The Problem
IT was only an hour’s run to the little station of Fanwood, which is as
near as one can get to Plumfield by rail; and there Mr. Chester had a
carriage waiting for us, and we drove over to the little village a mile
away, where Grandaunt Nelson had lived nearly all her life. The road
was a pleasant one, winding between well-kept hedges, and just rolling
enough to give one occasional views of the country round about. In the
distance, to the west, we could see a range of hills, and Mr. Chester
told us that from their summit, on a clear day, one could see the
ocean, forty or fifty miles away to the eastward.
Plumfield struck me as a very fragmentary and straggling sort of
village--so straggling, in fact, that it was scarcely recognizable as a
village at all, and seemed to have no beginning and no end. There were
two or three little stores, a church and a few houses--
“Though,” Mr. Chester explained, “the village isn’t so small as it
looks. It is spread out a good deal, and you can’t see it all at one
glance.”
We had lunch at the old inn, which had been built before the
Revolution, so they said, and where our arrival created quite a
commotion. Mr. Chester had hurried away to make the arrangements for
opening the will, and came back in about an hour to tell us that
everything was ready. We walked down the street and around the corner
to a tiny frame building, with “Notary Public” on a swinging sign over
the door, and Mr. Chester ushered us into the stuffy little office.
The notary was already there, a little, wrinkled man, with very white
hair and beard which stood out in a halo all around his face. He held
his head on one side as he talked, and reminded me of a funny little
bird. He was introduced to us as Mr. Jones, and was evidently very
nervous. I judged that it had been a long time since his office had
been the scene of a ceremony so important as that which was about to
take place there.
Scarcely were the introductions over, when the door opened and
another man came in,--a tall, thin man, with a red face framed in a
ragged beard. He wore an old slouch hat, and a black bow tie, and an
ill-fitting black frock coat and white trousers which bagged at the
knees--the whole effect being peculiarly rural and unkempt, almost
studiously so. Indeed, as I glanced at his face again, I fancied
that, with the fantastic beard shaved off, it would be a very clever
and capable one. His eyes were very small and very bright, and as they
rested upon me for an instant, I felt a little shiver shoot along my
spine. The notary did not even look at him, but busied himself with
some papers on his desk. Mr. Chester, however, nodded to him curtly,
and informed us in an aside that his name was Silas Tunstall, and that
he also was interested in the will. The newcomer, without seeming in
the least abashed by his chilly reception, sat down calmly, balanced
his hat against the wall, leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs,
and after helping himself to a chew of tobacco from a package he took
from his pocket, folded his arms and awaited events.
“I think we are all here?” queried the notary, looking inquiringly at
Mr. Chester.
“Yes,” nodded the latter. “We may as well go ahead.”
The notary cleared his throat and carefully polished and adjusted
his spectacles. Then he picked up from the desk before him an
impressive-looking envelope, sealed with a great splurge of red wax.
“I have here,” he began with great solemnity, “the last will and
testament of the late Eliza Nelson, which has been delivered to me by
Mr. Chester, properly sealed and attested. You have been summoned here
to listen to the reading of this document, which will then be filed for
probate, in the usual way. I will ask Mr. Chester to read it,” and he
opened the envelope and drew forth a paper covered with writing.
“It is not a very long will,” remarked Mr. Chester, as he took the
paper, “but it is, in some respects, a most peculiar one, as you can
judge for yourselves;” and he proceeded to read slowly:
“I, Eliza Nelson, being in full possession of health and mental
faculties, hereby declare this to be my last will and testament.
“I bequeath to my niece, Clara Truman, and to her heirs for ever,
the whole of my property, real and personal, provided that within
one month from the date of my death, she or her heirs will have
discovered, by means of the key furnished them herewith, the place
in which I have deposited my stocks, bonds, and other securities. If
they have not brains enough to accomplish this, as I fear may be the
case, it is evident that they are not fit and competent persons to
administer my property.
“Consequently, in the event of their failure to discover the
depository of said stocks, bonds, etc., within the space of one
month from the date of my death, the whole of my property, real and
personal, shall revert to the trusteeship of my friend and instructor,
Silas Tunstall, who shall have absolute and undisturbed possession
thereof for use in propagating the philosophy of which he is so
earnest and useful a disciple, under such conditions as I have set
forth in a document to be delivered to the said Silas Tunstall, should
the property pass to him.
“Therefore, one month from the date of my death, in the event of
the failure of my niece, Clara Truman, or her heirs, to fulfil the
above conditions, the keys to my residence shall be delivered to the
said Silas Tunstall, and he shall be given absolute and undivided
possession thereof; until which time, Clara Truman and her heirs shall
have undisturbed possession of said property, in order that they may,
if possible, fulfil the conditions upon which their inheritance of it
is dependent.
“Provided further, that whoever inherits the property shall be bound
to pay to Abner Smith and his wife, Jane, during life, an annuity of
$300, and to permit them to retain their present positions as long as
they care to do so.
“I hereby appoint Mr. Thomas J. Chester as my executor, without bond,
to see that the provisions of this my last will and testament are duly
complied with.
“In witness whereof, I have hereunto affixed my hand this eighteenth
day of January, A. D., 1899.
“ELIZA NELSON.”
“It is witnessed by Jane and Abner Smith,” added Mr. Chester, “the two
servants mentioned in the will. It is regular in every way.”
We sat in a dazed silence, trying to understand. After a moment, Silas
Tunstall leaned forward.
“Kin I see it?” he asked, and held out his hand, his little eyes
gleaming more brightly than ever.
“Certainly,” said Mr. Chester, and passed the paper over to him.
He examined the signatures and the date, and then, settling back again
in his chair, proceeded to read the document through for himself. While
he was so engaged, I had a chance to look at him more closely, and
I was struck by the profound meanness of his appearance. What sort
of philosophy could it be, I wondered, of which he was an earnest
and useful disciple? Not one, certainly, which made for largeness of
character, if Mr. Tunstall himself was to be taken as an example, and
if I read his countenance aright. I saw that my aversion was shared by
the other two men present, who no doubt knew Mr. Tunstall well. Both of
them sat watching him gloomily, as he read the will, but neither spoke
or showed the impatience which they probably felt.
When he had finished, he handed the paper back to Mr. Chester, without
a word, but his face was positively glowing with a satisfaction he made
no effort to conceal.
“Yes,” he said, “thet’s all reg’lar. Anything else?”
Then, suddenly, a thought occurred to me.
“Doesn’t it say that there is a key to be furnished us, Mr. Chester?” I
asked.
“Oh, yes,” he said quickly. “I had forgotten. Here it is,” and he
handed mother a little sealed envelope. “You will see it is addressed
to you, Mrs. Truman,” he added.
“It doesn’t feel like a key,” she murmured, holding it between her
fingers. Then she read what was written on the outside of the envelope:
+------------------------------------------------+
| Key to be given my niece, Clara Truman, or her |
| heirs, on the day on which my will is opened. |
+------------------------------------------------+
“I have no idea what the envelope contains,” said Mr. Chester. “It was
brought to me sealed as you see it.”
“Oh, don’t you see!” I cried, fairly jumping in my chair with
excitement. “It’s not that kind of a key--not a for-sure key--it’s a
key to the puzzle--a key to where the bonds and things are.”
“Well, we’ll soon see,” said mother, and tore open the envelope with
trembling fingers. Mr. Chester, I think, had half a mind to stop her,
but thought better of it and leaned back in his chair again.
I couldn’t wait--I was dying with impatience--and I skipped over to her
side.
The only contents of the envelope was a little slip of paper.
“Why, it’s poetry!” I cried, as mother drew it out and unfolded it.
And, indeed, there were four rhymed lines written upon it:
“The Rose of Sharon guards the place
Where the Treasure lies; so you must trace
Four to the right, diagonally three,
And you have solved the Mystery.”
Not good verse, perhaps; but sufficiently tantalizing!
I don’t know precisely how it happened, but as I stooped to take the
slip of paper from mother’s fingers, it somehow fluttered away from us,
and after a little gyration or two, settled to the floor exactly at
Silas Tunstall’s feet. He picked it up, before any one could interfere,
and calmly proceeded to read the lines written upon it, before he
handed it back to us. I saw the quick flush which sprang to Mr.
Chester’s face, but the whole thing was over in a minute, almost before
anyone could say a word.
Mr. Tunstall’s face was positively beaming, and he chuckled audibly as
he picked up his hat and rose to his feet.
“Thet’s all fer the present, ain’t it, Mr. Chester?” he asked.
“Yes, that’s all, I think.”
“Let’s see--when did Mis’ Nelson die?”
“Three days ago--the seventeenth.”
“One month from thet’ll be May seventeenth, won’t it?”
“Yes.”
“All right; don’t ferget the date. May seventeenth--I’ll see ye all
ag’in then. Good day, madam,” he added, with a deep bow to mother.
He smiled around upon us with malicious meaning, and I fancied his eye
lingered upon me for an instant longer than the rest. Then he went out
and shut the door behind him.
I could have sworn that I heard him chuckling to himself as he went
down the steps to the street.