Kate did not make her appearance next day until breakfast was over. Just
as she came down, Hall entered the library with a paper--Kate followed.
She was very pale, but looked very determined.
"Mr. Hall," she said, toying nervously with a paper-cutter, "I have
reconsidered the offer which you made me yesterday, and, if you still
wish it, I am willing to--to--" (the paper-cutter snapped in two) "to
become your wife."
Hall looked at her curiously for a moment. He felt certain her father
had not spoken to her, and attributed her agitation to any but the true
cause.
"I am glad, Kate--I may call you Kate?" She bowed but did not look at
him. "I am glad indeed! For I love you, Kate, as I never believed man
could love woman!"
There was sincerity in the simple words and in the tone of his voice. He
came over slowly--he felt half afraid of her now--and pressed his lips
to her forehead just as Mr. Stafford entered.
"Mr. Stafford, I am happy to be able to tell you Kate has relented. She
has consented to be mine!"
There was a ring of genuine pride and exultation in Hall's voice
and--well, everybody loves a lover, and notwithstanding an unpleasant
remembrance of the previous night, Mr. Stafford said heartily:
"Well, my boy, I'm glad you are out of your agony," adding in a jesting
tone which caused Kate to shudder, "Has the day been fixed?"
"Not yet, but it might as well be done now! Come Kate! Name the day!"
By way of reply Kate fell back on a sofa. The strain was too great and
she had fainted. Hastily summoning Mrs. Stafford the men adjourned to
Hall's rooms. Both were honestly surprised at Kate's agitation.
"Had you spoken to her?" asked Hall.
"No, I have not. I had intended to, but it seems to be unnecessary."
During the remainder of the day Kate was invisible, and next morning
both men started for London. Hall was generous in his happiness,
apparently, for the object of the journey was to relieve Mr. Stafford of
all farther strain for the present, in regard to the mortgage and
interest then coming due.
It did not take long to transact the business in London, and after
dining together, the men parted, Stafford starting for home, and Hall,
having further business to transact, remained in London.
Hall's "business" during the afternoon, did not appear to be very
pressing, as he spent the time drinking and playing billiards. Just
about dusk he quit playing, paid his score, and after taking a parting
drink, left the place.
His destination was the same tumble-down rookery which he visited on his
previous trip to London. It had begun to rain during the afternoon, a
drizzling, misty rain, with the regulation fog accompaniment, and no one
would recognize in the man in the big rough coat and slouch hat, the
collar of the one turned up and the brim of the other pulled down, the
elegant and natty Mr. Hall.
Entering the house after a rapid though useless glance behind, useless
because he could not see ten feet behind him, Hall ascended to the
second floor. His knock was answered by a miserable looking old man, who
peered cautiously at him through the partly-open door.
"Bah! Why, you fool, do you suppose if it was the police you could keep
them out!" and pushing the door open Hall entered.
The old man--he was certainly seventy--locked and bolted the door
again, and then following the example of his visitor, sat down.
"Now then," said Hall, opening the conversation, "you promised to have a
copy of this Carden's will the next time I called, which was to be
to-night. Have you got it?"
The old man shook his head in the negative and Hall asked angrily, "Why
not?"
"Thought I'd be a fool to trust anyone else 'n I can't do it
myself--that's why."
"Well, how do you suppose I'm to trust you? Do you want me to buy a pig
in a poke? What kind of property is this? Why hasn't some one tried to
find this Carden's relatives?" And having fired this volley of
questions, Hall threw himself back in his chair and looked at the old
man sharply.
"Well, in the first place this 'ere Carden was a curious kind of a
customer. Kept away from everybody 'n nobody knowed who 'e wuz or where
he come from. When he died I happened to be the first to find him. I
felt sure he had plenty of coin, 'n he had. There was some dust--not
much--but he had nearly £20,000 in diamonds sewed in his belt----"
"How do you know?" interrupted Hall.
"Because I seed 'em. I had just found these 'ere papers, an' just as I
wuz goin' to undo the belt along comes a crowd from the camp. It wos
lucky I didn't touch the dust--they'd a hung me sure! The papers wos
down my bootleg, but only the body wos stone cold, an' they'd seen me in
camp just afore, they'd swung me up anyhow."
"And you have--actually have these papers yourself? No third party
business?"
"Yes, I've got 'em myself! Right here!"
The old man made an involuntary movement with his right hand toward his
breast, but checked himself instantly. It was too late, however, for
Hall, who was watching his every movement, noted the action and said,
with a malicious laugh:
"Rather an unsafe place, isn't it?" and before the old man could reply,
continued: "Was there anything else besides these diamonds--and what
became of them?"
This question, asked simply to throw the old man off his guard, bore
unexpected fruit.
"The Government took charge of the diamonds, but there was a lot of land
'round Melbourne worth twice as much as them."
Hall had now learned all he wanted and more than he expected.
"Well, you've been talking about this thing for over two years now, and
it's time I saw something to prove all this. What do you want for the
papers?"
"Five thousand pounds."
"Five thousand grandmothers! Why, you must be crazy!"
"Five thousand, and not a penny less," returned the old man, firmly.
Hall did not speak again for a few minutes. He looked thoughtfully at
the old man as though considering his proposition. The latter, ever
since Hall had located the papers, had watched him suspiciously, and had
moved his chair so that they sat directly in front of each other. His
hands were thrust into the pockets of his loose sack coat, and Hall as
he gazed at him, saw the butt of a pistol peeping from the right hand
pocket. He had heard or read somewhere of the Australian trick of
shooting through the pocket, and he smiled wickedly when he caught sight
of the pistol. It may be that what followed would not have happened had
he not seen it.
The smile made the old man move nervously in his chair, and that
recalled Hall.
"Well, since you will not take less, I suppose you must have the five
thousand; but what will you do with it, you, an old man, who may be dead
in an hour?"
Hall's face wore a perfectly devilish smile as he said this, and the old
man felt anything but comfortable.
"Look-a-here, Mr. Hall," he said, nervously, "don't you try to play any
games on me!"
"Oh, nonsense! Come! Let's have some of that black bottle of yours!"
The host's faith in his visitor's good intentions was shown by his
backing up to the closet, from which he took the black bottle referred
to and a couple of heavy bottom tumblers--watching Hall all the time.
The latter laughed at this--not a pleasant laugh by any means.
"Why, man," he said, "what are you afraid of? Do you think I would be
foolish enough to _shoot you_, as I see you are prepared to do for me,
to obtain these precious papers of yours?"
The old man looked confused, but said nothing, and returned to his chair
opposite Hall, to whom he handed the one glass which he filled. It was
tossed off in an instant and extended for more, although the contents
was brandy, stolen brandy. To a keen observer it would appear that Hall
was nerving himself for something desperate. His smile was truly
wonderful as he held forth his glass for refilling. The old man
refilled it, and was about to fill his own when Hall said in a careless
way:
"Those are not the papers behind you, are they?"
There was nothing on the table behind the old man except a couple of
newspapers, but he turned his head for an instant, and in that instant a
pinch of white powder, scarcely enough to be perceptible to the keen
eyes of youth, was dropped into his glass.
"Gave you a scare, didn't I?" said Hall, with a harsh laugh; then
changing his tone: "Come! Drink up! Drink my success!"
The old man filled the glass slowly--very slowly it seemed to the
watcher, who was holding his glass to his lips, waiting for the other,
and looking very excited.
"Drink! Drink!" he repeated.
The old man had the glass to his lips, but set it down. "I won't," he
replied, looking suspiciously at Hall.
"Then, d---- you, I'll make you!" exclaimed Hall, dashing his glass to
the floor, and in an instant he had a pistol pointed at the old man's
head, but suddenly recovered himself and restored it to his pocket.
"Blast you!" he said, in a quiet tone, although his eyes still blazed
like coals, "you would drive Job out of patience with your suspicions.
Can't you see plainly that I can't get along without the information I
may yet need in this matter? It's not my policy to harm you."
Picking up his glass and filling it to the brim, he continued:
"Since you will not drink your own, drink mine," and apparently
exchanged glasses, but kept his own nevertheless.
Almost any third-rate juggler--any amateur with pretensions to
sleight-of-hand--can perform the trick, but the old man knew nothing of
juggling. He did know he was in dangerous company, and to please Hall he
took the glass and drained it.
"Ugh! Lord, how bitter! Oh! oh! You devil, you're----"
"No more--no more, old man. Your time is up, although the trick came
near failing."
The poor old wretch fell from the chair to the floor, striking his head
against the table as he fell.
For a few moments the murderer was unnerved by his work. He sat pale and
trembling in his chair, with his eyes averted from the heap on the
floor, but the old man's glassy stare seemed fixed on him. He seemed to
feel it. His outstretched arms seemed grasping for him.
In a little while he recovered himself, and grasping the bottle emptied
it at one draught. Then he proceeded to remove all traces of _his_
presence. The glass he had used himself he put back in the closet, and
the packet from which he had taken the pinch of powder he placed in the
old man's pocket.
He now stooped over the body and took from an inside pocket a package of
papers. A glance satisfied him that they were what he wanted.
He next removed a money-belt which the old man wore, and after feeling
of it smiled sardonically. "I knew the old thief was lying," he
muttered. Something had fallen from his person while removing the
money-belt, but he was still too excited to notice it.
Stepping quietly to the door, he opened it and listened. All was quiet
in the house, and nothing could be heard but the falling rain outside.
Shutting the door softly behind him, Hall stole down-stairs and out into
the night--possessed of certain very valuable papers, a money-belt which
he felt certain contained diamonds worth £20,000, and the brand of Cain
upon his brow; and forever after, notwithstanding his great nerve and
coolness, to be hunted either actually or in his imagination, and to be
startled at every careless joke, and to run from shadows.