E-text prepared by Al Haines
THE STRANGE CASE OF CAVENDISH
by
RANDALL PARRISH
Author of
"The Devils Own," "Beyond the Frontier," "When Wilderness Was King,"
Etc.
A. L. Burt Company
Publishers New York
Published by arrangement with George H. Doran Company
Copyright, 1918,
by Randall Parrish
Printed in the United States of America
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE REACHING OF A DECISION
II THE BODY ON THE FLOOR
III MR. ENRIGHT DECLARES HIMSELF
IV A BREATH OF SUSPICION
V ON THE TRACK OF A CRIME
VI AT STEINWAY'S
VII MISS DONOVAN ARRIVES
VIII A GANG OF ENEMIES
IX A NIGHT AND A MORNING
X AT A NEW ANGLE
XI DEAD OR ALIVE
XII VIEWED FROM BOTH SIDES
XIII THE SHOT OF DEATH
XIV LACY LEARNS THE TRUTH
XV MISS LA RUE PAYS A CALL
XVI CAPTURED
XVII IN THE SHOSHONE DESERT
XVIII IN MEXICAN POWER
XIX WESTCOTT FINDS HIMSELF ALONE
XX TO COMPEL AN ANSWER
XXI THE MARSHAL PLAYS A HAND
XXII THE ROCK IN THE STREAM
XXIII THE ESCAPE
XXIV THE CAVE IN THE CLIFF
XXV IN THE DARK PASSAGE
XXVI THE REAPPEARANCE OF CAVENDISH
XXVII A DANGEROUS PRISONER
XXVIII WITH BACK TO THE WALL
XXIX A NEEDLE IN A HAYSTACK
XXX ON THE EDGE OF THE CLIFF
XXXI WITH FORCE OF ARMS
XXXII IN THE TWO CABINS
XXXIII THE REAL MR. CAVENDISH
XXXIV MISS DONOVAN DECIDES
THE STRANGE CASE OF CAVENDISH
CHAPTER I: THE REACHING OF A DECISION
For the second time that night Frederick Cavendish, sitting at a small
table in a busy café where the night life of the city streamed
continually in and out, regarded the telegram spread out upon the white
napery. It read:
Bear Creek, Colorado, 4/2/15.
FREDERICK CAVENDISH,
College Club,
New York City.
Found big lead; lost it again. Need you badly.
WESTCOTT.
For the second time that night, too, a picture rose before him, a
picture of great plains, towering mountains, and open spaces that spoke
the freedom and health of outdoor living. He had known that life once
before, when he and Jim Westcott had prospected and hit the trail
together, and its appeal to him now after three years of shallow
sightseeing in the city was deeper than ever.
"Good old Jim," he murmured, "struck pay-dirt at last only to lose it
and he needs me. By George, I think I'll go."
And why should he not? Only twenty-nine, he could still afford to
spend a few years in search of living. His fortune left him at the
death of his father was safely invested, and he had no close friends in
the city and no relatives, except a cousin, John Cavendish, for whom he
held no love, and little regard.
He had almost determined upon going to Bear Creek to meet Westcott and
was calling for his check when his attention was arrested by a noisy
party of four that boisterously took seats at a near-by table.
Cavendish recognised the two women as members of the chorus of the
prevailing Revue, one of them Celeste La Rue, an aggressive blonde with
thin lips and a metallic voice, whose name was synonymous with midnight
escapades and flowing wine. His contemptuous smile at the sight of
them deepened into a disgusted sneer when he saw that one of the men
was John Cavendish, his cousin.
The two men's eyes met, and the younger, a slight, mild-eyed youth with
a listless chin, excused himself and presented himself at the elder's
table.
"Won't you join us?" he said nervously.
Frederick Cavendish's trim, bearded jaw tightened and he shook his
head. "They are not my people," he said shortly, then retreating,
begged, "John, when are you going to cut that sort out?"
"You make me weary!" the boy snapped. "It's easy enough for you to
talk when you've got all the money--that gives you an excuse to read me
moral homilies every time I ask you for a dollar, but Miss La Rue is as
good as any of your friends any day."
The other controlled himself. "What is it you want?" he demanded
directly: "Money? If so, how much?"
"A hundred will do," the younger man said eagerly. "I lost a little on
cards lately, and have to borrow. To-night I met the girl----"
Frederick Cavendish silenced him and tendered him the bills. "Now," he
said gravely, "this is the last, unless--unless you cut out such people
as Celeste La Rue and others that you train with. I'm tired of paying
bills for your inane extravagances and parties. I can curtail your
income and what's more, I will unless you change."
"Cut me off?" The younger Cavendish's voice took on an incredulous
note.
The other nodded. "Just that," he said. "You've reached the limit."
For a moment the dissipated youth surveyed his cousin, then an angry
flush mounted into his pasty face.
"You--you--" he stuttered, "--you go to hell."
Without another word the elderly Cavendish summoned the waiter, paid
the bill, and walked toward the door. John stared after him, a smile
of derision on his face. He had heard Cavendish threaten before.
"Your cousin seemed peeved," suggested Miss La Rue.
"It's his nature," explained John. "Got sore because I asked him for a
mere hundred and threatened to cut off my income unless I quit you two."
"You told him where to go," Miss La Rue said, laughing. "I heard you,
but I don't suppose he'll go--he doesn't look like that kind."
"Anyhow, I told him," laughed John; then producing a large bill, cried:
"Drink up, people, they're on me--and goody-goody cousin Fred."
When Frederick Cavendish reached the street and the fresh night air
raced through his lungs he came to a sudden realisation and then a
resolution. The realisation was that since further pleading would
avail nothing with John Cavendish, he needed a lesson. The resolution
was to give it to him. Both strengthened his previous half-hearted
desire to meet Westcott, into determination.
He turned the matter over in his mind as he walked along until
reflection was ended by the doors of the College Club which appeared
abruptly and took him in their swinging circle. He went immediately to
the writing-room, laid aside his things and sat down. The first thing
to do, he decided, was to obtain an attorney and consult him regarding
the proper steps. For no other reason than that they had met
occasionally in the corridor he thought of Patrick Enright, a heavy-set
man with a loud voice and given to wearing expensive clothes.
Calling a page boy, he asked that Enright be located if possible.
During the ensuing wait he outlined on a scrap of paper what he
proposed doing. Fifteen minutes passed before Enright, suave and
apparently young except for growing baldness, appeared.
"I take it you are Mr. Cavendish," he said, advancing, "and that you
are in immediate need of an attorney's counsel."
Cavendish nodded, shook hands, and motioned him into a chair. "I have
been called suddenly out of town, Mr. Enright," he explained, "and for
certain reasons which need not be disclosed I deem it necessary to
execute a will. I am the only son of the late William Huntington
Cavendish; also his sole heir, and in the event of my death without a
will, the property would descend to my only known relative, a cousin."
"His name?" Mr. Enright asked.
"John Cavendish."
The lawyer nodded. Of young Cavendish he evidently knew.
"Because of his dissolute habits I have decided to dispose of a large
portion of my estate elsewhere in case of my early death. I have here
a rough draft of what I want done." He showed the paper. "All that I
require is that it be transposed into legal form."
Enright took the paper and read it carefully. The bulk of the
$1,000,000 Cavendish estate was willed to charitable organisations, and
a small allowance, a mere pittance, was provided for John Cavendish.
After a few inquiries the attorney said sharply: "You want this
transcribed immediately?"
Cavendish nodded.
"Since it can be made brief I may possibly be able to do it on the
girl's machine in the office. You do not mind waiting a moment?"
Cavendish shook his head, and rising, the attorney disappeared in the
direction of the office. Cavendish heaved a sigh of relief; now he was
free, absolutely free, to do as he chose. His disappearance would mean
nothing to his small circle of casual friends, and when he was settled
elsewhere he could notify the only two men who were concerned with his
whereabouts--his valet, Valois, and the agent handling the estate. He
thought of beginning a letter to John, but hesitated, and when Enright
returned he found him with pen in hand.
"A trifling task," the attorney smiled easily. "All ready for your
signature, too. You sign there, the second line. But wait--we must
have witnesses."
Simms, the butler, and the doorman were called in and wrote their names
to the document and then withdrew, after which Enright began folding it
carefully.
"I presume you leave this in my care?" he asked shortly.
Cavendish shook his head: "I think not. I prefer holding it myself in
case it is needed suddenly. I shall keep my rooms, and my man Valois
will remain there indefinitely. Now as to your charges."
A nominal sum was named and paid, after which Cavendish rose, picked up
his hat and stick and turned to Enright.
"You have obliged me greatly," he smiled, "and, of course, the
transaction will be considered as strictly confidential." And then
seeing Enright's nod bade him a courteous "Good night."
The attorney watched him disappear. Suddenly he struck the table with
one hand.
"By God!" he muttered, "I'll have to see this thing a little further."
Wheeling suddenly, he walked to a telephone booth, called a number and
waited impatiently several moments before he said in intense subdued
tones: "Is this Carlton's Café? Give me Jackson, the head-waiter.
Jackson, is Mr. Cavendish--John Cavendish--there? Good! Call him to
the phone will you, Jackson? It's important."