LEGAL COMPLICATIONS AND A JACKAL
My meditations brought me by a circuitous route, and ten minutes late,
to the end of Fetter Lane, where, exchanging my rather abstracted air
for the alert manner of a busy practitioner, I strode forward briskly
and darted into the surgery with knitted brows, as though just released
from an anxious case. But there was only one patient waiting, and she
saluted me as I entered with a snort of defiance.
"Here you are, then?" said she.
"You are perfectly correct, Miss Oman," I replied; "in fact, you have
put the case in a nutshell. What can I have the pleasure of doing for
you?"
"Nothing," was the answer. "My medical adviser is a lady; but I've
brought a note from Mr. Bellingham. Here it is," and she thrust the
envelope into my hand.
I glanced through the note and learned that my patient had had a couple
of bad nights and a very harassing day. "Could I have something to give
me a night's rest?" it concluded.
I reflected a few moments. One is not very ready to prescribe sleeping
draughts for unknown patients, but still, insomnia is a very distressing
condition. In the end, I temporised with a moderate dose of bromide,
deciding to call and see if more energetic measures were necessary.
"He had better take a dose of this at once, Miss Oman," said I, as I
handed her the bottle, "and I will look in later and see how he is."
"I expect he will be glad to see you," she answered, "for he is all
alone to-night and very dumpy. Miss Bellingham is out. But I must remind
you that he's a poor man and pays his way. You must excuse my mentioning
it."
"I am much obliged to you for the hint, Miss Oman," I rejoined. "It
isn't necessary for me to see him, but I should like just to look in and
have a chat."
"Yes, it will do him good. You have your points, though punctuality
doesn't seem to be one of them," and with this parting shot Miss Oman
bustled away.
Half-past eight found me ascending the great, dim staircase of the house
in Nevill's Court preceded by Miss Oman, by whom I was ushered into the
room. Mr. Bellingham, who had just finished some sort of meal, was
sitting hunched up in his chair gazing gloomily into the empty grate. He
brightened up as I entered, but was evidently in very low spirits.
"I didn't mean to drag you out after your day's work was finished," he
said, "though I am very glad to see you."
"You haven't dragged me out. I heard you were alone, so I just dropped
in for a few minutes' gossip."
"That is really kind of you," he said heartily. "But I'm afraid you'll
find me rather poor company. A man who is full of his own highly
disagreeable affairs is not a desirable companion."
"You mustn't let me disturb you if you'd rather be alone," said I, with
a sudden fear that I was intruding.
"Oh, you won't disturb me," he replied; adding, with a laugh: "It's
more likely to be the other way about. In fact, if I were not afraid of
boring you to death I would ask you to let me talk my difficulties over
with you."
"You won't bore me," I said. "It is generally interesting to share
another man's experiences without their inconveniences. 'The proper
study of mankind is--man,' you know, especially to a doctor."
Mr. Bellingham chuckled grimly. "You make me feel like a microbe," he
said. "However, if you would care to take a peep at me through your
microscope, I will crawl on to the stage for your inspection, though it
is not _my_ actions that furnish the materials for your psychological
studies. I am only a passive agent. It is my poor brother who is the
_Deus ex machina_, who, from his unknown grave, as I fear, pulls the
strings of this infernal puppet-show."
He paused, and for a space gazed thoughtfully into the grate as if he
had forgotten my presence. At length he looked up, and resumed:
"It is a curious story, Doctor--a very curious story. Part of it you
know--the middle part. I will tell it you from the beginning, and then
you will know as much as I do; for, as to the end, that is known to no
one. It is written, no doubt, in the book of destiny, but the page has
yet to be turned.
"The mischief began with my father's death. He was a country clergyman
of very moderate means, a widower with two children, my brother John and
me. He managed to send us both to Oxford, after which John went into the
Foreign Office and I was to have gone into the Church. But I suddenly
discovered that my views on religion had undergone a change that made
this impossible, and just about this time my father came into a quite
considerable property. Now, as it was his expressed intention to leave
the estate equally divided between my brother and me, there was no need
for me to take up any profession for a livelihood. Archaeology was
already the passion of my life, and I determined to devote myself
henceforth to my favourite study, in which, by the way, I was following
a family tendency; for my father was an enthusiastic student of ancient
Oriental history, and John was, as you know, an ardent Egyptologist.
"Then my father died quite suddenly, and left no will. He had intended
to have one drawn up, but had put it off until it was too late. And
since nearly all the property was in the form of real estate, my brother
inherited practically the whole of it. However, in deference to the
known wishes of my father, he made me an allowance of five hundred a
year, which was about a quarter of the annual income, I urged him to
assign me a lump sum, but he refused to do this. Instead, he instructed
his solicitor to pay me the allowance in quarterly instalments during
the rest of his life; and it was understood that, on his death, the
entire estate should devolve on me, or if I died first, on my daughter
Ruth. Then, as you know, he disappeared suddenly, and as the
circumstances suggested that he was dead, and there was no evidence that
he was alive, his solicitor--a Mr. Jellicoe--found himself unable to
continue the payment of the allowance. On the other hand, as there was
no positive evidence that my brother was dead, it was impossible to
administer the will."
"You say that the circumstances suggested that your brother was dead.
What circumstances were they?"
"Principally the suddenness and completeness of the disappearance. His
luggage, as you may remember, was found lying unclaimed at the railway
station; and there was another circumstance even more suggestive. My
brother drew a pension from the Foreign Office, for which he had to
apply in person, or, if abroad, produce proof that he was alive on the
date when the payment became due. Now, he was exceedingly regular in
this respect; in fact, he had never been known to fail, either to appear
in person or to transmit the necessary documents to his agent, Mr.
Jellicoe. But from the moment when he vanished so mysteriously to the
present day, nothing whatever has been heard of him."
"It's a very awkward position for you," I said, "but I should think
there will not be much difficulty in obtaining the permission of the
Court to presume death and to proceed to prove the will."
Mr. Bellingham made a wry face. "I expect you are right," he said, "but,
unfortunately, that doesn't help me much. You see, Mr. Jellicoe, having
waited a reasonable time for my brother to reappear, took a very unusual
but, I think, in the special circumstances, a very proper step: he
summoned me and the other interested party to his office and
communicated to us the provisions of the will. And very extraordinary
provisions they turned out to be. I was thunderstruck when I heard them.
And the exasperating thing is that I feel sure my poor brother imagined
that he had made everything perfectly safe and simple."
"They generally do," I said, rather vaguely.
"I suppose they do," said Mr. Bellingham; "but poor John has made the
most infernal hash of his will, and I am certain that he has utterly
defeated his own intentions. You see, we are an old London family. The
house in Queen Square where my brother nominally lived, but actually
kept his collection, has been occupied by us for generations, and most
of the Bellinghams are buried in St. George's burial-ground close by,
though some members of the family are buried in other churchyards in the
neighbourhood. Now, my brother--who, by the way, was a bachelor--had a
strong feeling for the family traditions, and he stipulated, not
unnaturally, in his will that he should be buried in St. George's
burial-ground among his ancestors, or, at least, in one of the places of
burial appertaining to his native parish. But instead of simply
expressing the wish and directing his executors to carry it out, he made
it a condition affecting the operation of the will."
"Affecting it in what respect?" I asked.
"In a very vital respect," answered Mr. Bellingham. "The bulk of the
property he bequeathed to me, or if I predeceased him, to my daughter
Ruth. But the bequest was subject to the condition that I have
mentioned--that he should be buried in a certain place--and if that
condition was not fulfilled, the bulk of the property was to go to my
cousin, George Hurst."
"But in that case," said I, "as you can't produce the body, neither of
you can get the property."
"I am not so sure of that," he replied. "If my brother is dead, it is
pretty certain that he is not buried in St. George's or any of the other
places mentioned, and the fact can easily be proved by production of the
registers. So that a permission to presume death would result in the
handing over to Hurst of almost the entire estate."
"Who is the executor?" I asked.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, "there is another muddle. There are two executors;
Jellicoe is one, and the other is the principal beneficiary--Hurst or
myself, as the case may be. But, you see, neither of us can become an
executor until the Court has decided which of us is the principal
beneficiary."
"But who is to apply to the Court? I thought that was the business of
the executors."
"Exactly. That is Hurst's difficulty. We were discussing it when you
called the other day, and a very animated discussion it was," he added,
with a grim smile. "You see, Jellicoe naturally refuses to move in the
matter alone. He says he must have the support of the other executor.
But Hurst is not at present the other executor; neither am I. But the
two of us together are the co-executor, since the duty devolves upon one
or other of us, in any case."
"It's a complicated position," I said.
"It is; and the complication has elicited a very curious proposal from
Hurst. He points out--quite correctly, I am afraid--that as the
conditions as to burial have not been complied with, the property must
come to him, and he proposes a very neat little arrangement, which is
this: That I shall support him and Jellicoe in their application for
permission to presume death and administer the will, and that he shall
pay me four hundred a year for life; the arrangement to hold good _in
all eventualities_."
"What does he mean by that?"
"He means," said Bellingham, fixing me with a ferocious scowl, "that if
the body should turn up at any future time, so that the conditions as to
burial should be able to be carried out, he should still retain the
property and pay me the four hundred a year."
"The deuce!" said I. "He seems to know how to drive a bargain."
"His position is that he stands to lose four hundred a year for the term
of my life if the body is never found, and he ought to stand to win if
it is."
"And I gather that you have refused his offer?"
"Yes; very emphatically, and my daughter agrees with me; but I am not
sure that I have done the right thing. A man should think twice, I
suppose, before he burns his boats."
"Have you spoken to Mr. Jellicoe about the matter?"
"Yes, I have been to see him to-day. He is a cautious man, and he
doesn't advise me one way or the other. But I think he disapproves of my
refusal; in fact, he remarked that a bird in the hand is worth two in
the bush, especially when the whereabouts of the bush is unknown."
"Do you think he will apply to the Court without your sanction?"
"He doesn't want to; but I suppose, if Hurst puts pressure on him, he
will have to. Besides, Hurst, as an interested party, could apply on his
own account, and after my refusal he probably will; at least, that is
Jellicoe's opinion."
"The whole thing is a most astonishing muddle," I said, "especially when
one remembers that your brother had a lawyer to advise him. Didn't Mr.
Jellicoe point out to him how absurd the provisions were?"
"Yes, he did. He tells me that he implored my brother to let him draw
up a will embodying the matter in a reasonable form. But John wouldn't
listen to him. Poor old fellow! he could be very pig-headed when he
chose."
"And is Hurst's proposal still open?"
"No, thanks to my peppery temper. I refused it very definitely, and sent
him off with a flea in his ear. I hope I have not made a false step; I
was quite taken by surprise when Hurst made the proposal and got rather
angry. You remember, my brother was last seen alive at Hurst's
house--but there, I oughtn't to talk like that, and I oughtn't to pester
you with my confounded affairs when you have come in for a friendly
chat, though I gave you fair warning, you remember."
"Oh, but you have been highly entertaining. You don't realise what an
interest I take in your case."
Mr. Bellingham laughed somewhat grimly. "My case!" he repeated. "You
speak as if I were some rare and curious sort of criminal lunatic.
However, I'm glad you find me amusing. It's more than I find myself."
"I didn't say amusing; I said interesting. I view you with deep respect
as the central figure of a stirring drama. And I am not the only person
who regards you in that light. Do you remember my speaking to you of
Doctor Thorndyke?"
"Yes, of course I do."
"Well, oddly enough, I met him this afternoon and we had a long talk at
his chambers. I took the liberty of mentioning that I had made your
acquaintance. Did I do wrong?"
"No. Certainly not. Why shouldn't you tell him? Did he remember my
infernal case, as you call it?"
"Perfectly, in all its details. He is quite an enthusiast, you know, and
uncommonly keen to hear how the case develops."
"So am I, for that matter," said Mr. Bellingham.
"I wonder," said I, "if you would mind my telling him what you have told
me to-night. It would interest him enormously."
Mr. Bellingham reflected awhile with his eyes fixed on the empty grate.
Presently he looked up, and said slowly:
"I don't know why I should. It's no secret; and if it were, I hold no
monopoly in it. No; tell him, if you think he'd care to hear about it."
"You needn't be afraid of his talking," I said. "He is as close as an
oyster; and the facts may mean more to him than to us. He may be able to
give a useful hint or two."
"Oh, I'm not going to pick his brains," Mr. Bellingham said quickly and
with some wrath. "I'm not the sort of man who goes round cadging for
free professional advice. Understand that clearly, Doctor."
"I do," I answered hastily. "That wasn't what I meant at all. Is that
Miss Bellingham coming in? I heard the front door shut."
"Yes, that will be my girl, I expect; but don't run away. You're not
afraid of her, are you?" he added as I hurriedly picked up my hat.
"I'm not sure that I'm not," I answered. "She is a rather majestic young
lady."
Mr. Bellingham chuckled and smothered a yawn, and at that moment his
daughter entered the room; and, in spite of her shabby black dress and
a shabbier handbag that she carried, I thought her appearance and manner
fully justified my description.
"You come in, Miss Bellingham," I said as she shook my hand with cool
civility, "to find your father yawning and me taking my departure. So I
have my uses, you see. My conversation is the infallible cure for
insomnia."
Miss Bellingham smiled. "I believe I am driving you away," she said.
"Not at all," I replied hastily. "My mission was accomplished, that was
all."
"Sit down for a few minutes, Doctor," urged Mr. Bellingham, "and let
Ruth sample the remedy. She will be affronted if you run away as soon as
she comes in."
"Well, you mustn't let me keep you up," I said.
"Oh, I'll let you know when I fall asleep," he replied, with a chuckle;
and with this understanding I sat down again--not at all unwillingly.
At this moment Miss Oman entered with a small tray and a smile of which
I should not have supposed her to be capable.
"You'll take your toast and cocoa while they're hot, dear, won't you?"
she said coaxingly.
"Yes, I will, Phyllis, thank you," Miss Bellingham answered. "I am only
just going to take off my hat," and she left the room, followed by the
astonishingly transfigured spinster.
She returned almost immediately as Mr. Bellingham was in the midst of a
profound yawn, and sat down to her frugal meal, when her father
mystified me considerably by remarking:
"You're late to-night, chick. Have the Shepherd Kings been giving
trouble?"
"No," she replied; "but I thought I might as well get them done. So I
dropped in at the Ormond Street library on my way home and finished
them."
"Then they are ready for stuffing now?"
"Yes." As she answered she caught my astonished eye (for a stuffed
Shepherd King is undoubtedly a somewhat surprising phenomenon) and
laughed softly.
"We mustn't talk in riddles like this," she said, "before Doctor
Berkeley, or he will turn us both into pillars of salt. My father is
referring to my work," she explained to me.
"Are you a taxidermist, then?" I asked.
She hastily set down the cup that she was raising to her lips and broke
into a ripple of quiet laughter.
"I am afraid my father has misled you with his irreverent expressions.
He will have to atone by explaining."
"You see, Doctor," said Mr. Bellingham, "Ruth is a literary searcher--"
"Oh, don't call me a 'searcher'!" Miss Bellingham protested. "It
suggests the female searcher at a police-station. Say investigator."
"Very well, investigator or investigatrix, if you like. She hunts up
references and bibliographies at the Museum for people who are writing
books. She looks up everything that has been written on a given subject,
and then, when she has crammed herself to bursting-point with facts, she
goes to her client and disgorges and crams him or her, and he or she
finally disgorges into the Press."
"What a disgusting way to put it!" said his daughter. "However, that is
what it amounts to. I am a literary jackal, a collector of provender for
the literary lions. Is that quite clear?"
"Perfectly. But I don't think that, even now, I quite understand about
the stuffed Shepherd Kings."
"Oh, it was not the Shepherd Kings who were to be stuffed. It was the
author! That was mere obscurity of speech on the part of my father. The
position is this: A venerable archdeacon wrote an article on the
patriarch Joseph--"
"And didn't know anything about him," interrupted Mr. Bellingham, "and
got tripped up by a specialist who did, and then got shirty--"
"Nothing of the kind," said Miss Bellingham. "He knew as much as
venerable archdeacons ought to know; but the expert knew more. So the
archdeacon commissioned me to collect the literature on the state of
Egypt at the end of the seventeenth dynasty, which I have done; and
to-morrow I shall go and stuff him, as my father expresses it, and
then--"
"And then," Mr. Bellingham interrupted, "the archdeacon will rush forth
and pelt that expert with Shepherd Kings and Seqenen-Ra and the whole
tag-rag and bobtail of the seventeenth dynasty. Oh, there'll be wigs on
the green, I can tell you."
"Yes, I expect there will be quite a lively little skirmish," said Miss
Bellingham. And thus dismissing the subject, she made an energetic
attack on the toast while her father refreshed himself with a colossal
yawn.
I watched her with furtive admiration and deep and growing interest. In
spite of her pallor, her weary eyes, and her drawn and almost haggard
face, she was an exceedingly handsome girl; and there was in her aspect
a suggestion of purpose, of strength and character that marked her off
from the rank and file of womanhood. I noted this as I stole an
occasional glance at her or turned to answer some remark addressed to
me; and I noted, too, that her speech, despite a general undertone of
depression, was yet not without a certain caustic, ironical humour. She
was certainly a rather enigmatical young person, but very decidedly
interesting.
When she had finished her repast she put aside the tray and, opening the
shabby handbag, asked:
"Do you take any interest in Egyptian history? We are as mad as hatters
on the subject. It seems to be a family complaint."
"I don't know much about it," I answered. "Medical studies are rather
engrossing and don't leave much time for general reading."
"Naturally," she said. "You can't specialise in everything. But if you
would care to see how the business of a literary jackal is conducted, I
will show you my notes."
I accepted the offer eagerly (not, I fear, from pure enthusiasm for the
subject), and she brought forth from the bag four blue-covered, quarto
note-books, each dealing with one of the four dynasties from the
fourteenth to the seventeenth. As I glanced through the neat and orderly
extracts with which they were filled we discussed the intricacies of the
peculiarly difficult and confused period that they covered, gradually
lowering our voices as Mr. Bellingham's eyes closed and his head fell
against the back of his chair. We had just reached the critical reign of
Apepa II when a resounding snore broke in upon the studious quiet of
the room and sent us both into a fit of silent laughter.
"Your conversation has done its work," she whispered as I stealthily
picked up my hat, and together we stole on tiptoe to the door, which she
opened without a sound. Once outside, she suddenly dropped her bantering
manner and said quite earnestly:
"How kind it was of you to come and see him to-night! You have done him
a world of good, and I am most grateful. Good night!"
She shook hands with me really cordially, and I took my way down the
creaking stairs in a whirl of happiness that I was quite at a loss to
account for.