Simon

by J. Storer Clouston

  X

  THE LETTER

  It was a few days later that Cicely looked up from the local paper shewas reading and asked:

  "Who was George Rattar?"

  Sir Reginald laid down his book and looked at her in some surprise.

  "George Rattar? What do you know about him?"

  "I see the announcement of his death. 'Son of the late John SimonRattar' he's called."

  "That's Silent Simon's brother!" exclaimed Sir Reginald. "Where did hedie?"

  "In New York, it says."

  Sir Reginald turned to his wife.

  "We can hardly send our sympathies to Simon on this bereavement!"

  "No," she said significantly. "I suppose congratulations would be moreappropriate."

  The baronet took the paper from Cicely and studied it himself.

  "Died about a fortnight ago, I see," he observed. "I wonder whetherSimon put this announcement in himself, or whether brother Georgearranged it in his will? It would be quite like the fellow to have thisposthumous wipe at Simon. George had a certain sense of humour--whichSimon lacks. And there was certainly no love lost between them!"

  "Why should it annoy Mr. Rattar?" asked Cicely.

  "Because brother George was not a member of his family he would care tobe reminded of. Though on the other hand, Simon is as hard as whinstoneand has as much sentiment as this teapot, and he may have put the noticein himself simply to show the world he was rid of the fellow."

  "What was George Rattar then?" enquired Cicely.

  "He was once Simon Rattar's partner, wasn't he, Reginald?" said LadyCromarty. "And then he swindled him, didn't he?"

  "Swindled several other people as well," said Sir Reginald, "myselfincluded. However, the thing was hushed up, and brother Georgedisappeared. Then he took to forgery on his own account and among otherpeople's signatures he imitated with remarkable success was Simon's.This let old Simon in for it again and there was no hushing it up asecond time. Simon gave evidence against him without mercy, and sincethen George has been his Majesty's guest for a number of years. So ifyou meet Mr. Simon Rattar, Cicely, you'd better not tell him how sorryyou are to hear of poor George's decease!"

  "I wish I could remember him more distinctly," said Lady Cromarty. "I'mafraid I always mix him up with our friend Mr. Simon."

  "It's little wonder," her husband replied. "They were twins. George wasthe one with a moustache; one knew them apart by that. Extraordinarything, it has always seemed to me, that their natures should have beenso different."

  "Perhaps," suggested Cicely compassionately, with her serious air, "itwas only that George was tempted."

  Sir Reginald laughed heartily.

  "You little cynic!" he cried. "You mean to insinuate that if you temptedSimon, he'd be as bad a hat as his brother?"

  "Oh, no!" cried Cicely. "I meant----"

  "Tempt him and see!" chuckled the baronet. "And we'll have a little beton the result!" He was glancing at the paper as he laughed, and now hesuddenly stopped laughing and exclaimed, "Hullo! Here's a much moreserious loss for our friend. Would you like to earn L1, Cicely?"

  "Very much," said she.

  "Well then if you search the road very carefully between Mr. SimonRattar's residence and his office you may find his signet ring andobtain the advertised, and I may say princely, reward of one pound."

  "Only a pound!" exclaimed Lady Cromarty, "for that handsome old ring ofhis?"

  "If he had offered a penny more, I should have taken my business out ofhis hands!" laughed Sir Reginald. "It would have meant that Silent Simonwasn't himself any longer. A pound is exactly his figure; a respectablesum, but not extravagant."

  "What day did he lose it?" asked Cicely.

  "The advertisement doesn't say."

  "He wasn't wearing it----" Cicely pulled herself up sharply.

  "When?" asked Lady Cromarty.

  "Where can I have seen him last?" wondered Cicely with an innocent air.

  "Not for two or three weeks certainly," said Lady Cromarty decisively."And he can't have lost it then if this advertisement is only just putin."

  "No, of course not," Cicely agreed.

  "Well," said Sir Reginald, "he'll miss his ring more than his brother!And remember, Cicely, you get a pound for finding the ring, and you wina pair of gloves if you can tempt Simon to stray from the paths ofhonesty and virtue! By Jingo, I'll give you the gloves if you can evenmake him tell a good sporting lie!"

  When the good baronet was in this humour no man could excel him ingeniality, and, to do him justice, a kindly temper and hearty spiritswere the rule with him six days out of seven. On the other hand, he waseasily ruffled and his tempers were hot while they lasted. Upon the verynext morning there arose on the horizon a little cloud, a cloud thatseemed at the moment the merest fleck of vapour, which upset him, hisfamily thought, quite unduly.

  It took the form of a business letter from Mr. Simon Rattar, a letteron the surface perfectly innocuous and formally polite. Yet Sir Reginaldseemed considerably disturbed.

  "Damn the man!" he exclaimed as he cast it on the breakfast table.

  "Reggie!" expostulated his wife gently. "What's the matter?"

  "Matter?" snapped her husband. "Simon Rattar has the impudence to tellme he is letting the farm of Castleknowe to that fellow Shearer afterall!"

  "But why not? You meant to some time ago, I know."

  "Some time ago, certainly. But I had a long talk with Simon ten days agoand told him what I'd heard about Shearer and said I wouldn't have thefellow on my property at any price. I don't believe the man is solvent,in the first place; and in the second place he's a socialistic,quarrelsome, mischievous fellow!"

  "And what did Mr. Rattar think?"

  "He tried to make some allowances for the man, but in the end when hesaw I had made up my mind, he professed to agree with me and said hewould look out for another tenant. Now he tells me that the matter issettled as per my instructions of the 8th. That's weeks ago, and not aword does he say about our conversation cancelling the wholeinstructions!"

  "Then Shearer gets the farm?"

  "No, he doesn't! I'm dashed if he does! I shall send Mr. Simon a letterthat will make him sit up! He's got to alter the arrangement somehow."

  He turned to Malcolm and added:

  "When your time comes, Malcolm, beware of having a factor who has runthe place so long that he thinks it's his own property! By Gad, I'mgoing to tell him a bit of my mind!"

  During the rest of breakfast he glanced at the letter once or twice, andeach time his brows contracted, but he said nothing more in presence ofCicely and Malcolm. After he had left the dining room, however, LadyCromarty followed him and said:

  "Don't be too hasty with Mr. Rattar, Reggie! After all, the talk mayhave slipped his memory."

  "Slipped his memory? If you had heard it, Margaret, you'd know better. Iwas a bit cross with him for a minute or two then, which I hardly everam, and that alone would make him remember it, one would think. Wetalked for over an hour on the business and the upshot was clear andfinal. No, no, he has got a bit above himself and wants a touch of thecurb."

  "What are you going to do?" she asked.

  "I'm going to send in a note by car and tell him to come out and see meabout the business at once."

  "Let me see the letter before you send it, Reggie."

  He seemed to growl assent, but when she next saw him the letter hadgone; and from the baronet's somewhat crusty explanation, she suspectedthat it was a little sharper than he knew she would have approved.

  When the car returned his annoyance was increased again for a space. Mr.Rattar had sent a brief reply that he was too busy to come out thatafternoon, but he would call on Sir Reginald in the morning. For a timethis answer kept Sir Reginald in a state of renewed irritation, and thenhis natural good humour began to prevail, till by dinner time he wasquite calm again, and after dinner in as genial humour as he had been inthe day before.

  He played a game of pyramids with Cicely and Ma
lcolm in the billiardroom, and then he and Cicely joined Lady Cromarty in the drawing roomwhile the young author went up to his room to work, he declared. He hada large bedroom furnished half as a sitting room where he retired eachnight to compose his masterpieces as soon as it became impossible toenjoy Miss Farmond's company without having to share it in the drawingroom with his host and hostess. At least, that was the explanation ofhis procedure given by Lady Cromarty, whose eye was never more criticalthan when it studied her husband's kinsman and heir.

  Lady Cromarty's eye was not uncritical also of Cicely at times, butto-night she was so relieved to see how Sir Reginald's temper improvedunder her smiles and half shy glances, that she let her stay up laterthan usual. Then when she and the girl went up to bed, she asked herhusband if he would be late.

  "The magazines came this morning," said he. "I'd better sleep in mydressing room."

  The baronet was apt to sit up late when he had anything to read thatheld his fancy, and the procedure of sleeping in his dressing room wascommonly followed then.

  He bade them good-night and went off towards the library, and a fewminutes later, as they were going upstairs, they heard the library doorshut.

  When they came to Lady Cromarty's room, Cicely said good-night to herhostess and turned down the passage that led to her own bedroom. A dooropened quietly as she passed and a voice whispered:

  "Cicely!"

  She stopped and regarded the young author with a reproving eye.

  "Is anything the matter?" she asked.

  "I just wanted to speak to you!" he pleaded.

  "Now, Malcolm," she said severely, "you know quite well that LadyCromarty trusts us _not_ to do this sort of thing!"

  "She's in her room, isn't she?"

  "What does that matter?"

  "And where's Sir Reginald?"

  "Still in the library."

  "Sitting up late?"

  "Yes, but that doesn't matter either. Good night!"

  "Wait just one minute, Cicely! Come into my room--I won't shut thedoor!"

  "Certainly not!" she said emphatically.

  "Well then, don't speak so loudly! I must confide in you, Cicely; I'mgetting desperate. My position is really serious. Something's got tohappen! If you would only give me your sympathy----"

  "I thought you were writing," she interrupted.

  "I've been trying to, but----"

  "Well, write all this down and read it to me to-morrow," she smiled."Good night!"

  "The blame be on your head!" began the author dramatically, but the slimfigure was already moving away, throwing him a parting smile that seemedto wound his sensitive soul afresh.