knock you down
again!" shouted the Squire.
Carrington was wise enough to take the hint, being
a coward at heart as all bullies are. "I should like to
know why you knocked me down at all?" he com-
plained, in sulky tones.
"I did so, because you are little else than a black-
mailer."
"How dare you use that word to me!" cried Car-
rington, black with rage, and he would have struck
his quondam friend but that he knew from experience
that he would get the worst of it in any struggle which
might ensue.
"What other word applies to your conduct?" de-
manded Hendle fiercely. "As my old school chum I
have treated you well, and have shown you every hos-
pitality, as you know very well. And how do you
repay me? By theatening to make things hot for me
if I don't buy your silence with a large sum of money."
"I didn't threaten to make things hot for you," pro-
tested Carrington, snarling like a disappointed dog.
"I only suggested that you should hush up the matter
of the murder and the will"
"Yes, and pay you to hold your tongue. What else
is that but blackmail? If I was dishonorable enough
to agree to your terms, your request for money would
only be the first of many."


212 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"I swear that I would ask no more."
"All blackmailers say that, until they get their vic-
tims in their toils by the first payment. Then they
show themselves in their true colors. I wonder you
are not ashamed, Carrington, to behave so basely."
"I am not behaving basely," cried the barrister furi-
ously. "I am poor, I admit, and I want money. But
all I proposed was to your own advantage."
"So that you might get a hold over me by persuad-
ing me to hush up a felony and so take every penny
I possess."
"That you possess," sneered Carrington, recklessly
throwing off the mask, now no longer a protection.
"Why, Mallien should have your money."
"And Mallien shall get it when the will is looked
into by the lawyers. I take it to them to-morrow.
You know that I am honorable."
"I know that you are a fool," snarled the baffled
man; "and if you strip yourself of your property to
give it to Mallien, it will be all the better for me. I
shall go to him and say what I know."
"You are villain enough for anything. Go, if you
choose."
"But, Hendle," said Carrington, almost unable to
grasp the fact that relations between him and Rupert
had so suddenly changed for the worse, "what doe9
all this mean? I have said little more this morning
than I said to you before and only now do you ob-
ject."
Rupert, who was going away, stopped to face his
enemy. "I objected all along, as you might have seen
if you had not been blinded by your own wickedness,
Carrington. Every word you said made me loathe you
more and more. The sole idea you had was to get


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 213
money out of me. I thought you were a gentleman
and my friend, whereas you are a villain and a black-
mailer."
"Go on! go on!" said Carrington, becoming very
white and breathing very hard. "I shall make you
pay for every insult."
"It is impossible to insult you," retorted the Squire
contemptuously. "Such a worm as you are doesn't
feel insults. As to making me pay, you have no hold
over me, and you know it."
"I can take away your property by telling Mallien
of the will being found."
"I shall tell him myself, so you needn't trouble."
"I can tell Lawson about Mallien's guilt."
"Oh, as to that, you can't prove that he is guilty,"
said Hendle coolly; "and, as you won't kill your goose
with the golden eggs, you will say nothing to Lawson,
if Mallien buys your silence. Come along, I've had
enough of this. You can go away and do your worst.
And if you don't go straight away, I shall make a pub-
lic scandal, by kicking you out of the gate."
"You are nothing more than a bully. You know
that I am not strong enough to fight you," said Car-
rington furiously, but very wisely moving in the direc-
tion of the gate.
"Quite so. But if I were a bully, I should thrash
the life out of you for daring to insult me with base
proposals as you have done. You have got off very
lightly, considering all things. Now march and hold
your d d tongue."
Carrington had to do as he was bidden, for the big
man looked at him in a quiet, imperious way, which
meant trouble. With a would-be dignified step the
baffled villain walked over the grass toward the dis-


216 THE LOST PARCHMENT
was certain that his visitor was not one who would
hesitate to accept terms, however shady, so long as his
purpose was served.
"I can't guess," growled Mallien, sitting down ag-
gressively, "and I demand an explanation. What do
you want?"
"Five thousand pounds," said Carrington, thinking
it was useless to beat about the bush with a brother
knave.
"What for?"
"For certain information which will be of service
to you."
"Oh, if you mean the will, Carrington, I'm not go-
ing to pay something for nothing," retorted Mallien,
viciously. "I know that sooner or later the will is cer-
tain to be found, and when it is, Hendle is not the man
to dispute possession of what is rightfully mine."
"The will has been found and is in Hendle's pos-
session," said Carrington with a keen look.
Mallien stared and changed color. "And he never
told me. Here!" He started to his feet. "Let me
pass. I'm off to see Rupert, and get the will."
"Unfortunately, he won't give it to you."
"Won't give it to me?"
"No. He intends to take it to London to-morrow
and place it in the hands of your family lawyers."
"Oh, well"—Mallien sat down again—"that will be
all right. Once it is in their hands, they will see that
I have my rights. Have you seen the will, may I
ask?"
"Yes. It leaves the property to Eunice Filbert and
her descendants."
"Ha!" Mallien expanded his chest, in a gratified


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 217
manner. "Then I get the property. That's all right.
Where was the will found?"
"Where you buried it."
The man jumped up once more, spluttering and
angry. "What the devil do you mean, sir?"
"I mean this: that you murdered Leigh and stole
the will and buried it under the sundial in the Vicar-
age garden. That is the information for which I ask
five thousand pounds to be paid when you come into
your property."
Mallien staggered against the wall with outspread
hands. "You are mad to accuse me of—of"
"Of murdering the vicar. No, I am not mad; but
you will be if you refuse me the money. Only for
five thousand pounds will I hold my tongue."
"You have nothing to hold it about," stormed Mal-
lien, savagely.
"Oh, yes, I have. Sit down and listen."
"I won't." Mallien made for the door.
"Very good. Then go, and to-morrow you will be
arrested before noon. I shall go straight to Tarhaven
in the morning to explain things to Inspector Lawson.
For your own safety you had much better let me ex-
plain them to you."
Mallien hesitated, then returned to his seat. "You
are talking rubbish," he said, pulling his beard in an
embarrassed manner. "I have nothing to do with the
murder. I wouldn't have come here had I guessed
you would talk to me in this way."
Carrington, now master of the situation, laughed.
"The way in which my letter was worded compelled
you to come."
"It's a lie."
"Then why are you here? You who hate me—you


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 219
"Sufficiently upset for the policeman to think that a
search had been made."
"The Coroner and jury thought nothing of his evi-
dence in that respect," said Mallien, with an uneasy
sneer.
"Because the existence of the will was not known,"
replied Carrington, meaningly. "Once it is known, a
strong motive is supplied for the killing of Leigh."
"Rupert had as much reason to murder Leigh as I
had.".
"I don't agree with you, since he is so scrupulously
honest. If the money is yours, you will have it, so
why should Hendle murder a man to get what in the
end would not benefit him? Now, you"
"I tell you, Carrington, I did not touch the man!"
vociferated Mallien.
"Bosh! You struck him down and got the will and
buried it under the sundial, as you know. Then you
made use of Mrs. Beatson to avert suspicion from
yourself by sending the anonymous letter telling where
it was."
"I didn't send the letter," insisted Mallien, looking
gray and worn.
"You did. You were in Town for a few days, and
while you were away, the housekeeper got the letter.
Since you had promised her an annuity of two hun-
dred a year, you knew very well that she would give
the will to you rather than to Hendle. It was a very
clever scheme, Mallien."
"You are talking rubbish!" cried the man in con-
sternation, for he saw how strong was the evidence
against him. "How can you prove that I was at the
Vicarage on that night?"
"Where is your opal in the matrix?" asked Car-


220 THE LOST PARCHMENT
rington, glancing at Mallien's watch chain signifi-
cantly.
"I—I—I—lost it," hesitated the other.
"You did, and Hendle found it in my presence near
the sundial; on the very verge of the hole wherein you
buried the will."
The listener made an inarticulate noise and clutched
his hair. "It's fate, it's fate!" he muttered. "Every-
thing is against me, yet I am innocent."
"Prove that you are so," said Carrington, leaning
back in his chair indolently smiling.
Mallien hesitated, then seeing that the barrister
knew so much, rushed into an explanation, which he
would not have made to a less well-informed person.
It was as if a dam had broken, so volubly did the
words come tumbling out. Carrington listened atten-
tively.
"I was at the Vicarage on that night," confessed
the visitor swiftly. "After Mrs. Beatson told me I
thought that I would get the will from Leigh, since I
was not sure if Rupert would act straightforwardly."
"Knowing Hendle as you do, why did you think
that?"
"The most honest of men might hesitate before
stripping himself of all his wealth," retorted Mallien
sharply. "However, that is not to the point. I made
up my mind to go and then I changed it again. I went
to bed determined to go in the morning, but, unable to
sleep, I decided to visit the vicar on that night. I rose
and, putting on my clothes, went out. As I left my
cottage, I heard the church clock chime eleven."
"Oh!" sneered Carrington, remembering the hour
of the murder, "then you did not commit the crime?"
"No, I didn't," snarled Mallien viciously. "I got


222 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"
"I don't know," returned Mallien moodily. "If
you tell the police, I can only repeat the story I am
repeating now."
"I don't want to tell the police," said Carrington
mildly. "My terms"
"I know all about your infernal terms, just as I
know that I am in a fix. I am innocent, but it is diffi-
cult for me to defend myself against the circumstan-
tial evidence."
"Then agree to my terms, and I'll hold my tongue."
"What's the use? Rupert knows as much as you
do."
"Hendle won't speak because of your daughter."
"That is true," Mallien hesitated; then burst out,
"you must give me time to make up my mind."
"I'll give you a week," said Carrington readily, for
he did not wish to press the man too hardly. "But
no hanky-panky, remember. I hold you in the hollow
of my hand."
"If I had murdered Leigh," said Mallien, deliber-
ately, "I should murder you, in the hope of saving
myself. As it is, I shall take a week to consider your
terms!" and the man, with a snarl, went out abruptly.


CHAPTER XVI
A NEW WITNESS
The Squire was relieved when he turned Carrington
out of his house, as he felt how impossible it was to
live under the same roof with such a scoundrel. He
was still more relieved on hearing that the man had
gone to London by an early train, and hoped that
prudence would keep him at a safe distance from Bar-
ship. As yet he knew nothing of his late friend's in-
terview with Mallien, nor did Mallien appear at The
Big House to report the conversation. But Hendle
had an uneasy feeling that the barrister would not
hold his tongue, unless well paid to do so; and un-
doubtedly he knew many things, the revelation of
which would prove highly unpleasant. If Carrington
went to Inspector Lawson with his story, Mallien
might be arrested and the disgrace would break Do-
rinda's heart. Therefore, for the girl's sake, it was
necessary to make some move, but what action could
be taken Rupert did not very clearly see. He passed
an uncomfortable morning turning things over in his
mind, and rather regretted the impetuosity which had
led him to deal so sharply with a dangerous man.
However, he consoled himself with the proverb that
what was done could not be undone.
Of one thing Hendle was sure, that Carrington
would only tell the police what he knew, when all
chance of getting money to hold his tongue was at an
223


224 THE LOST PARCHMENT
end. He would certainly wait until Mallien was
placed in possession of the property before taking any
steps, and this being the case, Rupert felt convinced
that no sudden scandal would disturb the present posi-
tion of affairs. The man who gains time gains every-
thing, and Rupert, mindful of the saying, determined
to make the best use of his time. He was in no hurry,
and began to think of what could be done to adjust
matters. At first—as he had told Carrington—he in-
tended to see the family solicitors about the will; but,
on second thoughts, he decided to interview Mallien
beforehand. The moment that John Hendle's will was
placed in other hands to be dealt with, a certain
amount of publicity would assuredly ensue. In that
case, Mallien might find himself in an awkward posi-
tion, although Rupert could not bring himself to be-
lieve that his cousin was guilty of so brutal a murder.
Nevertheless, the circumstantial evidence was unde-
niably strong. On the whole the Squire decided that
it would be wise to interview Mallien before handing
the document to the lawyers, and, unless the man
could exonerate himself fully, it seemed dangerous to
hand it over at all. There would be little sense in
Mallien gaining a fortune, if the necessary steps to
place him in possession of it could only be taken at
the risk of liberty and perhaps of life. The position
was extremely difficult, unpleasant and puzzling, and
Hendle scarcely knew what was best to be done.
Finally he concluded to give the matter careful consid-
eration for twenty-four hours before acting.
So far, Hendle's intentions were sensible, consider-
ing the awkward position in which he was placed. But
he was no diplomatist, and, having stirred up Carring-
Jon to hostility, proceeded indiscreetly to deal in a


A NEW WITNESS 225
somewhat abrupt manner with Mrs. Beatson. Having
got rid of one shady person he wished to get rid of
the other. Already he had stated that he would send
her away, but Mrs. Beatson had never believed that he
would act immediately on his determination. She was,
therefore, greatly dismayed when he summoned her
into the library after luncheon, and intimated that she
was to go.
"Why should I go?" demanded the woman with the
air of a martyr. "My duties?"
"I say nothing about your duties. But I can't have
a person under my roof who listens to conversations
not meant for her ears."
"Then you shouldn't have secrets!" cried Mrs.
Beatson furiously. "And I didn't listen intentionally.
You know that."
"You shouldn't have listened at all," said Rupert
coldly, and bracing himself to meet trouble, which she
had every intention of making.
"What, not to protect myself when you thought of
turning me out?"
"There was no protection needed on that score,"
said the Squire politely. "I had no intention of turn-
ing you out."
"Then why am I turned out now?" demanded the
housekeeper in a most exasperatingly illogical way.
"Because of your behavior, and I don't think that
there is any need to explain further. To-day is Sat-
urday; you must leave on Monday."
"Oh, very well, sir. With a year's wages, mind."
"Oh, no. I shall give you three months' wages, and
you may consider yourself lucky that I give you any
at all."
"I shall go to law."


226 THE LOST PARCHMENT
Rupert shook his head reprovingly. "I shouldn't if
I were you. Your dealings with that will won't bear
looking into."
"I have done nothing wrong," said Mrs. Beatson,
becoming tearful.
"Ah! your ideas of morality differ from mine. I
am not going to argue the point," said Rupert, point-
ing to the door. "You can go now."
"I shall tell all I know about the will," threatened
the woman desperately.
"As you please. But in two days the will goes to
my lawyers, and if Mr. Mallien inherits, he will be-
come the owner of this place. You have no hold
over me there, Mrs. Beatson."
"I believe you murdered Mr. Leigh yourself."
"The wish is father to the thought," replied Hendle
dryly.
"Well then, if you didn't, that horrid Mr. Carring-
ton did."
"Why do you say that?"
"Why did you turn him out of the place yesterday?"
retorted the housekeeper.
"For a very good and sufficient reason, which
doesn't concern you."
Baffled by her master's calmness, the woman walked
defiantly toward the door, anxious to hurt him, yet
unable to do so. "When Mr. Mallien gets the money
he will never allow you to marry his daughter," she
said spitefully.
Rupert raised his eyebrows, but made no reply. He
was unwilling to take her by the shoulders and thrust
her out of the room, so all he could do was to remain
silent until her venom exhausted itself. As is usually


A NEW WITNESS 227
the case when a man deals with a woman, the weak-
ness of Mrs. Beatson was her strength.
"You will be a pauper without a penny," railed the
housekeeper.
Rupert still said nothing, but turned toward the fire-
place to pick up his pipe. Mrs. Beatson, finding that
he supplied no fuel for her anger, had no more to
say, and retired fuming with temper. Her master
lighted his pipe and sat down to consider once more
how he could best deal with the situation. He was
faintly nervous, as it occurred to him that perhaps it
would have been better to deal less boldly with the
housekeeper and the barrister. But on second
thoughts he decided that he was acting straightfor-
wardly, and that it had been just as well to take the
bull by the horns.
Mrs. Beatson went to her room, put on her best
clothes and sallied forth bent upon the Samson-like
intention of pulling the roof down on her own head.
She was in such a rage that she did not mind being
hurt personally so long as Rupert suffered. Doubtless
when her doings recoiled on herself she would be sorry
that she had acted like a fool; but at the present mo-
ment she did not consider the consequence. All she
wanted was to hurt some one and to make things un-
pleasant all round. Rupert she hated for discharging
her. Carrington she loathed because he had brought
—as she considered—her shady doings to light, and
Dorinda, because she was engaged to Hendle. She
even hated Mallien, although he had never harmed
her, but did not contemplate hurting him, since she
hoped to receive the annuity. How she intended to
make things uncomfortable she did not very well
know, but she commenced operations by walking to-


228 THE LOST PARCHMENT
ward her son's lodgings in the village. She would tell
him everything, and leave him to deal with her in-
sulted honor. That Kit might agree with the Squire in
reprobating her eavesdropping never struck her for a
single moment. She was in much too great a rage to
be reasonable.
Kit was not at home, and his landlady said that he
had gone to luncheon at Dr. Tollart's. Mrs. Beatson
snorted when she heard this, as she did not wish Kit
to marry the girl, and objected to his keeping company
with her. Still bent upon relieving her mind of its
burden, she made for the doctor's house, which was
at the far end of the village, and speedily arrived at
the front door. The servants informed her that Dr.
Tofiart was absent on his rounds, but would be back
soon. Meanwhile, Miss Tollart was within along with
Mr. Christopher Beatson. The servant, having a
feminine sympathy with the lovers, did not ask this
marplot to step in; but Mrs. Beatson brushed her aside
like a fly and stalked into the drawing-room, where she
heard gay voices.
"I went to your lodgings and learned that you were
here, Kit," said Mrs. Beatson, grimly, "philandering
as usual, instead of earning your livelihood."
The young couple rose in dismay at the sight of
this uncomfortable woman, who was always like a
stormy petrel. Sophy was the first to recover her-
self, and immediately took up arms on behalf of Kit.
"It's Saturday," she said coolly, "and if Kit works all
the week, he has a right to one holiday, I suppose,
during the seven days."
Mrs. Beatson sat down and glared. "How do you
expect me to welcome you as a daughter-in-law when
you behave toward me in this impertinent manner?"


A NEW WITNESS 229
"I don't mean to be impertinent," said Sophy, sorry
for the agonized expression on her lover's face; "but
you are so unreasonable."
"Unreasonable!" shrieked the visitor. "It is other
people who are unreasonable, if you only knew all."
"Knew all what?" asked Kit nervously.
"I've been insulted and discharged. Me, a lady
born and bred and"
"Discharged!" echoed Sophy, interrupting. "Do
you mean to say that you have left The Big House?"
"I leave on Monday," said Mrs. Beatson, getting
out her handkerchief and beginning to sob. "Oh, the
insults that I have received! Mr. Hendle must be
thrashed, and I have come to ask my son to thrash
him."
"Me!" Kit bounced out of his seat in dismay.
"Why, Mr. Hendle is my best friend, and I owe
everything to him."
"That's right. Go against your mother," wailed
Mrs. Beatson. "You are just like your father, who
was always a coward and a bully."
"Kit is neither," said Sophy indignantly. "Little
as I think of men who won't give us the vote, I think
a great deal of Kit."
"Bother your votes!" cried Mrs. Beatson, suddenly
recovering her composure, as it was evident that tears
did not help her. "All your goings-on are silly."
"Silly! Well, I like that, when we are trying to
vindicate the cause of"
"Oh, Sophy, don't make a row!" interrupted Kit,
who saw how the two glared at one another. "Let us
hear what mother has to say."
"I have a great deal to say," said Mrs. Beatson
savagely, "and if you young people will only hold


A NEW WITNESS 231
"Oh!" Miss Tollart's eyes grew large and round,
and became filled with curiosity. "Have you any idea
as to who murdered Mr. Leigh?"
"I have. But what I am about to tell you, keep to
yourselves."
"We have promised that," snapped Sophy, for all
this mysterious talk was irritating her greatly. "What
is it you know?"
"I must begin at the beginning," said Mrs. Beatson
solemnly, and taking every advantage of the situation;
"and when my son knows all, I shall expect my son to
defend my honor."
"Against Mr. Hendle?" asked Kit nervously.
"He has behaved like a brute!" cried Mrs. Beatson,
flaming up. "But bad as he is, he is not so bad as
that nasty Mr. Carrington."
"The lawyer," said Sophy, curiously. "What has
he to do with it."
"If you will only let me speak, I shall explain," said
Mrs. Beatson, in a dignified manner.
"Go on, mother," said her son impatiently. "Don't
keep us on tenterhooks."
Mrs. Beatson frowned severely, but, not seeing her
way to an answer, began to relate her grievance. It
was characteristic of her profound belief in her own
rectitude that she told everything, plainly and baldly,
never thinking that her listeners would condemn what
she had done. From the moment when the Squire had
informed her of his intention to marry Miss Mallien
forthwith, down to the interview which had just taken
place, the housekeeper detailed all that had happened,
concealing nothing, but exaggerating a great deal.
Naturally she made herself out to be a martyr, and
was greatly annoyed when she brought her story to an


234 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"I can do what I like," said Mrs. Beatson in a more
subdued tone, for the attitude taken up by her son
impressed her unpleasantly. He was no longer a boy
to be bullied, but a man to be conciliated.
"No, you can't do what you like when your doings
bring you into trouble with the law," insisted Kit, and
Sophy nodded her approbation, which was odd con-
sidering how she dared authority as a suffragist. But
in her own way she was as unreasonable as Mrs.
Beatson, although she would never have admitted as
much, and would have been indignant at the mere
suggestion.
"I won't get into trouble with the law," said Mrs.
Beatson rather nervously.
"That all depends upon what steps the police take."
"The police know nothing," said the housekeeper
hastily.
"But the police will know, mother. I don't think so
honorable a gentleman as Mr. Hendle will allow
things to remain as they are. He is innocent"
"Is he? He had every reason to kill Mr. Leigh be-
cause of the will, which is likely to leave him a pau-
per.
"I say he is innocent!" shouted Kit, stamping, and
the expression on his face was such as to reduce his
mother to frightened silence. "Nothing will ever
make me believe that Mr. Hendle would act in such
a wicked way."
"Then it's Mr. Mallien," whimpered Mrs. Beat-
son.
"No," said Sophy quickly, "Mr. Mallien knows well
enough that Mr. Hendle will act honorably about the
will. He would not risk his neck to get a document


A NEW WITNESS 235
which he knew Mr. Hendle would not dispute if it is
legal."
"Well," said the housekeeper, still bent upon accus-
ing someone, "I shouldn't be surprised if that nasty
Mr. Carrington is guilty. Mr. Hendle went up the
very next day after the conversation with Mr. Leigh
to consult him. Mr. Carrington might have killed
Mr. Leigh to get the will, so that he could make Mr.
Hendle give him money for it."
"I quite believe that Mr. Carrington did try to get
money," said Kit, after a pause, "as he had a quar-
rel with Mr. Hendle yesterday."
"How do you know that?"
"Someone told Mrs. Pansey that angry words
passed between Mr. Hendle and Mr. Carrington at the
gate of the Park. And Mr. Carrington slept last night
at the inn before going to London this morning."
"They did have a quarrel," admitted the house-
keeper, "at least, I suppose so, as Mr. Carrington did
not stay at The Big House last night. But we don't
know if the quarrel was over money as the price of
the will. Mr. Carrington was in Town on the night
Mr. Leigh was murdered, so he can have nothing to
do with it."
Sophy jumped up and clapped hands. "He was not
in Town on that night," she cried, with her eyes blaz-
ing with excitement. "Father came down by the
eight o'clock train on that night and Mr. Carrington
came also. Father saw him on the Liverpool Street
station and afterward on the Barship platform."
Kit turned on the girl sharply. "Sophy, are you
certain?"
"Yes, I am. You can ask father yourself."


836 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"But Dr. Tollart doesn't know Mr. Carrington,"
remarked Mrs. Beatson anxiously.
"Yes, he does. When Mr. Carrington came down
here first he called to see father about an aching tooth.
He came to this very house. Father did not take
much notice of Mr. Carrington on that night, as he
thought he was just coming down to see Mr. Hendle.
He never connected Mr. Carrington with the murder.
But now, now,"—Sophy clapped her hands again, so
excited did she feel—"from what you say, Mrs. Beat-
son, I shouldn't be at all surprised to hear that Mr.
Carrington was guilty."
"We can't be certain of that," said Kit quickly.
"I am certain," said Mrs. Beatson, rising, "and I'll
tell Inspector Lawson what you have told me, just to
pay that Carrington out for his poking and prying."
"I shouldn't if I were you, mother," remarked Kit
dryly. "If you can make things hot for Mr. Carring-
ton, he can make things disagreeable for you. Better
let Mr. Hendle know first, and allow him to attend to
the matter. After all, mother," said Kit, with a shrug,
"we are assuming a great deal. Mr. Carrington may
be quite innocent, and his quarrel with Mr. Hendle
may have nothing to do with the will."
"I believe he is guilty," said Mrs. Beatson viciously,
and said it because she wished to think so.
"So do I," put in Sophy, earnestly. "Still, Mrs.
Beatson, I wouldn't go to see Inspector Lawson if I
were you. You might be arrested as an accessory
after the fact, you know."
"Me!" Mrs. Beatson grew white and tottered. "I
have nothing to do with—oh, Kit, Kit, do you think—
do you think"


240 THE LOST PARCHMENT
and turning his straw hat. "I don't quite agree with
her views, you know."
Rupert gave the boy an approving glance, as he
quite understood how unpleasant was his position.
"Your mother has had much trouble in her life, and
perhaps her nature is rather warped. What would
you like me to do?"
Kit reflected, then spoke up straightly with a flush
on his face. "I think it would be better for you to
allow mother to go away for a holiday instead of dis-
missing her at once. While she is away, she can give
you notice and can look for another place. In this
way her pride will be saved."
"Why should her pride be saved?" asked the Squire
hastily and bluntly.
"How can I answer that question, Mr. Hendle?"
"Of course not. I beg your pardon, Kit. I should
not have asked it. What you say is very reasonable,
and I have every wish to make things easy for your
mother. She shall take a holiday, and can leave when
she has found a better place."
Kit shook his young head. "She'll never find a
better place, sir, or a better friend," he said sadly.
"You have been good to her, and more than good
to me. I wish mother could see things as I see them,
but—but"
"There! there!" Rupert clapped him on the back.
"I know how you feel and what you wish to say.
Even if your mother does leave me, Kit, that need
make no difference to our friendship."
"It certainly will not," said the young fellow em-
phatically. "I don't think mother has acted well; nor
does Sophy."
"Your mother certainly was very explicit, Kit. I


848 THE LOST PARCHMENT
thing to the elder branch of the family, represented
by Mr. Mallien. I intend to take it to my lawyers
to-morrow, after I have seen my cousin."
"Why not surrender the property to your cousin,
sir, without taking the will to the lawyers?" ques-
tioned Kit shrewdly.
Rupert shook his head. "I wish everything to be
done openly."
"But seeing what is involved, Mr. Hendle, isn't
there some danger of a scandal if any public state-
ment is made?"
"There is. All the same, if I gave up the property
and sneaked away, people would talk, and the truth-
might come out in a crooked way. I wish it to come
out in a straight way, and so intend to act as I say."
"Will you lose everything, sir?"
"I think so, if the will is proved to be legal. Then,
Kit, I shall have to come to ask you to get me a
situation in that factory of yours."
The boy was greatly distressed. "Oh, Mr. Hendle,
don't talk like that. It is wicked to think that a
kind-hearted man like you should lose your property.
I don't think Mr. Mallien will make such a good use
of the money."
"That is his affair, Kit," replied Hendle, with a
sigh. "But you may be sure that I shall do all I can
do to keep the property. There is a certain Statute
of Limitations which may help me. Perhaps Mr.
Mallien and I can arrange to divide the money. But
what is the use of talking?" Rupert threw himself
despondently into a chair. "You can't help me."
"Not so far as regards the property, Mr. Hendle,"
said Kit earnestly; "but I may be able to help you
to clear up the mystery of the murder."


DIFFICULTIES 24,3
Rupert sat up and stared. "What?"
"Oh, I don't say that I know anything for certain,
sir, but I have my suspicions, you know."
"Oh, have you? Who is it you suspect?"
"I shall tell you when you relate to me all details
unknown to my mother." Hendle rose again rest-
lessly, and walking up and down, thought deeply.
When he paused again before Kit, he had made up
his mind to be frank. "I know you are my friend,"
he said earnestly, "and I know that you are honest
and true."
"I am all that," rejoined Beatson emphatically,
"especially when there is anything to be done for you,
sir. I shall never forget your kindness to me. Any-
thing you say will go no further than Sophy."
"Why Sophy?" asked Rupert suspiciously.
"Because she knows so much that she may as well
know all. And her suspicions point in the direction
that mine do. She is now with Miss Mallien"
Rupert uttered an ejaculation. "Not reporting the
conversation with your mother, I hope," he said
hastily.
"Yes," answered Kit bluntly; "it is better for Sophy
to speak to Miss Mallien than to Mr. Mallien."
"Does she—do you—suspect my cousin?"
"No! But Sophy will explain when she brings
Miss Mallien here. We arranged to meet here shortly,
Mr. Hendle"; and Kit glanced at his watch. "I dare
say the two ladies will be here in an hour."
"I didn't want Miss Mallien to know anything,"
said Hendle, frowning.
"It is absolutely necessary that she should know,"
said Beatson calmly; "and as she loves you, sir, and
is going to marry you, she should know all. I'm al-


244 THE LOST PARCHMENT
ways in the habit of telling Sophy my troubles, and
she gives me the best of advice. Every woman is
not so unreasonable as my mother, Mr. Hendle."
Anxious as he was, Rupert could not help smiling.
"I trust not," he said at length, and sat down
quietly. "Well, Kit, you are more shrewd than I
gave you credit for being. Perhaps you can help
me, after all. Let us take advantage of the hour be-
fore the ladies arrive to go into the matter."
"You must be quite frank with me, sir, you know."
"That is only fair. Yes. I shall be quite frank.
Take a cigarette, Kit, and listen carefully to what I
have to say."
Shortly Rupert had his pipe and Kit a cigarette.
The door and windows being closed, Hendle felt quite
secure, as it was unlikely that Mrs. Beatson would
indulge in eavesdropping again, seeing what a severe
lesson she had received. Hendle related slowly all
that had happened, and supplied details missing in the
story of Mrs. Beatson. He ended with a short sketch
of his present position, and the difficulty he found in
deciding what action to take. Kit was so interested
in what was said that he allowed his cigarette to go
out, and when the story was ended stared tongue-tied
at the Squire. Rupert laughed at the expression on
the boy's face.
"You seem as perplexed as I am," he remarked
with a shrug.
"I don't think that I am perplexed," said Kit slowly
and relighting his cigarette; "only I am astonished
that you have not spotted the right man who murdered
the vicar."
"Things are too muddled for me to spot anyone,"


DIFFICULTIES 245
replied Hendle dryly. "My cousin accuses me; Mr.
Carrington accuses your mother."
"It is ridiculous for you or my mother to be ac-
cused," said Kit quietly. "My mother hasn't the
pluck to kill a fly in spite of her tempers, and
you"
Kit laughed. "What bosh! I'd as soon believe
Sophy was guilty."
"Well, only your mother and I and my cousin
knew about the will before"
"Mr. Carrington knew."
"Oh, yes. But he was in town on the night Leigh
was killed, so"
"He was not in town," interrupted Kit sharply.
"He was in Barship."
Hendle dropped his pipe and stared. "Are you
sure of what you are saying?"
"You can ask Dr. Tollart if you doubt me."
"Dr. Tollart!" echoed Hendle, much surprised.
"What does he know?"
"He came down on the evening when the vicar was
murdered, and saw Mr. Carrington both on the Liver-
pool Street platform and on the Barship platform."
"Did he speak to him?"
"No. He told Sophy that Mr. Carrington had come
down, but that he had traveled in another carriage.
After all," went on Beatson thoughtfully, "there was
no reason why the doctor should speak. He had only
seen Mr. Carrington once when he called on him to
get a cure for his toothache."
"Yes. I remember he went to see the doctor when
he first came," replied Rupert mechanically. "I was
in the church with Miss Mallien, and Carrington, on
his way back to The Big House, looked in about his


246 THE LOST PARCHMENT
tooth on Tollart." He paused, then continued:
"What train was it?"
"The one which leaves Liverpool Street at eight."
"That arrives here at a quarter past nine," said
Hendle meditatively.
"Yes, and as the vicar was murdered at eleven,
Mr. Carrington had plenty of time to make his plans."
"I can't believe that Carrington is the assassin,"
muttered Hendle, in dismay, for he dreaded lest he
should prove the accusation to be true. "Did Dr.
Tollart connect Carrington with the murder?"
"No. If he had, he would have spoken out. He
took little notice of Mr. Carrington, thinking he was
coming down on a visit to you. And as Mr. Car-
rington was with you the next day, of course the doc-
tor believed that it was as he had thought."
"Yes, I see. But Carrington did not come on that
night. He came by the midday train next day."
"The doctor didn't know that," said Kit, nodding;
"in fact, he thought no more about the matter after
he told Sophy, and he only told her as a piece of
gossip, you understand."
"Yes! yes! I see that, as Carrington was with me
the next day, his presence in the eight o'clock train
on the previous night would arouse no suspicion in
Tollart's mind. Still, his being at Barship on that
night doesn't mean that he killed the vicar."
"Well," said Kit, with a wisdom beyond his years,
"I rather think that it is very good evidence against
him. You had told him about the will, and he knew
what it meant to you. What he said when you kicked
him out the other day shows that he wants a large
sum of money. He intended perhaps to stun the
vicar and get the will, so as to make his terms with


248 THE LOST PARCHMENT
Kit agreed with this suggestion and then held his
tongue. He had said all that he could say, and hav-
ing placed the Squire on his guard, there was nothing
more to be done. Rupert himself did not pursue the
conversation further, but walked up and down, mus-
ing over what he had heard. For quite five minutes
there was silence, and then Dorinda made her appear-
ance, followed by Miss Tollart. The girl looked very
pale and anxious.
"What does all this mean, Rupert?" she asked
nervously.
"All what?"
"Sophy has told me a strange story," said Dorinda,
taking a seat, "and I suppose Kit has told it to you
also."
Hendle nodded. "Yes. I know that Carrington
was in Barship on the night when Leigh was mur-
dered—unless, of course, Dr. Tollart has made a mis-
take."
"My father made no mistake," struck in Sophy,
flushing, for she guessed that the Squire was hinting
at the doctor's infirmity. "He was quite sober when
he came home on that night. I was waiting up for
him. He mentioned in quite a casual way that Mr.
Carrington had traveled down by the same train, and
neither of us thought anything more about the mat-
ter, even when we heard next morning about the
murder. We thought that Mr. Carrington had come
down to see you, Squire, and he certainly was with
you the next day."
"He was," admitted Rupert quietly, "and his being
with me made you believe that what you thought was
true. Is it not so?"
"In a way. But the real truth is that neither my


DIFFICULTIES 249
father nor myself thought anything at all about the
matter. Only Mrs. Beatson's hint that Mr. Carring-
ton might possibly be guilty made me remember."
"Do you think that the man is guilty?" asked Rupert
quickly.
Sophy bent her dark brows in a frown and reflected.
"I couldn't go into a witness box and swear that he
committed the murder," she observed; "but he came
down to Barship on that night, and if he did not stay
with you, Mr. Hendle, he must have had some strong
reason to keep his visit a secret."
"Your father can swear to this visit?"
"Yes. I asked him again if he remembered Mr.
Carrington coming down, and he said that he could.
Of course," added Sophy significantly, "I had to ask
the question in a way not likely to arouse my father's
suspicions as to why it was asked. It is no use letting
him know too much, as he might talk. But if neces-
sary he can prove what he told me."
Dorinda shivered. "I never liked Mr. Carrington,"
she observed. "All the same, I can't believe that he
murdered Mr. Leigh."
"Some one must have murdered him," said Kit, a
trifle dryly; "and why not Mr. Carrington, rather than
your father, or the Squire? For my part, going by
what Mr. Hendle has told me, I believe Mr. Carring-
ton is guilty."
"How are we going to prove him to be guilty?"
"Well," said Rupert doubtfully, "I see no way save
asking him to explain why he came down to Barship
on that night. Unless he gives a reasonable excuse,
he will be in danger of being arrested."
"But, Rupert, in that case my father will be in
danger."


*50 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"How so?"
"Don't you know that Mr. Carrington sent for my
father the other day, and had an interview with him
at The Hendle Arms?"
"No. What did he wish to see your father about?"
"He threatened to accuse him of committing the
crime, so as to gain possession of the will. I don't
know exactly what passed," went on Dorinda anx-
iously, "as my father told me little. All he really said
was that he was in danger of being arrested, because
Mr. Carrington could give evidence against him, which
would be difficult to disprove."
"But your father surely did not admit that he was
guilty, Dorinda?"
"Certainly not," cried the girl, flushing indignantly.
"How can you suggest such a thing? But as Mr.
Carrington wants money he is ready to say anything
or do anything likely to force my father into paying
him to hold his tongue."
Rupert smiled grimly. "Carrington knows that your
father has not sufficient money to pay him what he
wants."
"What does he want?" asked Sophy, looking up.
"Five thousand pounds was the price he demanded
from me," said Hendle, "and I don't think he'll take a
penny less from Mr. Mallien. But in order to get the
money Carrington will have to wait until my cousin
is in possession of my property. Until then you can
be sure, Dorinda, that he will take no steps to make
things uncomfortable."
"No, I think you are right," murmured Miss Mal-
lien, greatly relieved. "But what is best to be done?"
"I have already made up my mind. In the first
place I shall see your father and learn exactly what-


DIFFICULTIES 251
took place at this interview. Afterwards we can have
a talk with Carrington. Then he will"
"Oh, let the will alone until we learn the truth about
this murder," urged Dorinda anxiously. "To clear my
father from all chance of being accused is the first
thing to be done. See my father, Rupert; perhaps he
will be more frank with you than he was with me."
"He must be frank if he wants to save himself,"
said Sophy bluntly. "Don't worry, Dorinda. My
opinion is that we should give Mr. Carrington plenty
of rope with which to hang himself. When he is
fully committed, then we can turn the tables on him
by saying what we know of his presence in Barship
on the night of the murder. There's nothing to be
afraid of."
"I'm not exactly afraid," said Dorinda slowly, "but
the suspense is very trying, with Mr. Carrington
working in the dark."
"We'll force him to come out into the open, Miss
Mallien," said Kit resolutely; "then he will have to de-
fend himself, and won't have time to accuse other
people. He shan't have everything his own way, any-
how."
"Hear! hear!" cried Sophy, clapping her hands.
"You're a brick, Kit. For my part I believe that Mr.
Carrington has only to be faced boldly to bring him
to his knees."
Rupert shook his head. "He can do some damage
before he is forced to take up that position."
"What does it matter, so long as the damage won't
be lasting?" said Dorinda impatiently. "I am certain
that my father is innocent."
"And so am I," finished Hendle with a shrug; "so
there only remains Carrington as the possible criminal.


*52 THE LOST PARCHMENT
Well, we shall see. Anyhow, as he won't move until
my cousin is in possession of the property, we have
ample time to arrange what is best to be done. Mean-
time let us keep what we know to ourselves."
"But what about Mrs. Beatson?" hesitated Sophy,
glancing at Kit.
"Mrs. Beatson," said Rupert, grimly polite, "is go-
ing away for a holiday, and if she hears of a better
situation she will not return here."
"I'm glad of that, Squire!" and Sophy, guessing
the plan which was to save the housekeeper's pride,
felt greatly relieved. Little as she liked her future
mother-in-law, she did not wish to see her disgraced.
"And now I think Kit had better take me home."
"But I have more to say," began Kit anxiously, only
to be silenced by Sophy.
"No, you haven't," she declared imperiously, and
marched him to the door. "You have given the Squire
quite enough to think about"; then she sank her voice
to scold: "Don't be a fool. They want to be alone!"
"Oh!" murmured Kit, "I see"; and he submitted to
be led away.


CHAPTER XVIII
SETTING A TRAP
Mallien, by telling his daughter a half truth instead
of the whole truth, had made her very nervous, and
although she asked for a more detailed explanation he
had refused to give it to her. Dorinda was therefore
much relieved when Sophy conducted her to The Big
House and hidden matters were made more plain.
When in possession of facts she quickly recognized
that the position of her father was highly dangerous,
should Carrington speak to the police. But the girl
agreed with Rupert that he would not do so, until all
chance of getting money for his silence had disap-
peared. Even if Mallien was willing, such money
could not be obtained until the property passed from
the Squire to his cousin, so if Rupert refused to give
up the same, Carrington would be forced to wait. It
was not likely that he would kill the goose with the
golden eggs by speaking prematurely.
And there was, as Rupert pointed out to Dorinda,
a grave doubt whether he would speak at all, when
informed that his presence in Barship on the night
of the murder was known. Hendle intended to ques-
tion the barrister on this point and hear what defense
he could offer, but before doing so, desired to see his
cousin and enlist his aid. It was even moie to Mal-
lien's interest than to Rupert's to bring Carrington to
book, and only by the cousins joining forces could
253


256 THE LOST PARCHMENT
and walk briskly up to the door. As Dorinda had
gone one way and Rupert had come another, Mallien
never dreamed that there was any understanding be-
tween them, or that his daughter had departed so as
to afford her lover a chance of speaking to her very
egotistic parent. This had been arranged between the
two on the previous day, and to carry out the scheme
Hendle knocked at the door of his cousin with the will
in his pocket. Before he left the cottage he was de-
termined to force Mallien into plain speaking. Things
were much too dangerous to permit any further beat-
ing about the bush.
"Well, and what do you want?" said Mallien, re-
peating his former question as he opened the door to
the visitor.
"I want to see you," said Hendle very pointedly.
"It is time we had an explanation."
"About what?"
"About this," and Rupert pulled the soiled and
crumpled parchment out of his pocket—"the will of
John Hendle."
"Oh! So you have it. And how did you get it,
may I ask?"
"You can ask in your own room," said Rupert
politely. "I can scarcely give you an explanation on
the door-step."
"Afraid of consequences to yourself," grumbled
Mallien, nevertheless yielding so far as to lead the
way into his sanctum.
"Oh, dear me, no," replied the visitor, seating him-
self. "Afraid of consequences to you."
"To me!" Mallien dropped into a chair before his
desk. "What do you mean?"
"I think you know very well."


258 THE LOST PARCHMENT
will and thrusting it into his desk, "I am not going
to be done out of my rights."
"Am I the man to try and do you out of them?"
"Yes, you are," retorted the other unjustly, "since
you talk about this Statute of Limitations."
"Why should I not take advantage of the Statute,
when I run a chance of being made a pauper, and
not through my own fault?"
"Because it isn't honest," said Mallien virtuously.
"You and yours have been wrongfully in possession of
what belongs to me. I'm going to have my own, if I
spend the last sixpence in the law-courts. I thought
you were .honourable, Rupert, yet here you talk of
putting me to a lot of expense to get my own es-
tates."
Hendle stared at the greedy heir, for such selfish-
ness in taking advantage of an innocent person's mis-
fortune was inconceivable to him. But he knew only
too well that argument was useless. Mallien could
only see things in his own way, and did not care who
suffered so long as he benefited. However, he made
one effort "Put yourself in my place, Mallien," he
remarked mildly. "Would you surrender everything
without a struggle?"
"That is not the question," retorted Mallien, evad-
ing a reply after his usual fashion. "The property is
mine, and I intend to have it. I shall keep the will,
as it is not safe in your hands."
"Indeed. Why not?"
"You would benefit too much by its destruction."
Rupert laughed. "I could have destroyed it while
it was in my possession and without your knowing
anything about it. Instead of doing so, I have brought


SETTING A TRAP 259
it to you. Does that look like dishonesty on my
part?"
"You bring it to me because you are aware that I
know all about it," said Mallien doggedly. "Mrs.
Beatson told me about the will, as you know. If she
hadn't, you would have thrown it into the fire."
"Oh, would I? Well,"—Rupert shrugged his big
shoulders,—"you are such a misanthrope that you can
believe no .good of your fellow-creatures, so have it
your own way."
"How can I believe any good when everyone is
so selfish?" said this amazing man. "Even Dorinda
leaves me to bear my troubles alone. I wanted her
to comfort me this morning, and she went out shop-
ping."
"How could she comfort you when you refuse to
explain things to her?"
"What things?" demanded Mallien alertly and
frowning. "How do you know that I have anything
to explain?"
"I know more than you think/' replied Hendle
dryly. "I know that you told her how Carrington was
threatening you and—hold on—yet refused to supply
details. How then can you expect her to sympa-
thize with you and help you when there is not perfect
confidence between you?"
Mallien did not answer directly, as he was too sur-
prised by his cousin's mention of the barrister. "Who
told you that Carrington threatened me?"
"Dorinda told me yesterday, and for that reason
I arranged that she should go out this morning and
allow me to have an uninterrupted conversation with
you. Now don't lose your temper,, Mallien. I am


SETTING A TRAP 261
"I didn't say anything. I have taken a week to
think matters over."
"I see," Rupert pondered; "and at the end of the
week, if you don't agree to give Carrington five thou-
sand pounds when you get the property, he will tell
Lawson that you murdered Leigh."
"He says he will, but how can he prove it?" sneered
the other uneasily.
"Well, you see, you lost that opal in the matrix
which I found on the verge of the hole where the
will had been buried."
"What does that prove?"
"That you were in the grounds of the vicarage on
that night."
"I might have lost it on another occasion," argued
Mallien desperately.
Rupert smiled dryly. "I don't think Lawson will
be of that opinion. Come now, don't you think it is
best for us to join forces and crush Carrington? For
Dorinda's sake I don't want you to get into trouble."
"If we join forces, what will you ask for your
services?" demanded Mallien, suspiciously. "That I
should surrender my claim to the property, I sup-
pose?"
"I ask nothing. What do you take me for?" Rupert
looked highly indignant. "Do you think that every-
one is so sordid as you are, Mallien? We can fight
out the question of the will on jts own merits. But,
for Dorinda's sake, I wish to save you from Car-
rington's machinations. It is little use your getting
the property if you are in danger of arrest."
"I am not."
"You are. Carrington is aware that Mrs. Beatson
told you about the will; he was with me when we


SETTING A TRAP 263
opal ornament during the struggle with the unknown
man in the avenue. "And I believed that the fellow
was you," protested Mallien earnestly. "You had
every right to murder Leigh."
"Every right," echoed Rupert angrily.
"I mean every reason," said Mallien, correcting
himself hurriedly, "and, after the man ran away, I
went to look in through the Vicarage windows. There
was a light in the study, and, as you know, the window
had neither curtains nor blinds. I saw Leigh lying
dead on the floor, and went home without saying a
word, lest I should be accused."
"You acted the part of a brave man, I must say,"
said Rupert contemptuously, "but it appears that you
didn't murder Leigh."
"No, I certainly did not. Why, I only left this cot-
tage as the church clock chimed eleven, and, as Leigh
was murdered at that hour, he must have been dead
before I reached the Vicarage. I expect the man was
hunting for the will, and only managed to escape with
it when I ran up against him in the avenue."
"But who was he? I don't suppose Mrs. Beatson
dressed herself as a man to"
"No! No! That is ridiculous. Mrs. Beatson was
made a catspaw by the same man to get the will with-
out throwing suspicions on him."
"I didn't write that anonymous letter, if that is what
you mean," said Mallien tartly and uneasily.
"I am aware of that. It was Carrington who"
"Carrington!" Mallien started to his feet. "Impos-
sible! He was in town on the night of the murder."
"He was in Barship, and he was the man you ran
across in the avenue," said Rupert grimly. "No won-
der he pointed out your opal on the verge of the hole


264 THE LOST PARCHMENT
wherein the will had been buried. He dropped it
there while my back was turned and allowed me to
find it, so as to incriminate you."
Mallien was thunderstruck. "Carrington!" he mut-
tered, sitting down again. "Oh, it is impossible."
"Not at all. Dr. Tollart came down with Carring-
ton in the train which arrives at Barship shortly after
nine. He wasn't with him, you understand; but he
saw him both at Liverpool Street and at Barship."
"Then why didn't Tollart say so at the inquest?"
"Why should he? Tollart never connected Carring-
ton with the crime. He believed that he came down
to see me, and, as Carrington was with me the next
day, of course that gave color to Tollart's belief.
However, he mentioned the matter to Sophy, and she
told me and Dorinda. For that reason Dorinda came
to see me yesterday, and we arranged that I should
see you. Now you can understand, Mallien, that we
must join forces to have Carrington arrested. I have
not the least doubt but what he murdered Leigh to get
the will and extort money for it, either from you or
from me."
"The scoundrel!" cried Mallien, highly indignant;
"and to think that he should have dared to accuse me
—me—me!"
"I was in equal danger of being accused," observed
Rupert coolly.
"Oh, I don't care about you," retorted the other
selfishly. "I must look to myself. I shall see Lawson
and have Carrington arrested."
"If you do you are sure to make a mess of things,"
warned Hendle, accepting his cousin's egotism with
a shrug. "We must lay a trap for Carrington and get
him down here. Otherwise he may escape and then


266 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"Oh, I am aware of that," rejoined Hendle, con-
temptuously; "and I shouldn't throw stones at other
people if I were you, seeing in what a glass house you
live yourself, Mallien. Now don't argue, but do what I
tell you. If you don't, I shall wash my hands of the
whole affair, and leave you to extricate yourself as
best you can."
Mallien grunted an assent and scowled as Rupert
left the cottage. He was not in the least grateful for
the help thus afforded, as he hated the idea of his
cousin doing anything for him. Besides, being ex-
traordinarily vain, Mallien never liked anyone to be
sharper than himself. And Rupert had proved to be
sharper, as he had so cleverly solved the mystery of
the vicar's murder.
"You think you are a fine fellow, don't you?"
growled Mallien, shaking his fist at the retreating form
of his cousin; "but you won't get a penny out of me,
and you shan't marry Dorinda if I can help it. I'm
not going to have you crowing over me"; and thus
grumbling ungratefully he retired to his room to write
the letter which was to trap Carrington.
Meanwhile, Rupert returned toward The Big House
through the village in the hope of meeting Dorinda.
He came across her just near his own gates, and in a
few words reported all that had taken place. The girl
listened attentively, and when her lover mentioned
some of Mallien's selfish speeches she looked pained.
"I wonder you do anything for my father," she said
sadly.
"I don't do anything for him, dear. I do it for
you. Besides," added Rupert with a shrug, "how can
one be angry with a child—and a greedy child at
that."


CHAPTER XIX
RESURGAM
Next evening Rupert received a curt note from
Mallien stating that Carrington had replied to the
effect that he would come down to Barship on the en-
suing day, and would reach The Big House at twelve
o'clock. Pleased with the information, since the inter-
view was likely to settle the question of the vicar's
murder once and for all, Hendle took it upon himself
to arrange matters. To compel plain speaking on the
part of the slippery barrister, it was necessary that
witnesses should be present for the purpose of prov-
ing beyond question his presence in Barship on the
night of the crime. Without doubt Carrington would
twist and turn like an eel in his efforts to escape from
the corner in which the procurable evidence would
place him. Rupert, weary of mystery and worry,
made up his mind that the man should be finally
brought to book, and therefore went in search of Dr.
Tollart. Now that Inspector Lawson was to be
dragged into the matter, for the purpose of arresting
the culprit, there was no need for further secrecy.
And, besides visiting the doctor, Hendle intended to
call on Ark for his testimony. Faced by these two
witnesses, it would not be easy for Carrington to win
free.
Mrs. Beatson duly went away for her so-called
holiday, which was simply a preface to her dismissal.
268


RESURGAM 269
Her presence was not required at the coming inter-
view, as what she knew and what she had done did
not touch immediately on Carrington's guilt. Also,
neither Dorinda nor Sophy was to be present, as they
could give no first-hand evidence. Rupert himself,
Mallien, Ark and the doctor were the necessary peo-
ple to prove that Carrington had struck the blow, and
the Squire employed Kit to bring Lawson from Tar-
haven for his share in the proceedings. And so that
everything should be prepared beforehand for Law-
son's action Rupert arranged that the officer should
not arrive at The Big House until one o'clock. This
would give Rupert and his friends sixty minutes to
bring Carrington to bay.
Tollart was both startled and surprised when the
Squire called to explain why his presence was re-
quired at The Big House. He had thought little of
Carrington's presence in the train on that fatal eve-
ning, and had not in any way connected his presence
in Barship with the tragic death of Leigh. This he
explained to his visitor, and suggested that, after all,
some mistake had been made in crediting the barrister
with the commission of the crime. But Hendle de-
termined to put an end to all mystery, explained to
Tollart all about the discovery of the will, and pointed
out what a leading part the document had played in
ensuing events. Tollart, who for once was sober, ex-
pressed his amazement and regret, less for the vicar's
death than for Rupert's probable loss of his property.
"And surely," said Tollart, in his husky voice, and
with his big red face expressing sympathy, "surely
Mallien will not take everything from you even if this
will proves to be legal."
"Oh, the will appears to be legal enough, doctor.


RESVRGAM 275
"Oh, he'll come right enough," explained Mallien
grimly. "I said in my letter that to-day you intended
to arrange here about the transfer of the property to
me under John Hendle's will, and that we both wanted
him to be present."
"You don't suppose that he has any suspicions of
the truth?"
"To be sure he hasn't. After all but for Tollart's
evidence and that of old Ark, we should never have
been able to nail him. I tell you, Rupert, that Car-
rington has not the least idea of what is about to
happen."
"Poor devil! And yet he deserves his fate. The
murder of Leigh was cowardly in the extreme."
"It was," assented the other. "Don't be a tender-
hearted fool, man."
"I would rather be a fool according to my light
than a wise man according to yours, Mallien."
"And I am quite content," chuckled the little man,
"for no one but a fool would give up the property as
you are doing."
"I haven't given it up yet," said Rupert, disgusted
with this brutal speech, "and I may not be the fool
you take me to be."
For all his insolence Mallien was plainly discon-
certed by this frank statement, and began to think
that he had gone too far. A muttered apology was
on his lips, but was cut short by the entrance of Dr.
Tollart. Immediately behind him shuffled old Ark,
who seated himself near the door, chuckling and rub-
bing his hands with the air of a man who was highly
pleased with himself. Mallien and the doctor, who
were by no means friends, exchanged a curt greeting,


RESURGAM 277
"Oh, I am ready to go into business as soon as
you like," retorted the barrister, still triumphant. "But
why is Dr. Tollart here?"
"I am here," said Tollart gruffly, "to state to your
face that you were in Barship on the night when Leigh
was murdered."
Carrington started, and, in spite of his self-com-
mand, winced at the plain speech. His swarthy face
grew slightly pale, but he still maintained his air of
bravado. "Well, then, I am not here to talk about
Leigh's murder," he said viciously, "but to see about
this transfer of the Hendle estates to my friend Mr.
Mallien."
"Don't call me your friend," growled Mallien, fero-
ciously. "You are no friend of mine. All you want
is to get money out of me."
"Take care," said Carrington, glancing at the others,
"remember what I know."
"And what do you know?" demanded Mallien coolly.
"Something you would not like anyone else to
hear."
"You can say what you like, and before anyone you
like."
"Ah!" Carrington now began to see that things
were not so safe as he had imagined. "You mean to
go back on your bargain?"
"I never made any bargain, you beast. And what
is more, I don't intend to make any. Yonder is Dr.
Tollart, who can swear that you came down to Bar-
ship on the night Leigh was murdered; and yonder
is Titus Ark, who saw you enter the Vicarage
grounds."
"They are both liars," cried Carrington, taken off
his guard.


278 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"I bain't a liar," said Ark, rising, and tottered
toward the barrister, "and wor I a younger man I'd
make 'ee pay for saying so." He shook a gnarled
fist in Carrington's face. "I did see 'ee round about
the Vicarage. I swear to it, if needs be, before judge
and jury. I bain't afeared."
"And you will be required to swear before a judge
and jury," said Hendle, in a cold, measured tone,
"when Carrington is in the dock."
"In the dock!" Carrington stepped back, trying to
command his nerves, for he now began to understand
the full extent of his peril. "And on what charge?"
"You killed Leigh," growled Mallien savagely.
"Yes, you did, so don't deny it, you criminal. And
you dare to accuse me."
"I do accuse you," said Carrington, driven to bay,
and becoming fierce out of sheer desperation. "It
was you who killed Leigh to get that will. I accuse
you in the presence of these witnesses."
"Pshaw!" said Rupert, contemptuously. "What is
the use of your talking, Carrington? The game's up.
We have got you down here to have you arrested."
"You can't arrest me," said the barrister, with an
air of bravado. "I shall go at once to Tarhaven and
give information against Mallien."
Rupert got between the barrister and the door
toward which he was retreating swiftly. "Stop where
you are," he commanded. "There will be no need
for you to go to Tarhaven. In an hour Inspector
Lawson will be here, and then, if you dare, you can
lay an information against Mallien."
"Oh!" Carrington winced and grew very white.
"This is a trap."
"It is," said Mallien, with malignant satisfaction,


282 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"I don't waste money in unnecessary bribes,"
snapped Mallien.
"And I don't take money for performing my duty,"
said the doctor frowning. "I have one great fault
which everyone knows of. I may be a drunkard, but
I am not a murderer," he finished scathingly.
"I am not a murderer," persisted Carrington, fight-
ing desperately, and gaining courage, now that he
found himself with his back to the wall. "I never
came down to Barship on that night. I can prove
that I was in London."
"You will have every opportunity of clearing your-
self at the trial," said Rupert, glancing at his watch.
"Lawson will be here soon with a warrant for your
arrest."
"No! No! No!" The cry was forced from the bar-
rister against his will. "It is impossible for Lawson
to arrest me. I never saw Leigh on that night."
Titus Ark rose in a creaky manner from his chair,
and shambled toward the miserable man. "I do say as
you did see 'urn," he croaked.
"And so does Tollart," snapped Mallien; "that is, he
can say you were in Barship on that night. Hark,
Hendle. I believe Lawson has arrived."
Rupert hurried to the window and saw a vehicle
pass round the corner toward the front door. "It's a
trap and not a motor," he said puzzled. "Who can
it be, I wonder?"
"I know; I know," said Titus, shuffling toward the
door. "I know one as can say you saw Muster Leigh
on that night"; and he disappeared.
"More lies," said Carrington, wiping his face. "Oh,
I'll make you all pay dearly for this day's work"; and


RESURGAM 283
he wiped his face, while he set his teeth to battle to the
end.
There was a shuffling noise in the hall, and Rupert
stepped toward the door. He opened it and then
fell back with a cry of amazement. Supported by
Titus and his grandson, Simon Leigh staggered into
the room.
"I said as he worn't dead," chuckled the ancient.
"Now didn't I, Squoire?"


CHAPTER XX
A WEIRD STORY
The unexpected appearance of a man who was sup-
posed, and with every reason, to be dead and buried
was so startling that for a few moments no one could
speak. Had it been night time, those present might
well have been excused had they taken the newcomer
for a ghost. But a ghost would scarcely reveal itself
in broad daylight, supported by two flesh and blood
mortals. Amazing as it seemed, the wan person, who
was placed in a convenient armchair by his guides, was
actually the Rev. Simon Leigh. His head was ban-
daged; his face was bloodless, and he appeared to be
listless and exhausted. Never was there such a drama-
tic entrance, or such an uncanny situation.
"Leigh!" gasped Rupert, hardly able to pronounce
the name.
"Yes," replied the parson, faintly smiling. "I am
alive, you see."
"I said as he worn't dead," chuckled Ark again,
and rubbed his horny hands with comfortable glee,
while his grandson Tobias stood mute and grim be-
hind the man who had returned from the other world.
Carrington, equally startled, was the first to recover
himself entirely. He saw in the reappearance of the
clergyman a chance of escape from his dangerous
position. "You accuse me of murdering Leigh, and


A WEIRD STORY 285
Leigh is alive," he said, regaining swiftly his native
impudence. "What do you say now, Hendle?"
Rupert turned his eyes from the vicar to Tollart,
whose big face was purple with astonishment. "What
do you say, doctor?" he asked, feebly.
"It's a dream," muttered Tollart, rubbing his eyes.
"He must be dead. I examined the body; I saw him
buried; I gave the certificate of death."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Tollart," murmured
Leigh with a weak attempt at a smile; "but you see
I am still alive. Tobias!"
The grim man knew what was asked for and pro-
ducing a flask of generous proportions administered a
stiff dose of brandy to his patient. The ardent spirit
made Leigh cough, but brought the blood to his cheek
and a more lively light into his dim eyes. Also when
he opened his mouth he spoke with a stronger voice.
"Yes, I am alive. I was buried by mistake."
"It's impossible, I tell you," cried the doctor, still
struggling with his astonishment. "You were as dead
as a door-nail."
"So you thought, Tollart, but you are not the first
medical man who has mistaken catalepsy for death."
"Catalepsy?"
"I have been subject to it all my life, but I never
told anyone about it—not even you, Tollart. Only
Titus knew, and that was why he was what was called
my shadow down in the village. I always dreaded
being buried alive."
"Yet you were," said Rupert, staring with all his
might at the resuscitated man, and wondering if he
was asleep or awake. "Titus wasn't much good, after
all, in spite of his watchfulness."
"And what could I do, Squoire?" demanded the an-


286 THE LOST PARCHMENT
cient shrilly. "I said as Muster Leigh warn't dead
agin and agin, but none heeded me."
"If you had used the one word catalepsy," pro-
tested Tollart, who was annoyed that Leigh should re-
appear to give the lie to his skill, "I should have known
what to do."
"I bain't no scholard," croaked Titus sulkily. "I
said as Muster Leigh warn't dead and he warn't. On
the night of the day when he was buried, me and
Tobias got him out of his coffin and he hev bin in
my house getting well."
"You should have told me, Titus," expostulated
Rupert reprovingly.
"Now the Lard help me, Squoire. Didn't I tell 'ee
times wi'out number. I said as Muster Leigh warn't
dead and you laughed; you know you did. But he
warn't dead; he warn't dead"; and the ancient re-
peated his favorite phrase again and again with angry
gestures.
"No, he warn't dead," mimicked Carrington, strol-
ling easily toward the door, "and now that we know
he warn't, I suppose there is no objection to my leav-
ing this pleasant little party."
"Stay where you are," commanded Leigh in a much
stronger voice. "It is no thanks to you that I am alive.
Stop him, Hendle."
Rupert took Carrington by the shoulders and pushed
him across the room and into the chair he had vacated.
"You stay here," he said sternly.
"Oh, I'll stay if you wish me to," replied Carring-
ton, making a virtue of necessity, and shrugging his
shoulders contemptuously. "You can't get me into
trouble now."
"We'll see about that," replied Leigh, who was


A WEIRD STORY 287
breathing heavily. "I haven't much time to live, as
the shock of being buried alive has given me my death-
blow. But I shall live long enough to see that justice
is done. Now let me explain what I owe to Mr. Car-
rington."
"One moment, before you change the subject," re-
marked Tollart sharply. "You told me that you had
heart disease."
"I did," admitted the vicar dryly; "but I never al-
lowed you to examine me, or you would have found
that my heart was perfectly sound. I made that ex-
cuse to account for anyone finding me in a cataleptic
trance."
"You should have told me the truth," rejoined the
doctor sternly. "But that I thought the blow on the
head had killed you, along with heart disease, I would
have opened your body to be certain of the cause of
death. As it was, Mr. Leigh"
"As it wor," interrupted the old sexton aggressively,
"you warn't sober, Muster Tollart. That you warn't."
"How dare you say that!" cried the doctor, flushing
angrily.
"Aye, but I do say it," retorted Titus valiantly.
"You saw double, you did, and not being sure of
your laming said as Muster Leigh wor dead when he
warn't. And if 'ee'd tried to cut Muster Leigh up,
I'd hev knocked 'ee down. Yus, I would, and no
mistake."
"It seems to me that we are not getting on very
fast," said Carrington lightly, yet anxiously, for he
desired to get away before Inspector Lawson arrived
from Tarhaven. "Suppose Mr. Leigh speaks, and re-
lates his experiences in the other world."
"I shall deal with you later," said Leigh meaningly


288 THE LOST PARCHMENT
and with an unpleasant look. "You are not going to
escape punishment because you failed to carry out
your evil design. First, I shall explain about my
catalepsy. I have always been afflicted thus, Hendle,"
he added, turning to the young Squire, "and for that
reason I rarely went away from my house. Titus
knew that I was subject to these trances, and I always
liked to have him at my elbow in case I fell into one.
Also Titus had the key of my family vault, so as to
rescue me should I be buried alive by any chance. The
blow on the head did not kill me outright, although
it was severe enough very nearly to do so. I was
stunned for the time being and then passed into a
trance. Owing to the warm weather, unfortunately
for me, I was buried hastily, else I might have re-
covered."
"You were as dead as any man could be," persisted
Tollart sullenly, for the revival annoyed him beyond
measure.
"I was not, yet, although you, in your confused
state, thought so. And you were confused with drink,
Tollart, as Titus assures me. Let this be a warning
to you, my friend, to abandon this vice, as you may
not so easily escape again from dooming a man to a
terrible death."
Tollart tried to speak, but could not, as he knew
very well that he was entirely in the wrong, and that
the consequences of his too hurried examination of
the body might be serious for him. He stammered,
stuttered, and turned very white, then walked silently
out of the room. He had received a lesson which he
would not easily forget. Rupert started forward to
stop him, but Mallien, who had been too startled to
speak hitherto, laid a detaining hand on his artiU


A WEIRD STORY 293
the front door cautiously, so as not to waken those
servants of yours."
"After which," put in Mallien viciously, "you went
through the jungle and buried the will under the sun-
dial."
"I did," admitted Carrington recklessly. "You know
so much that you may as well know all, for Leigh be-
ing alive you cannot touch me in any way. I buried
the will, as you say, and afterward wrote that letter
to Mrs. Beatson, so that she might find the will and
avert suspicion from myself."
"Why Mrs. Beatson?" asked Rupert, disgusted with
his former friend's brazen assurance.
"Because, according to you, she had overheard the
conversation between you and the vicar. I guessed
that, if she produced the will, suspicion would fall
on her. Our meeting her on that night, Hendle, was
pure chance, but it helped on my plans. I wished her
to procure the will to you, and thus bring suspicion on
herself as having killed the vicar."
"You infernal villain!"
"Oh, I don't see that," said Carrington carelessly.
"Mrs. Beatson would be none the worse for having
her neck stretched. But I would not have allowed
things to go so far as that. All I wished, was for her
to give you the will, and then when you consulted me,
as I knew you would, I intended to persuade you to
burn it in order to keep the property and pay me five
thousand pounds for holding my tongue. You under-
stand."
"Yes," said Rupert quietly, "you explain your vil-
lainy so carefully that I can scarcely help understand-
ing. It was you, then, who dropped a clue near the
sundial to incriminate Mallien?"


A WEIRD STORY 295
"Aye, that I did," said the old man, patting Leigh's
hand; "and they'll find in the village as the old 'un
don't tell lies and bain't no fool either. I told 'em as
you wor alive, didn't I, Muster Leigh?"
"Yes, Titus, yes. But I think you will very soon
have to tell them that I am dead," said Leigh with
a weak sigh. "After all, it is for the best. I shall
never regain my health after that awful experience.
And as my successor has been appointed, it would be
wrong of me to deprive him of the living."
"Don't trouble about that, Leigh," remarked Rupert,
bending over him. "You shall stay here and be nursed
back into health again. I'll see that you are all right
for the future."
"You are a good man, Hendle; but if you
knew "He stopped abruptly and drew away his
hand which the Squire had taken. "But that I can
speak of another time. Meanwhile we must finish
dealing with this gentleman."
"Do you mean me?" asked Mallien, who felt uneasy
because he had an idea that the resuscitated man had,
as the saying goes, something up his sleeve.
"I don't mean you at present," replied the vicar,
eyeing him with an expression of intense dislike. "I
shall attend to your matter later."
"What matter?"
"That," said Leigh slowly, "I shall tell you in my
own good time."
"You are very mysterious."
"Oh, I think all mysteries are at an end now," in-
terposed Rupert hastily, for Mallien showed a ten-
dency to make himself disagreeable in spite of the
vicar's weak state of health. "We now know that


298 THE LOST PARCHMENT
“Hendle, you wouldn't see me disgraced in that
way,” pleaded Carrington, who suddenly saw an abyss
open at his feet. “If I am arrested, I will be ruined.”
Hendle released the miserable man and stood back,
rather incautiously as it afterward proved. “You
would have ruined me,” he said sternly, “so why
should you not be done by as you intended to be done
by others?”
“There's Scripture authority fur that,” grunted old
Ark, grinning toothlessly.
Carrington, now at bay, looked round and saw that
everyone was against him, so that there was no hope
of mercy. He covered his face with his hands and
staggered against the wall near the door. For a mo-
ment there was silence, for, although neither Mallien
nor Leigh pitied the scoundrel, Rupert, having an un-
usually tender heart, did so. Perhaps the feeling that
the man was his old school-fellow induced him to give
Carrington a chance of escape. But be this as it may,
when the barrister sobbing near the door suddenly
opened it and dashed out, Rupert made no immediate
effort to stop him. Mallien did. “Stop, thief Stop,
liar! Stop, murderer!” he vociferated and followed.
Rupert was thus compelled to pursue the culprit, al-
though he did so reluctantly.
The two came to the door to see Carrington run-
ning down the avenue, and dashed after him. The
barrister flew like the wind and speedily outdistanced
his pursuers. But he was not to escape after all, for,
as he reached the open gates of the avenue, Kit's motor
car, containing Lawson, swept round the corner. Run-
ning blindly, Carrington tripped and fell under the
machine. The wheels passed over him, breaking his
back. He was picked up stone dead.


CHAPTER XXI
A FINAL SURPRISE
At the inquest, held on the body of the unfortunate
Carrington, the whole story of the events connected
with the will of John Hendle was related in detail.
This was done by the advice of Inspector Lawson, so
as to avert further trouble. As the officer wisely
pointed out, it was necessary that the characters of all
those implicated in the affair should be cleared once
and for all. This could only be done by the truth
being made public. And this course of procedure
greatly recommended itself to Rupert, who was tired
of underhand doings. He was of a frank nature, and
the idea of hiding this and concealing that, annoyed
him exceedingly. He therefore made a clean breast
of the matter when called upon to give evidence re-
garding Carrington's death, and insisted that every-
one else should do the same. Consequently, the whole
amazing story appeared in print, and read like a ro-
Inance.
Mallien was inclined to hold back from giving evi-
dence, as, of course, he should have communicated
with the police the moment he became cognizant that
a murder had been committed. But both his cousin
and Lawson insisted that he should come forward
to state what he knew, and, notwithstanding his re-
luctance, he was compelled to do so. He escaped bet-
ter than he deserved, as it was seen how difficult his
299


A FINAL SURPRISE 305
"Yes, I have," she replied boldly, "and what I have
heard shows me what a cruel nature you have,
father."
"Don't speak to me in that way," stormed Mallien,
furiously.
"Oh, yes, I shall"; and Dorinda entered to place
her hand on Rupert's shoulder as if to give him confi-
dence. "You have not got Rupert's money yet."
"But I shall get it. The will is plain enough."
Before Dorinda could reply, Rupert rose to his feet
and made a gesture that she should be silent. "Leigh
has something to say about the will, Mallien," he re-
marked, "and had you not come over I should have
sent for you. Leigh wishes to see you and me and
Dorinda."
"If Leigh intends to try on any hanky-panky," said
Mallien, uneasily, for the summons seemed strange
and ominous to him, "he'll find himself in the wrong
box, I can tell you. You've been scheming with him,
I expect, since he has been lying there."
"I have scarcely seen him," retorted Rupert, passing
his arm round Dorinda's waist. "Tollart says he
should be kept quiet."
"Then we shan't disturb him now."
"Yes, we shall. Leigh has something on his mind,
and wants to see the three of us. Tollart has given
permission, so we can go up to him now. Only I beg
of you, Mallien, not to excite him, as he is very weak,
and is not far from death. You understand."
"I understand that you want to trick me in some
way."
By this time Rupert's long-enduring patience was
at an end, and he turned on the selfish little man in
a cold fury. "Look here, Mallien, I have had enough


306 THE LOST PARCHMENT
of this," he said, firmly. "Don't goad me too far, or
you will regret it."
"Oh, will I!" taunted the other; "and in what
way?"
"Possession is nine points of the law," retorted
Hendle, "and you appear to forget that I am the
Squire of Barship. I shall see the lawyers and take
all chances I can to prevent you getting possession of
the money. I am innocent of any roguery in the mat-
ter, and my position is a very unfair one, as I am not
to blame. It is close upon a century since that will
was made, and if I make use of the Statute of Limi-
tations I may be able to squash the whole affair.
Equity, if not Common Law, will be on my side."
"You—you—you!" cried Mallien violently, "you
swindler!"
"Don't call names," said Rupert imperiously, "or in
spite of the fact that Dorinda has the misfortune td
call you father, I shall kick you out of the house. So
now you know."
"My own house," foamed Mallien, stamping.
"It's not your house yet, and it never may be."
"Well,"—Mallien drew a long breath—"I never—
I never "He turned on his daughter suddenly and
with violence. "What do you think of this behavior?"
"I entirely approve of it," said Dorinda, calmly,
"and I am glad to see Rupert stand up for his rights.
He has treated you far too well as it is."
"What—what—what?"
"It's no use, father. You don't care for me and
you don't care for your honor. All you do care for
is yourself."
"I—I—shall cut you off with a shilling—with a
shilling."


A FINAL SURPRISE 307
"So long as I have Rupert, I don't care."
Hendle caught Mallien by the shoulders and pushed
him toward the door. "I can't allow any more of
this, Mallien. Behave like a human being or I shall
turn you out. Now come up and hear what Leigh has
to say."
"Oh, I'll come," cried Mallien viciously, but, unable
to resist his cousin's superior strength; "but remember
that if there is any plot to take away my money I
shall make things hot for you."
"Get on! get on!" said Hendle, impatiently, "and
don't make a fool of yourself."
Mallien did go on and climbed the stairs to Leigh's
room unwillingly. He was beginning to see that there
was nothing to be gained by storming, and that his
best plan would be to adjust the matters in dispute
quietly. Although he believed the will to be legal, he
yet had a lurking suspicion that it might be set aside
by the Statute of Limitations. Under these circum-
stances it was unwise to quarrel with his cousin, so he
became more subdued. All the same his dog-like
temper could not be entirely suppressed, and he en-
tered the sick-chamber growling and muttering sav-
agely. Dorinda and Rupert followed, the girl crying
with shame. Her father's conduct was disgraceful.
The vicar was propped up in bed with pillows, look-
ing white and weak. It was evident that he had not
long to live, and there was an anxious expression on
his face which showed that he had something on his
mind. With a faint smile he welcomed the new-
comers, and signed to the nurse that she should leave
the room. This the woman did, whispering in passing
Rupert that Tollart had left instructions that the pa-
tient was to be as little excited as possible, since his


812 THE LOST PARCHMENT
■ iii »^^^^^^——i. .ii i. ii ■ ■■■*
"I wanted money to go to Yucatan, and hoped to
get it from Hendle. He was not inclined to fit out an
expedition, so I hoped to force him. Satan entered
into me, and, taking advantage of what was in those
letters of John Hendle, I prepared the will in favor of
Eunice. I bought the parchment and wrote out what
was wanted to give me a hold over Hendle. When
Carrington saw me holding the will over the candle,
I was doing so to change the color of the ink and make
the parchment appear black and a little contracted. I
did not give the forged will to Hendle when I spoke
about it, as it was not quite ready. Next day I pro-
posed to give it to him and to offer to allow him to
burn it on condition that he gave me enough money to
go to Yucatan with an expedition. Failing Rupert, I
should have gone to you, Mr. Mallien."
"And you would have gone!" gasped Rupert,
amazed by this recital. "I would never have agreed
to suppress that will had I believed it—as I did—to be
genuine."
"I see that now," said Leigh, whose voice was be-
coming fainter. "You were too honorable for Mal-
lien and Carrington, and you would have been too
honorable for me. My forgery was vain. But God in-
tervened and prevented me from carrying out my
wicked plot. Carrington came and—and—you—you
—know the—rest. I acted wickedly—and—I—I"
He stopped and fell back on his pillows with a ghastly
look on his face.
"He is dying," cried Dorinda, running to the bedside.
"Call the nurse."
Rupert opened the door, but Mallien looking like a
fiend rushed to the dying man and shook him roughly.
"You are a liar! you are a liar!" he screamed, white


814 THE LOST PARCHMENT
chance of his getting a single penny of the four thou-
sand a year he so greedily coveted.
While Mallien, frenzied with baffled avarice, was
moving heaven and earth to prove that he was the
rightful heir, the other people who had been connected
with the strange affair of the will were settling them-
selves in life. Mrs. Beatson obtained a situation as
housekeeper to an invalid gentleman in Derbyshire,
much to the relief of Kit and Miss Tollart. Hendle
was so pleased with the way in which these two had
assisted him at an awkward moment, that he gave Kit
a handsome sum of money; and, along with Dorinda,
was present at his marriage to the doctor's daughter.
Tollart himself found that, in spite of all efforts, he
could not quite do away with the prejudice against
him, although more or less he managed, as has been
said, to reestablish his position. But perhaps con-
science had something to do with his determination
to go to Australia with the young couple, for he felt
very uncomfortable among his patients. Sophy, who
was unwilling to part from her father since he might
take to drink again, suggested that he should emigrate.
The doctor did so and shortly departed with Mr. and
Mrs. Beatson for Melbourne, where he hoped to re-
deem himself entirely. And, thanks to Rupert's gen-
erosity, a start at the Antipodes was made easy both
for him and for the young people.
As to Hendle and Dorinda, they took advantage of
Mallien's preoccupation with regard to the will to get
married quietly in London. Dorinda was of age and
did not require her father's consent. Moreover, after
his shabby behavior, she felt that even though he was
her father, she could never live with him again. So
she became Mrs. Hendle shortly after Leigh was bur-


A FINAL SURPRISE 315
ied for the second time, and, after a short honeymoon,
returned to be welcomed by one and all as the mistress
of The Big House. Everyone was delighted that Ru-
pert still kept his position, and everyone knew that the
will, which had caused so much trouble, had been
forged. Hendle would have preferred to keep Leigh's
confession to himself out of regard to the unfor-
tunate vicar's memory, but Mallien's action left him no
option but to make it public. The amazing story
added yet another chapter to the romance of the whole
queer business, and the story got into the newspapers.
Mr. and Mrs. Hendle were not a little troubled by
reporters and interviewers and snap-shot people, but
in the end curiosity died away and they were left to
live their own simple life, doing good and making
everyone around them happy.
In the end, Mallien found that his efforts to prove
the will to be genuine were futile, so one day pre-
sented himself at The Big House in a very dismal
frame of mind. Not being able to get the property,
he was secretly pleased that his daughter should have
become Mrs. Hendle, even without his consent, as he
hoped to use her for his own ends. With the greatest
impudence he suggested that his son-in-law should ful-
fill his old promise and allow him five hundred a year.
"Oh, no," said Rupert, calmly, when Mallien came
for a last interview. "I don't think it is good for you
to be treated with such leniency."
"Nor do I," chimed in Dorinda, who found it dif-
ficult to behave amiably to her father, seeing how
badly he had behaved.
"What do you mean?" demanded Mallien, taken
aback, for he had quite expected to get his own way.
"What do you both mean?"


A FINAL SURPRISE 317
on that. And, as people here are not very well dis-
posed toward you, I advise you to go away."
Furious at this plain speaking Mallien turned on
his daughter. "Do you hear how I am spoken to?"
he demanded looking black.
"I hear," responded Mrs. Hendle quietly, "and I
am glad that you hear the truth for once in your life.
I hope it will make you a better man. I think you
had better take Rupert's advice and leave Barship."
"Oh, I shall go. I don't want to stay in such a
hole," shouted Mallien, putting on his hat violently;
then he became pathetic. "And I go to live a lonely
life."
"I think you will find plenty of amusement in
playing with your jewels," said Dorinda quietly. "You
never cared for me."
Mallien muttering something about an ungrateful
child and a serpent's tooth, walked away with a
drooping head. It dawned on him dimly when he
shook the dust of Barship from his feet that perhaps
after all, as he had not given affection, he could not
expect affection. But his egotism was much too
strong to permit him to understand fully that he was
only reaping what he had sown. He took up his
abode in London and managed to get along very com-
fortably on his five hundred a year. But he always
persisted in regarding himself as a much injured man
and stubbornly maintained that the will forged by
Leigh was genuine. Needless to say, he never missed
his daughter, as he was far too much wrapped up
in himself to desire any company but his own.
"Do you think we have acted rightly, Rupert?"
asked Dorinda in a troubled tone, when her father
departed after that last interview.


318 THE LOST PARCHMENT
"Yes, dear. He is your father certainly, but he
has no right to take advantage of the relationship
to behave so selfishly as he has done. It would be
wrong to pander to his egotism by giving him money."
"Yes, I suppose so," said Dorinda with a sigh.
"People are very hard to understand, Rupert. Be-
sides my father, who puzzled me with his selfishness,
there is Mr. Leigh. Whatever made such a good and
kind man forge that will?"
Rupert shrugged his shoulders. "A sudden tempta-
tion perhaps," he said, after a pause; "but I don't
pretend to explain; his act was entirely opposed to his
character. If he was in a story people would say that
he was inconsistent."
Dorinda agreed. "Very inconsistent. Human be-
ings are strange."
"They are, dear. But you see, as we only see the
outside of people we don't know how to account for
every action. The majority of people are children
and often act wrongly without thinking of the con-
sequences. After all evil is only ignorance, for if
wrongdoers knew what they would have to pay for
behaving wickedly they would not sin. Now, darling,
don't think anything more about the matter. Let us
enjoy the peace which has come to us after the storm.
There is no more to be said about the past and no
more to be done. We are happy and try to make
others happy. What more do you want?"
"This," said Dorinda, and kissed him fondly.
END
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