by Unknown
“Do you see this?” she asked. As she spoke she pointed to the agony column. The following words met my eyes:—
Send more sand and charcoal dust. Core and mould ready for casting.
JOSHUA LINKLATER.
I read those curious words slowly, then glanced at the eager face of the young girl.
“I have been waiting for this,” she said, in a tone of triumph.
“But what can it mean?” I said. “Core and mould ready for casting?”
She folded up the paper, and laid it deliberately on the table.
“I thought that Joshua Linklater would say something of the kind,” she continued. “I have been watching for a similar advertisement in all the dailies for the last three weeks. This may be of the utmost importance.”
“Will you explain?” I said.
“I may never have to explain, or, on the other hand, I may,” she answered. “I have not really sent for you to point out this advertisement, but in connection with another matter. Now, pray, come into the next room with me.”
She led me into a prettily and luxuriously furnished boudoir on the same floor. Standing by the hearth was a slender fair-haired girl, looking very little more than a child.
“May I introduce you to my cousin, Letitia Ransom?” said Miss Cusack, eagerly. “Pray sit down, Letty,” she continued, addressing the girl with a certain asperity, “Dr. Lonsdale is the man of all others we want. Now, doctor, will you give me your full attention, for I have an extraordinary story to relate.”
At Miss Cusack’s words Miss Random immediately seated herself. Miss Cusack favoured her with a quick glance, and then once more turned to me.
“You are much interested in queer mental phases, are you not?” she said.
“I certainly am,” I replied.
“Well, I should like to ask your opinion with regard to such a will as this.”
Once again she unfolded a newspaper, and, pointing to a paragraph, handed it to me. I read as follows:—
EXTRAORDINARY TERMS OF A MISER’S WILL.
Mr. Henry Bovey, who died last week at a small house at Kew, has left one of the most extraordinary wills on record. During his life his eccentricities and miserly habits were well known, but this eclipses them all, by the surprising method in which he has disposed of his property.
Mr. Bovey was unmarried, and, as far as can be proved, has no near relations in the world. The small balance at his banker’s is to be used for defraying fees, duties, and sundry charges, also any existing debts, but the main bulk of his securities were recently realised, and the money in sovereigns is locked in a safe in his house.
A clause in the will states that there are three claimants to this property, and that the one whose net bodily weight is nearest to the weight of these sovereigns is to become the legatee. The safe containing the property is not to be opened till the three claimants are present; the competition is then to take place, and the winner is at once to remove his fortune.
Considerable excitement has been manifested over the affair, the amount of the fortune being unknown. The date of the competition is also kept a close secret for obvious reasons.
“Well,” I said, laying the paper down, “whoever this Mr. Bovey was, there is little doubt that he must have been out of his mind. I never heard of a more crazy idea.”
“Nevertheless it is to be carried out,” replied Miss Cusack. “Now listen, please, Mr. Lonsdale. This paper is a fortnight old. It is now three weeks since the death of Mr. Bovey, his will has been proved, and the time has come for the carrying out of the competition. I happen to know two of the claimants well, and intend to be present at the ceremony.”
I did not make any answer, and after a pause she continued—“One of the gentlemen who is to be weighed against his own fortune is Edgar Wimburne. He is engaged to my cousin Letitia. If he turns out to be the successful claimant there is nothing to prevent their marrying at once; if otherwise—” here she turned and looked full at Miss Ransom, who stood up, the colour coming and going in her cheeks—“if otherwise, Mr. Campbell Graham has to be dealt with.”
“Who is he?” I asked.
“Another claimant, a much older man than Edgar. Nay, I must tell you everything. He is a claimant in a double sense, being also a lover, and a very ardent one, of Letitia’s.
“Letty must be saved,” she said, looking at me, “and I believe I know how to do it.”
“You spoke of three claimants,” I interrupted; “who is the third?”
“Oh, he scarcely counts, unless indeed he carries off the prize. He is William Tyndall, Mr. Bovey’s servant and retainer.”
“And when, may I ask, is this momentous competition to take place?” I continued.
“To-morrow morning at half-past nine, at Mr. Bovey’s house. Will you come with us to-morrow, Dr. Lonsdale, and be present at the weighing?”
“I certainly will,” I answered, “it will be a novel experience.”
“Very well; can you be at this house a little before half-past eight, and we will drive straight to Kew?”
I promised to do so, and soon after took my leave. The next day I was at Miss Cusack’s house in good time. I found waiting for me Miss Cusack herself, Miss Ransom, and Edgar Wimburne.
A moment or two later we all found ourselves seated in a large landau, and in less than an hour had reached our destination. We drew up at a small dilapidated-looking house, standing in a row of prim suburban villas, and found that Mr. Graham, the lawyer, and the executors had already arrived.
The room into which we had been ushered was fitted up as a sort of study. The furniture was very poor and scanty, the carpet was old, and the only ornaments on the walls were a few tattered prints yellow with age.
As soon as ever we came in, Mr. Southby, the lawyer, came forward and spoke.
“We are met here to-day,” he said, “as you are all of course aware, to carry out the clause of Mr. Bovey’s last will and testament. What reasons prompted him to make these extraordinary conditions we do not know; we only know that we are bound to carry them out. In a safe in his bedroom there is, according to his own statement, a large sum of money in gold, which is to be the property of the one of these three gentlemen whose weight shall nearest approach to the weight of the gold. Messrs. Hutchinson and Co. have been kind enough to supply one of their latest weighing machines, which has been carefully checked, and now if you three gentlemen will kindly come with me into the next room we will begin the business at once. Perhaps you, Dr. Lonsdale, as a medical man, will be kind enough to accompany us.”
Leaving Miss Cusack and Miss Ransom we then went into the old man’s bedroom, where the three claimants undressed and were carefully weighed. I append their respective weights, which I noted down:—
Graham—13 stone 9 lbs. 6 oz.
Tyndall—11 stone 6 lbs. 3 oz.
Wimburne—12 stone 11 lbs.
Having resumed their attire, Miss Cusack and Miss Random were summoned, and the lawyer, drawing out a bunch of keys, went across to a large iron safe which had been built into the wall.
We all pressed round him, every one anxious to get the first glimpse of the old man’s hoard. The lawyer turned the key, shot back the lock, and flung open the heavy doors. We found that the safe was literally packed with small canvas bags—indeed, so full was it that as the doors swung open two of the bags fell to the floor with a heavy crunching noise. Mr. Southby lifted them up, and then cutting the strings of one, opened it. It was full of bright sovereigns.
An exclamation burst from us all. If all those bags contained gold there was a fine fortune awaiting the successful candidate! The business was now begun in earnest. The lawyer rapidly extracted bag after bag, untied the string, and shot the contents with a crash into the great copper scale pan, while the attendant kept adding weights to the other side to balance it, calling out the amounts as he did so. No one spoke, but our eyes were fixed as if by some strange fascination on the pile of yellow metal that rose higher and highe
r each moment.
As the weight reached one hundred and fifty pounds, I heard the old servant behind me utter a smothered oath. I turned and glanced at him; he was staring at the gold with a fierce expression of disappointment and avarice. He at any rate was out of the reckoning, as at eleven stone six, or one hundred and sixty pounds, he could be nowhere near the weight of the sovereigns, there being still eight more bags to untie.
The competition, therefore, now lay between Wimburne and Graham. The latter’s face bore strong marks of the agitation which consumed him: the veins stood out like cords on his forehead, and his lips trembled. It would evidently be a near thing, and the suspense was almost intolerable. The lawyer continued to deliberately add to the pile. As the last bag was shot into the scale, the attendant put four ten-pound weights into the other side. It was too much. The gold rose at once. He took one off, and then the two great pans swayed slowly up and down, finally coming to a dead stop.
“Exactly one hundred and eighty pounds, gentlemen,” he cried, and a shout went up from us all. Wimburne at twelve stone eleven, or one hundred and seventy-nine pounds, had won.
I turned and shook him by the hand.
“I congratulate you most heartily,” I cried. “Now let us calculate the amount of your fortune.”
I took a piece of paper from my pocket and made a rough calculation. Taking £56 to the pound avoirdupois, there were at least ten thousand and eighty sovereigns in the scale before us.
“I can hardly believe it,” cried Miss Ransom.
I saw her gazing down at the gold, then she looked up into her lover’s face.
“Is it true?” she said, panting as she spoke.
“Yes, it is true,” he answered. Then he dropped his voice. “It removes all difficulties,” I heard him whisper to her.
Her eyes filled with tears, and she turned aside to conceal her emotion.
“There is no doubt whatever as to your ownership of this money, Mr. Wimburne,” said the lawyer, “and now the next thing is to ensure its safe transport to the bank.”
As soon as the amount of the gold had been made known, Graham, without bidding good-bye to anyone, abruptly left the room, and I assisted the rest of the men in shovelling the sovereigns into a stout canvas bag, which we then lifted and placed in a four-wheeled cab which had arrived for the purpose of conveying the gold to the city.
“Surely someone is going to accompany Mr. Wimburne?” said Miss Cusack at this juncture. “My dear Edgar,” she continued, “you are not going to be so mad as to go alone?”
To my surprise, Wimburne coloured, and then gave a laugh of annoyance.
“What could possibly happen to me?” he said. “Nobody knows that I am carrying practically my own weight in gold into the city.”
“If Mr. Wimburne wishes I will go with him,” said Tyndall, now coming forward. The old man had to all appearance got over his disappointment, and spoke eagerly.
“The thing is fair and square,” he added. “I am sorry I did not win, but I’d rather you had it, sir, than Mr. Graham. Yes, that I would, and I congratulate you, sir.”
“Thank you, Tyndall,” replied Wimburne, “and if you like to come with me I shall be very glad of your company.”
The bag of sovereigns being placed in the cab, Wimburne bade us all a hasty good-bye, told Miss Ransom that he would call to see her at Miss Cusack’s house that evening, and, accompanied by Tyndall, started off. As we watched the cab turn the corner I heard Miss Ransom utter a sigh.
“I do hope it will be all right,” she said, looking at me. “Don’t you think it is a risky thing to drive with so much gold through London?”
I laughed in order to reassure her.
“Oh, no, it is perfectly safe,” I answered, “safer perhaps than if the gold were conveyed in a more pretentious vehicle. There is nothing to announce the fact that it is bearing ten thousand and eighty sovereigns to the bank.”
A moment or two later I left the two ladies and returned to my interrupted duties. The affair of the weighing, the strange clause in the will, Miss Ransom’s eager pathetic face, Wimburne’s manifest anxiety, had all impressed me considerably, and I could scarcely get the affair off my mind. I hoped that the young couple would now be married quickly, and I could not help being heartily glad that Graham had lost, for I had by no means taken to his appearance.
My work occupied me during the greater part of the afternoon, and I did not get back again to my own house until about six o’clock. When I did so I was told to my utter amazement that Miss Cusack had arrived and was waiting to see me with great impatience. I went at once into my consulting room, where I found her pacing restlessly up and down.
“What is the matter?” I asked.
“Matter!” she cried; “have you not heard? Why, it has been cried in the streets already—the money is gone, was stolen on the way to London. There was a regular highway robbery in the Richmond Road, in broad daylight too. The facts are simply these: Two men in a dogcart met the cab, shot the driver, and after a desperate struggle, in which Edgar Wimburne was badly hurt, seized the gold and drove off. The thing was planned, of course—planned to a moment.”
“But what about Tyndall?” I asked.
“He was probably in the plot. All we know is that he has escaped and has not been heard of since.”
“But what a daring thing!” I cried. “They will be caught, of course; they cannot have gone far with the money.”
“You do not understand their tricks, Dr. Lonsdale; but I do,” was her quick answer, “and I venture to guarantee that if we do not get that money back before the morning, Edgar Wimburne has seen the last of his fortune. Now, I mean to follow up this business, all night if necessary .”
I did not reply. Her dark, bright eyes were blazing with excitement, and she began to pace up and down.
“You must come with me,” she continued, “you promised to help me if the necessity should arise.”
“And I will keep my word,” I answered.
“That is an immense relief.” She gave a deep sigh as she spoke.
“What about Miss Ransom?” I asked.
“Oh, I have left Letty at home. She is too excited to be of the slightest use.”
“One other question,” I interrupted, “and then I am completely at your service. You mentioned that Wimburne was hurt.”
“Yes, but I believe not seriously. He has been taken to the hospital. He has already given evidence, but it amounts to very little. The robbery took place in a lonely part of the road, and just for the moment there was no one in sight.”
“Well,” I said, as she paused, “you have some scheme in your head, have you not?”
“I have,” she answered. “The fact is this: from the very first I feared some such catastrophe as has really taken place. I have known Mr. Graham for a long time, and—distrusted him. He has passed for a man of position and means, but I believe him to be a mere adventurer. There is little doubt that all his future depended on his getting this fortune. I saw his face when the scales declared in Edgar Wimburne’s favour—but there! I must ask you to accompany me to Hammersmith immediately. On the way I will tell you more.”
“We will go in my carriage,” I said, “it happens to be at the door.”
We started directly. As we had left the more noisy streets Miss Cusack continued—
“You remember the advertisement I showed you yesterday morning?”
I nodded.
“You naturally could make no sense of it, but to me it was fraught with much meaning. This is by no means the first advertisement which has appeared under the name of Joshua Linklater. I have observed similar advertisements, and all, strange to say, in connection with founder’s work, appearing at intervals in the big dailies for the last four or five months, but my attention was never specially directed to them until a circumstance occurred of which I am about to tell you.”
“What is that?” I asked.
“Three weeks ago a certain investigation took me
to Hammersmith in order to trace a stolen necklace. It was necessary that I should go to a small pawnbroker’s shop—the man’s name was Higgins. In my queer work, Dr. Lonsdale, I employ many disguises. That night, dressed quietly as a domestic servant on her evening out, I entered the pawnbroker’s. I wore a thick veil and a plainly trimmed hat. I entered one of the little boxes where one stands to pawn goods, and waited for the man to appear.
For the moment he was engaged, and looking through a small window in the door I saw to my astonishment that the pawnbroker was in earnest conversation with no less a person than Mr. Campbell Graham. This was the last place I should have expected to see Mr. Graham in, and I immediately used both my eyes and ears. I heard the pawnbroker address him as Linklater.
Immediately the memory of the advertisements under that name flashed through my brain. From the attitude of the two men there was little doubt that they were discussing a matter of the utmost importance, and as Mr. Graham, alias Linklater, was leaving the shop, I distinctly overheard the following words: ‘In all probability Bovey will die to-night. I may or may not be successful, but in order to insure against loss we must be prepared. It is not safe for me to come here often—look out for advertisement—it will be in the agony column.’
“I naturally thought such words very strange, and when I heard of Mr. Bovey’s death and read an account of the queer will, it seemed to me that I began to see daylight. It was also my business to look out for the advertisement, and when I saw it yesterday morning you may well imagine that my keenest suspicions were aroused. I immediately suspected foul play, but could do nothing except watch and await events. Directly I heard the details of the robbery I wired to the inspector at Hammersmith to have Higgins’s house watched. You remember that Mr. Wimburne left Kew in the cab at ten o’clock; the robbery must therefore have taken place some time about ten-twenty. The news reached me shortly after eleven, and my wire was sent off about eleven-fifteen. I mention these hours, as much may turn upon them. Just before I came to you I received a wire from the police-station containing startling news that was sent on at five-thirty. Here, you had better read it.”