A Bid for Fortune, Guy Boothby [easy books to read TXT] 📗

“Because an alliance with you, sir, is distasteful to me in every possible way. I have other views for my daughter, you must learn.” Here Phyllis could keep silence no longer, and broke in with⁠—

“If you mean by that that you will force me into this hateful marriage with a man I despise, papa, you are mistaken. I will marry no one but Mr. Hatteras, and so I warn you.”

“Silence, Miss! How dare you adopt that tone with me! You will do as I wish in this and all other matters, and so we’ll have no more talk about it. Now, Mr. Hatteras, you have heard what I have to say, and I warn you that, if you persist in this conduct, I’ll see if something can’t be found in the law to put a stop to it. Meanwhile, if you show yourself in my grounds again, I’ll have my servants throw you out into the street! Good day.”

Unjust as his conduct was to me, there was nothing for it but to submit, so picking up my hat I bade poor little frightened Phyllis farewell and went towards the door. But before taking my departure I was determined to have one final shot at her irascible parent, so I said, “Mr. Wetherell, I have warned you before, and I do so again: your daughter loves me, and, come what may, I will make her my wife. She is her own mistress, and you cannot force her into marrying anyone against her will. Neither can you prevent her marrying me if she wishes it. You will be sorry some day that you have behaved like this to me.”

But the only answer he vouchsafed was a stormy one.

“Leave my house this instant. Not another word, sir, or I’ll call my servants to my assistance!”

The stately old butler opened the front door for me, and assuming as dignified an air as was possible, I went down the drive and passed out into the street.

When I reached home again Beckenham was out, for which I was not sorry, as I wanted to have a good quiet think by myself. So, lighting a cigar, I pulled a chair into the verandah and fell to work. But I could make nothing of the situation, save that, by my interview this morning, my position with the father was, if possible, rendered even more hopeless than before. Who was this more fortunate suitor? Would it be any use my going to him and⁠—but no, that was clearly impossible. Could I induce Phyllis to run away with me? That was possible, of course, but I rather doubted if she would care to take such an extreme step until every other means had proved unsuccessful. Then what was to be done? I began to wish that Beckenham would return in order that we might consult together.

Half an hour later our lunch was ready, but still no sign came of the youth. Where could he have got to? I waited an hour and then fell to work. Three o’clock arrived and still no sign⁠—four, five, and even six. By this time I was in a fever of anxiety. I remembered the existence of the man who had followed us from Melbourne, and Beckenham’s trusting good nature. Then and there I resolved, if he did not return before half-past seven, to set off for the nearest police station and have a search made for him. Slowly the large hand of the clock went round, and when, at the time stated, he had not appeared, I donned my hat and, enquiring the way, set off for the home of the law.

On arriving there and stating my business I was immediately conducted to the inspector in charge, who questioned me very closely as to Beckenham’s appearance, age, profession, etc. Having done this, he said:

“But what reason have you, sir, for supposing that the young man has been done away with? He has only been absent from his abode, according to your statement, about eight or nine hours.”

“Simply because,” I answered, “I have the best of reasons for knowing that ever since his arrival in Australia he has been shadowed. This morning he said he would only go for a short stroll before lunch, and I am positively certain, knowing my anxiety about him, he would not have remained away so long of his own accord without communicating with me.”

“Is there any motive you can assign for this shadowing?”

“My friend is heir to an enormous property in England. Perhaps that may assist you in discovering one?”

“Very possibly. But still I am inclined to think you are a little hasty in coming to so terrible a conclusion, Mr.⁠—?”

“Hatteras is my name, and I am staying at the ‘General Officer’ Hotel in Palgrave Street.”

“Well, Mr. Hatteras, if I were you I would go back to your hotel. You will probably find your friend there eating his dinner and thinking about instituting a search for you. If, however, he has not turned up, and does not do so by tomorrow morning, call here again and report the matter, and I will give you every assistance in my power.”

Thanking him for his courtesy I left the station and walked quickly back to the hotel, hoping to find Beckenham safely returned and at his dinner. But when the landlady met me in the verandah, and asked if I had any news of my friend, I realized that a disappointment was in store for me. By this time the excitement and worry were getting too much for me. What with Nikola, the spy, Beckenham, Phyllis, the unknown lover, and old Mr. Wetherell, I had more than enough to keep my brain occupied. I sat down on a chair on the verandah with a sigh and reviewed the whole case. Nine o’clock struck by the time my reverie was finished. Just as I did so a newspaper boy came down the street lustily crying his wares. To divert my mind from its unpleasant