FOR TEN PER CENT
Mr. Frank Burchill welcomed his visitor with easy familiarity--this might
have been a mere dropping-in of one friend to another, for the very
ordinary purpose of spending a quiet social hour before retiring for the
night. There was a bright fire on the hearth, a small smoking-jacket on
Burchill's graceful shoulders and fancy slippers on his feet; decanters
and glasses were set out on the table in company with cigars and
cigarettes. And by the side of Burchill's easy chair was a pile of
newspapers, to which he pointed one of his slim white hands as the two men
settled themselves to talk.
"I've been reading all the newspapers I could get hold of," he observed.
"Brought all the latest editions in with me after dinner. There's little
more known, I think, than when you were here this afternoon."
"There's nothing more known," replied Barthorpe. "That is--as far as I'm
aware."
Burchill took a sip at his glass and regarded Barthorpe thoughtfully
over its rim.
"In strict confidence," he said, "have you got any idea whatever on the
subject?"
"None!" answered Barthorpe. "None whatever! I've no more idea of who it
was that killed my uncle than I have of the name of the horse that'll
win the Derby of year after next! That's a fact. There isn't a clue."
"The police are at work, of course," suggested Burchill.
"Of course!" replied Barthorpe, with an unconcealed sneer. "And a lot of
good they are. Whoever knew the police to find out anything, except by a
lucky accident?"
"Just so," agreed Burchill. "But then--accidents, lucky or otherwise,
will happen. You can't think of anybody whose interest it was to get
your esteemed relative out of the way?"
"Nobody!" said Barthorpe. "There may have been somebody. We want to know
who the man was who came out of the House with him last night--so far we
don't know. It'll all take a lot of finding out. In the meantime----"
"In the meantime, you're much more concerned and interested in the will,
eh?" said Burchill.
"I'm much more concerned--being a believer in present necessities--in
hearing what you've got to say to me now that you've brought me here,"
answered Barthorpe, coolly. "What is it?"
"Oh, I've a lot to say," replied Burchill. "Quite a lot. But you'll have
to let me say it in my own fashion. And to start with, I want to ask you
a few questions. About your family history, for instance."
"I know next to nothing about my family history," said Barthorpe; "but
if my knowledge is helpful to what we--or I--want to talk about, fire
ahead!"
"Good!" responded Burchill. "Now, just tell me what you know about Mr.
Jacob Herapath, about his brother, your father, and about his sister,
who was, of course, Miss Wynne's mother. Briefly--concisely."
"Not so much," answered Barthorpe. "My grandfather was a medical
man--pretty well known, I fancy--at Granchester, in Yorkshire; I, of
course, never knew or saw him. He had three children. The eldest was
Jacob, who came to his end last night. Jacob left Granchester for
London, eventually began speculating in real estate, and became--what he
was. The second was Richard, my father. He went out to Canada as a lad,
and did there pretty much what Jacob did here in London----"
"With the same results?" interjected Burchill.
Barthorpe made a wry face.
"Unfortunately, no!" he replied. "He did remarkably well to a certain
point--then he made some most foolish and risky speculations in American
railroads, lost pretty nearly everything he'd made, and died a poorish
man."
"Oh--he's dead, then?" remarked Burchill.
"He's dead--years ago," replied Barthorpe. "He died before I came to
England. I, of course, was born out there. I----."
"Never mind you just now," interrupted Burchill. "Keep to the earlier
branches of the family. Your grandfather had one other child?"
"A daughter," assented Barthorpe. "I never saw her, either. However, I
know that her name was Susan. I also know that she married a man named
Wynne--my cousin's father, of course. I don't know who he was or
anything about him."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing--nothing at all: My Uncle Jacob never spoke of him to
me--except to mention that such a person had once existed. My cousin
doesn't know anything about him, either. All she knows is that her
father and mother died when she was about--I think--two years old, and
that Jacob then took charge of her. When she was six years old, he
brought her to live with him. That was about the time I myself came to
England."
"All right," said Burchill. "Now, we'll come to you. Tell about
yourself. It all matters."
"Well, of course, I don't know what you're getting at," replied
Barthorpe. "But I'm sure you do. Myself, eh? Well, I was put to the Law
out there in Canada. When my father died--not over well off--I wrote to
Uncle Jacob, telling him all about how things were. He suggested that I
should come over to this country, finish my legal training here, and
qualify. He also promised--if I suited him--to give me his legal work.
And, of course, I came."
"Naturally," said Burchill. "And that's--how long ago?"
"Between fifteen and sixteen years," answered Barthorpe.
"Did Jacob Herapath take you into his house?" asked Burchill, continuing
the examination which Barthorpe was beginning to find irksome as well as
puzzling. "I'm asking all this for good reasons--it's necessary, if you're
to understand what I'm going to tell you."
"Oh, as long as you're going to tell me something I don't mind telling you
anything you like to ask," replied Barthorpe. "That's what I want to be
getting at. No--he didn't take me into the house. But he gave me a very
good allowance, paid all my expenses until I got through my remaining
examinations and stages, and was very decent all around. No--I fixed up in
the rooms which I've still got--a flat in the Adelphi."
"But you went a good deal to Portman Square?"
"Why, yes, a good deal--once or twice a week, as a rule."
"Had your cousin--Miss Wynne--come there then?"
"Yes, she'd just about come. I remember she had a governess. Of course,
Peggie was a mere child then--about five or six. Must have been six,
because she's quite twenty-one now."
"And--Mr. Tertius?"
Burchill spoke the name with a good deal of subtle meaning, and
Barthorpe suddenly looked at him with a rising comprehension.
"Tertius?" he answered. "No--Tertius hadn't arrived on the scene then.
He came--soon after."
"How soon after?"
"I should say," replied Barthorpe, after a moment's consideration, "I
should say--from my best recollection--a few months after I came to
London. It was certainly within a year of my coming."
"You remember his coming?"
"Not particularly. I remember that he came--at first, I took it, as a
visitor. Then I found he'd had rooms of his own given him, and that he
was there as a permanency."
"Settled down--just as he has been ever since?"
"Just! Never any difference that I've known of, all these years."
"Did Jacob ever tell you who he was?"
"Never! I never remember my uncle speaking of him in any particular
fashion--to me. He was simply--there. Sometimes, you saw him; sometimes,
you didn't see him. At times, I mean, you'd meet him at dinner--other
times, you didn't."
Burchill paused for a while; when he asked his next question he seemed
to adopt a more particular and pressing tone.
"Now--have you the least idea who Tertius is?" he asked.
"Not the slightest!" affirmed Barthorpe. "I never have known who he is.
I never liked him--I didn't like his sneaky way of going about the
house--I didn't like anything of him--and he never liked me. I always
had a feeling--a sort of intuition--that he resented my presence--in
fact, my existence."
"Very likely," said Burchill, with a dry laugh. "Well--has it ever
struck you that there was a secret between Tertius and Jacob Herapath?"
Barthorpe started. At last they were coming to something definite.
"Ah!" he exclaimed. "So--that's the secret you mentioned in that
letter?"
"Never mind," replied Burchill. "Answer my question."
"No, then--it never did strike me."
"Very well," said Burchill. "There is a secret."
"There is?"
"There is! And," whispered Burchill, rising and coming nearer to his
visitor, "it's a secret that will put you in possession of the whole of
the Herapath property! And--I know it."
Barthorpe had by this time realized the situation. And he was thinking
things over at a rapid rate. Burchill had asked Jacob Herapath for ten
thousand pounds as the price of his silence; therefore----
"And, of course, you want to make something out of your knowledge?" he
said presently.
"Of course," laughed Burchill. He opened a box of cigars, selected one
and carefully trimmed the end before lighting it. "Of course!" he
repeated. "Who wouldn't? Besides, you'll be in a position to afford me
something when you come into all that."
"The will?" suggested Barthorpe.
Burchill threw the burnt-out match into the fire.
"The will," he said slowly, "will be about as valuable as that--when
I've fixed things up with you. Valueless!"
"You mean it?" exclaimed Barthorpe incredulously. "Then--your signature?"
"Look here!" said Burchill. "The only thing between us is--terms! Fix
up terms with me, and I'll tell you the whole truth. And then--you'll
see!"
"Well--what terms?" demanded Barthorpe, a little suspiciously. "If you
want money down----"
"You couldn't pay in cash down what I want, nor anything like it," said
Burchill. "I may want an advance that you can pay--but it will only be
an advance. What I want is ten per cent. on the total value of Jacob
Herapath's property."
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Barthorpe. "Why I believe he'll cut up for a
good million and a half!"
"That's about the figure--as I've reckoned it," assented Burchill. "But
you'll have a lot left when you've paid me ten per cent."
Barthorpe fidgeted in his chair.
"When did you find out this secret?" he asked.
"Got an idea of it just before I left Jacob, and worked it all out, to
the last detail, after I left," replied Burchill. "I tell you this for a
certainty--when I've told you all I know, you'll know for an absolute
fact, that the Herapath property is--yours!"
"Well!" said Barthorpe. "What do you want me to do?"
Burchill moved across to a desk and produced some papers.
"I want you to sign certain documents," he said, "and then I'll tell you
the whole story. If the story's no good, the documents are no good.
How's that?"
"That'll do!" answered Barthorpe. "Let's get to business."
It was one o'clock in the morning when Barthorpe left Calengrove
Mansions. But the eyes that had seen him enter saw him leave, and the
shadow followed him through the sleeping town until he, too, sought his
own place of slumber.