That Mainwaring Affair, A. Maynard Barbour [books to read in a lifetime TXT] 📗

the testator or beneficiaries?"

"There was nothing in the correspondence to give any clue to those particulars. I could only gather that Hugh Mainwaring had defrauded others and enriched himself by destroying this will."

Hobson looked relieved. "Without doubt, he did; but allow me to call your attention to one point, Mr. Scott. You see how little actual knowledge you have of this affair. There are others—Mrs. LaGrange, for instance, and the mysterious individual whom she heard conversing with Mr. Mainwaring on the night of the murder,—all of whom know as much or more than you; and while this meagre knowledge of the case might perhaps have been sufficient to bring to bear upon Mainwaring himself, personally, it would have little or no weight with those with whom we would now have to deal. You know nothing of the terms of the will, or of the persons named as beneficiaries, whom, consequently, Hugh Mainwaring defrauded. You have no proof that he destroyed the will. In fact, my dear young friend, you could produce no proof that such a document ever existed at all!"

"Do I understand you, then, that those letters, Mr. Mainwaring's included, would not be regarded as proof?" Scott asked, with well-feigned surprise.

"Not of themselves with these people; I know them too well." Hobson shook his head decidedly, then continued, in oracular tones, "Remember, I am only speaking of your chances with them. Mainwaring's letters were very guarded, mine scarcely less so. They would have no weight whatever with men like Ralph Mainwaring or William Thornton. They might even charge you with forging the whole thing. The point is just this, Mr. Scott: in order to be able to get anything from these parties you must have complete data, absolute proof of every statement you are to make; and such data and proofs are in the possession of no one but myself. So you see I am the only one who can assist you in this matter."

"And what compensation would you demand for 'assisting' me?"

"We will not put it that way, Mr. Scott," Hobson replied, his small, malignant eyes gleaming with delight at the ease with which his prey was falling into his clutches. "It is like this: Ralph Mainwaring and Thornton are prejudiced against me; I might not be able to work them as successfully as I could wish, but you and I could work together very smoothly. I could remain invisible, as it were, and give you the benefit of the information I possess and of my experience and advice, and you could then successfully manipulate the wires which would bring in the ducats for both of us. What do you say, my young friend?"

"Do you think that either Ralph Mainwaring or Mr. Thornton would care enough for any secrets you might be able to disclose to pay you hush money?"

"I object to the term of 'hush money.' I am merely trying to get what was due me from Hugh Mainwaring. As he never paid me in full, his heirs must. Yes, I could work them after they return to England and set up in style on the old Mainwaring estate. They would be rather sensitive about the family reputation then."

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

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

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

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

"Were there no heirs left?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XII X-RAYS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A pretty good find, Jim, pretty good! However, we'll have another try