THE QUEST ORDAINED
Mr Collyer's offices were in Pump Court, first floor front. Mr Samuel
Collyer was a somewhat short and pursy gentleman of about fifty years
of age, with a clean-shaven face, and a manner which gave such a
varying complexion to the words he used as to cause it sometimes to be
very difficult to make out exactly what it was he meant; an extremely
useful manner for a solicitor to have. As with alert, swinging stride
Mr Holland entered, Mr Collyer rose, greeting him with his usual
stolid air, as if he had just looked in from across the road, instead
of from the wilds of Africa.
'Good morning, Mr Guy. You're looking very brown.'
'Yes, I--I'm feeling very brown.'
The words seemed to come from him almost before he knew it, on the
spur of the moment, as if the presence of a third person lent them a
special significance. Reclining in the only armchair the room
contained was a young gentleman of about Mr Holland's own age. He was
well dressed, good looking, very much at his ease, and he regarded Mr
Holland with a suggestion of amusement which seemed somehow to be very
much in character.
'In questions of feeling is brown the equivalent of blue?'
Mr Holland's bearing was not so genial as the other's.
'I did not expect to see you here.'
'Nor, my dear Guy, did I expect to see you. I did not even wish to.'
'That I can easily believe.'
'It is Mr Collyer's fault that I am here, not mine. I should have been
content never to set eyes on you again; and as for being in the same
room with you--'
He left his sentence unfinished, with a little airy movement of his
hand, which seemed to round it off with a sting. He continued to
smile, although Mr Holland regarded him for a moment with eyes which
were very far from smiling. The newcomer turned to the solicitor.
'I have your letter.'
'I presume, Mr Guy, that you had my letter nearly three months ago.'
'I had it this morning. I only came back from Africa last night.'
'From Africa? I was not aware you had gone so far.'
'Dear Guy is such a gadabout.'
The interpolation came from the young gentleman in the arm-chair. The
solicitor went on.
'The only address I had was the one in Craven Street. As my letter did
not come back I supposed it had reached you safely; but that, for
reasons of your own, you chose to take no notice of it. You know, Mr
Guy, that in such matters you are a little erratic.'
'I know. You needn't remind me. So my uncle is dead. Of what did he
die?'
'The immediate cause was apoplexy, brought on, it is to be feared, by
something which happened on the afternoon of his decease.'
The young gentleman in the arm-chair struck in.
'He was thrashed within an inch of his life, and very properly he was
served.'
'Thrashed! Where? On a flight of steps?'
'On the steps of the Hôtel des Anglais at Nice.'
'Good God! I thought I knew the place; of course it was the Hôtel des
Anglais; it's--it's past believing.'
The solicitor misapprehended the cause of Mr Holland's excitement.
'It does seem almost incredible; none the less it is a lamentable
fact.'
The young gentleman put in his word.
'How incredible? The dear man misbehaved himself with another man's
wife, as was his invariable custom when he had a chance. The other man
thrashed him for it. What could be more natural? or simpler?'
Mr Holland ignored the inquiry.
'What is it, Mr Collyer, which you wish to say to me?'
'It is not so much that I have anything to say to you as that I have a
duty to perform. I have to read to you your uncle's will. His
instructions were that it was to be read only in the presence of both
his nephews, his sole remaining relatives.'
'He has probably left all his money to found a hospital for cats, and
wished us both to be present, my dear Guy, so that we might enjoy each
other's discomfiture.'
Mr Holland said nothing. Mr Collyer was taking some papers out of a
metal box which stood against the wall, and on the front of which was
painted in white letters the name, 'George Burton.' Reseating himself
behind his table he held up a large white linen envelope, such as is
used in England for registered letters.
'I will read you the endorsement which is on it. "This envelope, which
he told me contained his will, was delivered to me by Mr George
Burton, on the 22nd of June 1899, and was then and there sealed by me
in the presence of my two clerks whose names are undersigned." Then
follow my own signature, and the signatures of the clerks in question,
both of whom are still in my employ, Ferdinand Murpeatt and Benjamin
Davis. Would either of you gentlemen like to see them?'
'My good Mr Collyer, we don't want to see your clerks. Your clerks be
sanctified. Why all this form and fuss? Make an end of it. Let's know
if it's cats or dogs Uncle Burton's favoured.'
'And you, Mr Guy, are you content that I should proceed at once to the
contents of this envelope?'
Mr Holland said nothing; he simply nodded. The solicitor, taking a
penknife, began to cut open the top of the envelope with a degree of
care which perhaps erred on the side of overcaution. He addressed them
as he did so.
'I may say that, beyond Mr Burton's own statement that it holds his
will, I have no notion what this envelope contains. I have no
knowledge of the purport of the will; Mr Burton never gave me the
faintest hint as to what were his testamentary intentions. You are
aware that your uncle was a man who did what he liked, in his own way;
and I say this, therefore, in order to give you to understand that
whatever form the will may take, I am not to be held responsible.'
The young gentleman in the arm-chair laughed.
'My dear Collyer, do cut the cackle, and do let's come to the 'osses.'
Mr Collyer took out from the envelope a single sheet of paper. Without
further preamble he commenced to read what was written on it, in a
slow, monotonous, sing-song voice, as if it were something sacred
which he almost felt it his duty to intone.
'"I, George Burton, of Hyde Park Terrace, London, W., do hereby
announce that this is my last Will and Testament, as written with my
own hand on June 17, 1899."
'"I have only two relatives living, viz., my two nephews, Horace
Burton, my brother's son, and Guy Holland, the son of my sister; and,
since I love them equally well, I desire to do them equal justice."'
The reading was interrupted by prolonged laughter from the young
gentleman in the arm-chair.
'The dear man!' he cried.
Mr Collyer continued.
'"I therefore give and bequeath all that I die possessed of, in real
and personal estate, to my nephew, Guy Holland--"'
'Good Lord!' exclaimed the young gentleman in the arm-chair.
Mr Holland's lips might have been closed a little tighter. The lawyer
went on unmoved.
'"Absolutely, to do with as he pleases, on condition that he recover
from May Bewicke, the actress, whom he knows, my ruby signet ring,
which she obtained from me by means of a trick on the 27th of this
last May. The ring is well known to him, and to Horace, and to my
lawyer, Samuel Collyer. The ring is to be delivered to Samuel Collyer,
whom I hereby appoint my sole executor, by my nephew, Guy, within
three months of the day of my death. Should he do so within the period
mentioned, then I do hereby name him as my sole heir and residuary
legatee. In default, however, of such delivery within the time stated,
for any cause whatever, then my whole estate, without any deduction
whatever, is to become the absolute property of my other nephew,
Horace Burton."
'"Since the chances that Guy will obtain the ring from Miss Bewicke
are not very large, that young woman preferring to keep tight hold of
anything she has once laid her hands on, in making this will I am
doing Horace even more than justice."
'"In the improbable case of the delivery of my ruby signet ring by Guy
to Samuel Collyer, within the aforementioned three months of my
decease, it is to be held by the said Samuel Collyer, and not to pass
out of his possession until his death, when it is to be sold, and the
proceeds devoted to form a Society for the Reformation of Actresses."
'"As witness my hand and signature this seventeenth day of June,
Eighteen hundred and ninety-nine. GEORGE BURTON."
'"Witnesses--"
'"John Claney, 13 Porchester Terrace, W."
'"Augustus Evans, 83 Belgrave Row, S.W."'
The reading was followed by silence, broken by a question from Mr
Holland.
'And pray what is the plain English of it all?'
'The will is plain English. You are to obtain a certain ring from a
certain lady and deliver it to me within a certain time. If you do so
you are your uncle's heir; if you do not, Mr Horace is.'
'Within three months of his death. He died on the 23rd of February.
This is the 19th of May. I have four days in which to get the ring.'
'Apparently that is the case.'
'Supposing this lady refuses to give me the ring when I ask for it,
as, so far as I can perceive, she will be perfectly justified in
doing.'
'Perfectly!'
The murmur came from Horace.
'How am I to get it from her within four days? Where is Miss Bewicke
now?'
'In London. She is acting at the Modern Theatre. I am afraid I am
unable to assist you with any advice as to how you are to procure the
ring should she refuse to hand it over.'
Mr Holland stood up.
'Is that will a good one?'
'You mean in a legal sense. I should say so, perfectly. It is just the
sort of will I should have expected your uncle to make. It is
distinctly characteristic of the man.'
'My uncle was a most delightful person. Then, if I do not succeed in
jockeying this lady out of her property inside four days I'm a
pauper.'
'At least you will not inherit under your uncle's will.'
As Mr Holland stood with knitted brows his cousin gave him a friendly
pat upon the back. Mr Holland whirled round to him in a manner which
was distinctly not friendly.
'How dare you touch me, sir!'
'My dear Guy! May not a cousin give a cousinly salutation to a cousin?
My congratulations, my dear boy. You're sure to be the heir. You
always were so clever at diddling a woman.'
The blood showed even through Mr Holland's bronzed cheeks; his
clenched fists twitched. The other, however, paid no heed to these
signs and portents.
'I believe you managed to diddle Miss Bewicke once before, eh, Guy?'
He turned upon his heels, with a little movement of his shoulders.
'Let's hope you'll succeed the second time as well as I've been given
to understand you did the first. Good-bye. Good luck, dear boy.
Collyer, I'll look in on you again.'
Mr Horace Burton strolled from the room. Presently Mr Holland followed
him.
'I, also, Mr Collyer, will talk things over when I look in again. I
don't feel equal to the task just now.' He said to himself as he was
going down the stairs, 'Nice to have to rob your old sweetheart to
keep yourself out of the gutter. He knew very well there had been
passages between us; so he set me the dirtiest job to do which he
could think of. The brute! I'd better have stayed in Africa than have
come back to this. I wonder what Letty'll say.'
The solicitor, left alone, leaning back in his chair, stroked his chin
with his hand as if to discover whether it wanted shaving.
'They don't know that Miss May Bewicke is Mr Samuel Collyer's niece. I
fancy that there are only one or two persons who are aware that he has
a niece upon the stage. George Burton certainly was not.'
He smiled as if his own thoughts tickled him.