"To my valued friend, Arthur Claverton, I bequeath the sum of nine
thousand pounds."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
He to whom this announcement was made could not repress a start of
surprise. The only other occupant of the room paused and laid down the
document from which he had been reading. The room was a solicitor's
office.
"You hardly expected to be remembered, then?" said the latter.
"No. At least I won't say that, exactly; but nothing like to such an
extent. I thought poor Spalding might have left me some trifle to
remember him by--his pet breechloader, or something of the kind; but,
candidly, I never expected anything like this!"
"Yet you saved his life, once."
"Pooh! Nothing at all. The weather was hot, and the swim did me good.
If I hadn't gone in, the nearest Jack Tar would have, and have thought
nothing of it; nor do I. Poor Spalding!"
The speaker is a man of about thirty to all appearance. His face, which
is a handsome and a refined one, wears a look of firmness, not unmixed
with recklessness. It is the countenance of one who has seen a good
deal of the world, and knows thoroughly well how to take care of
himself. The other man is more than twice his age, and looks what he
is--every inch the comfortable, well-preserved family solicitor.
"I don't know about that, Mr Claverton," answered the latter. "The
story our poor friend told me was something very different. The vessel
was going at thirteen knots, the night being pitch dark, and a heavy sea
running. And no one saw him fall overboard but yourself."
The other laughed in a would-be careless way. "Oh, well, I think you
are making too much of it. But the job was a risky one, I admit, and at
one time I did think we should never be picked up. And now, Mr Smythe,
I'm going to ask you a question that you may think queer. First of all,
you knew my poor friend intimately for a good many years?"
"I did. When first I made his acquaintance, Herbert Spalding was a
little chap in Eton jackets. I've known him tolerably intimately ever
since."
"Well, then, didn't it strike you that latterly he had something on his
mind?"
"Yes, it did. And I happen to know he had. The old story. He was
jilted; and being one of those sensitive men with a high-strung nervous
organisation, he took it to heart too much. I believe it shortened his
life. Poor fellow."
"Well, whoever did it, has something to answer for, or would have had,
at least; for, between ourselves, that time he went overboard he went of
his own free will."
"I had suspected as much," said the lawyer, quietly. "That was on the
voyage out, wasn't it?"
"It was. We first became acquainted on board ship, you know. He hardly
spoke to any one on board till, all of a sudden, he took a violent fancy
to me. We occupied the same cabin. In fact, I soon began to suspect
there was a petticoat in the case, the poor chap was so down on his
luck; but he didn't tell me in so many words, and it wasn't for me to
pry into another fellow's private affairs. One evening I came into the
cabin, and found him loading a revolver. There was nothing very
astonishing in that, you know, because fellows often go in for revolver
practice at sea--shooting bottles from the yard-arm, and all that sort
of thing; but it was the way in which it was done. He hid the thing,
too, when he saw me, and that looked fishy. However, I managed to get
hold of it, unknown to him, and stuck it right away, and made up my mind
to keep an eye on him. That very night, or rather morning, for it was
in the small hours, I was awoke by something moving in the cabin. I
sung out, but got no answer. Then I went over to Spalding's bunk, and,
by Jove, it was empty. When a fellow has been kicked about the world as
much as I have, he don't take long to think; consequently I was on deck
in about a second, with precious little on but my nightshirt, and
luckily so as it happened. It was pitch dark, and blowing half a gale.
I didn't want to sing out if I could help it--wanted to avoid a fuss,
you understand; so I peered about for Spalding. At last I made out a
dark figure standing behind the wheel, looking astern. They don't use
the rudder wheel, you know--steer from the bridge. I was just going to
sing out quietly, when the figure disappeared, and I heard a splash that
there was no mistaking. Then, you bet, I gave a war-whoop loud enough
to wake the dead, as I went over the side after it. Fortunately for
Spalding--for it was him all right--fortunately for us both, the
quarter-master had his wits about him, and pitched over one of those
fire-buoys that are kept handy for these occasions; but there was a
heavy, lamping sea on that nearly knocked the breath out of one. I
wasn't long reaching Spalding; but he could hardly swim a stroke at the
best of times, and at that time was simply helpless. But I can tell you
I had my work cut out for me. By the time the ship was brought round to
us again, and we were picked up, we had been nearer half an hour in the
water than twenty minutes, and not many seconds more would have done for
us. I was all right again next day, and, by way of explanation, I gave
out that Spalding was given to somnambulism. The idea took; and no one
suspected anything, or, if they did, never said so, and the affair
created a deuce of a sensation on board."
"I should rather imagine it did," said the lawyer, who had been vividly
interested in the other's narrative. "But you were with him when he
died, weren't you--I mean at the moment?"
"Yes and no. After the affair I've been telling you about we became
greater chums than ever. He seemed to pick up in health and spirits,
and I began to think the poor chap was going to forget all about his
troubles. We stayed in Sydney a little while, and then went up country,
where we spent three or four months, knocking about from station to
station, for Spalding had no end of letters of introduction. At last,
as ill luck would have it, the mail--that curse of existence--overtook
us even away up in the bush. I don't know what news he got; but poor
Spalding became worse than ever. Nothing would satisfy him but we must
return home to England immediately. I say `we,' because I'll be hanged
if I could make him see that I, at any rate, hadn't come to Australia
for fun, but to try and find a means of livelihood. No; I _must_ go
back with him. He had influence and abundant means, and could get me a
much better berth in England than I should ever find out there, he
argued. He wanted my company on the voyage home, and was determined to
have it; I shouldn't be out of pocket by it, and so on. We nearly had a
tremendous row over it; but at last I yielded, partly to sentiment, for
we were great chums and the poor fellow seemed utterly cut up at the
prospect of my leaving him to go back alone, partly to carelessness,
for, I reasoned, I should be no worse off than when I left England, and
could always pick up some sort of a living anywhere. So we sailed by
the first vessel we could catch, and a precious slow old tub she was.
Before we had been a week at sea, Spalding got a notion into his head
that he would never see England again, and all I could say or do to
cheer him was of no use. Well, to cut the matter short, one evening
about half an hour before sundown, we were sitting aft smoking our
weeds. I left him, wanting to do a constitutional before dinner. I
hadn't been gone five minutes when the quarter-master came to say that
my chum didn't seem well. Back I went like a shot. There was Spalding
sitting in his deck-chair just as I left him with his book in front of
him. But his head hung forward queerly. I had only to take one look at
him to know what was up. The poor chap was stone dead."
"Dear me--dear me!" said the lawyer.
Claverton paused a little--moved by the recollection. He had never told
the story so circumstantially before.
"We carried him to the cabin, and the doctor made an official
examination and all that sort of thing. Then the captain sealed up his
effects, and the next evening our poor friend was buried. It was in the
tropical seas, you know, where they don't delay funerals longer than
they can help. And, curiously enough, it could not have been far from
the spot where the poor fellow made his nocturnal plunge on the voyage
out. Yes; whoever _she_ is, she'll have something to answer for. The
doctor called it heart disease; but heart-break would have been nearer
the mark, I believe."
There was silence for a few moments. It was at length broken by the
lawyer.
"And you actually knew nothing of that codicil?"
"Nothing whatever. Hadn't the faintest suspicion of anything of the
kind. It's all right, I suppose; can't be disputed or upset--eh?"
"No. It's perfectly in order--adequately witnessed and everything. If
Spalding had been a solicitor in busy practice, he couldn't have added
that codicil more correctly. And he did it at sea, too!"
"What did he die worth?"
"It's hard to say at present. Most of his property was landed--very
extensive, but all entailed. He has bequeathed to yourself nearly all
that it was in his power to bequeath to anybody; but--"
"Oh, I wasn't thinking of that," interrupted the other impatiently, and
somewhat annoyed. "I merely asked out of curiosity. And, as I told you
before, I never expected anything at all."
"But, I was going to say, there's a queer stipulation attached to your
bequest. I don't quite know what you'll think of it," went on Mr
Smythe, with a dry smile. "You only profit by the bequest--which is
funded--provided you remain single until the age of thirty-five. Should
you marry before then you forfeit the whole, which, in that case, would
pass to a distant relative. But I should think you will not have very
long to wait. Three or four years, perhaps?" and he looked inquiringly
at the other. "Of course you draw the interest from now," he added.
"More likely eight years."
"You don't say so. I declare you look much older!"
"The conditions are queer, certainly," said the legatee, with a smile.
"I think I can see through it, though. Poor Spalding was played the
mischief with so severely by a woman, that he thought the best kindness
he could do me was to offer a counter inducement to me against making a
fool of myself in that line. And, look, thirty-five is the age
stipulated--his own age at the time of his death."
"It's singular, certainly," said Smythe; "but there seems to be method
in it. Probably he thought that he, not having arrived at years of
discretion at that time of life, neither would you. As if a man ever
does arrive at years of discretion where the sex is concerned! But I
congratulate you heartily--at least, I suppose I must; for you look
heart-whole enough at present, anyhow. But you are young--you are
young."
"Not too young to know the value of nine thousand pounds and its yearly
interest, I can tell you, Mr Smythe," said the other, with a laugh.
And then he took his leave.