Scarhaven Keep

by J. S. Fletcher

  CHAPTER XIII

  MR. DENNIE

  Amongst the little group of actors and actresses who had come over fromNorcaster to hear all that was to be told concerning their late manager,sat an old gentleman who, hands folded on the head of his walking cane,and chin settled on his hands, watched the proceedings with silent andconcentrated attention. He was a striking figure of an oldgentleman--tall, distinguished-looking, handsome, with a face full ofcharacter, the strong lines and features of which were furtheraccentuated by his silvery hair. He was a smart old gentleman, too, welland scrupulously attired and groomed, and his blue bird's-eye necktie,worn at a rakish angle, gave him the air of something of a sporting manrather than of a follower of Thespis. His fellow members of the Olivercompany seemed to pay him great attention, and at various points of theproceedings whispered questions to him as to an acknowledged authority.

  This old gentleman, when the inquest came to its extraordinary end andthe crowd went out murmuring and disputing, separated himself from hiscompanions and made his way towards Mrs. Greyle and her daughter, whowere quietly setting out homewards. To Audrey's surprise the two eldersshook hands in silence, and inspected each other with a palpablewistfulness of look.

  "And yet it's twenty-five years since we met, isn't it?" said the oldgentleman, almost as if he were talking to himself. "But I knew you atonce--I was wondering if you remembered me?"

  "Why, of course," responded Mrs. Greyle. "Besides, I've had anadvantage over you. I've seen you, you know, several times--atNorcaster. We go to the theatre now and then. Audrey--this is Mr.Dennie--you've seen him, too."

  "On the stage--on the stage!" murmured the old actor, as he shook handswith the girl. "Um!--I wonder if any of us are ever really off it! Thisaffair, for instance--there's a drama for you! By the-bye--this youngSquire--he's your relation, of course?"

  "My nephew-in-law, and Audrey's cousin," replied Mrs. Greyle. Mr. Dennie,who had walked along with them towards their cottage, stopped in a quietstretch of the quay, and looked meditatively at Audrey.

  "Then this young lady," he said, "is next heir to the Greyle estates, eh?For I understand this present Squire isn't married. Therefore--"

  "Oh, that's something that isn't worth thinking about," replied Mrs.Greyle hastily. "Don't put such notions into the girl's head, Mr. Dennie.Besides, the Greyle estates are not entailed, you know. The present ownercan do what he pleases with them--besides that, he's sure to marry."

  "All the same," observed Mr. Dennie, imperturbably, "if this young manhad not been in existence, this child would have succeeded, eh?"

  "Why, of course," agreed Mrs. Greyle a little impatiently. "But what'sthe use of talking about that, my old friend! The young man is inpossession--and there you are!"

  "Do you like the young man?" asked Mr. Dennie. "I take an old fellow'sprivilege in asking direct questions, you know. And--though we haven'tseen each other for all these years--you can say anything to me."

  "No, we don't," replied Mrs. Greyle. "And we don't know why we don't--sothere's a woman's answer for you. Kinsfolk though we are, we see littleof each other."

  Mr. Dennie made no remark on this. He walked along at Audrey's side,apparently in deep thought, and suddenly he looked across at her mother.

  "What do you think about this extraordinary story of Bassett Oliver'shaving met a Marston Greyle over there in America?" he asked abruptly."What do people here think about it?"

  "We're not in a position to hear much of what other people think,"answered Mrs. Greyle. "What I think is that if this Marston Greyle everdid meet such a very notable and noticeable man as Bassett Oliver it's avery, very strange thing that he's forgotten all about it!"

  Mr. Dennie laughed quietly.

  "Aye, aye!" he said. "But--don't you think we folk of the profession area little bit apt to magnify our own importance? You say 'Bless me, howcould anybody ever forget an introduction to Bassett Oliver!' But we mustremember that to some people even a famous actor is of no more importancethan--shall we say a respectable grocer? Marston Greyle may be one ofthose people--it's quite possible he may have been introduced, quitecasually, to Oliver at some club, or gathering, something-or-other, overthere and have quite forgotten all about it. Quite possible, I think."

  "I agree with you as to the possibility, but certainly not as to theprobability," said Mrs. Greyle, dryly. "Bassett Oliver was the sort ofman whom nobody would forget. But here we are at our cottage--you'll comein, Mr. Dennie?"

  "It will only have to be for a little time, my dear lady," said the oldactor, pulling out his watch. "Our people are going back very soon, and Imust join them at the station."

  "I'll give you a glass of good old wine," said Mrs. Greyle as they wentinto the cottage. "I have some that belonged to my father-in-law, the oldSquire. You must taste it--for old times' sake."

  Mr. Dennie followed Audrey into the little parlour as Mrs. Greyledisappeared to another part of the house. And the instant they werealone, he tapped the girl's arm and gave her a curiously warning look.

  "Hush, my dear!" he whispered. "Not a word--don't want your mother toknow! Listen--have you a specimen--letter--anything--of your cousin, theSquire's handwriting? Anything so long as it's his. You have? Give it tome--say nothing to your mother. Wait until tomorrow morning. I'll runover to see you again--about noon. It's important--but silence!"

  Audrey, scarcely understanding the old man's meaning, opened a desk anddrew out one or two letters. She selected one and handed it to Mr.Dennie, who made haste to put it away before Mrs. Greyle returned. Hegave Audrey another warning look.

  "That was what I wanted!" he said mysteriously. "I thought of it duringthe inquest. Never mind why, just now--you shall know tomorrow."

  He lingered a few minutes, chatting to his hostess about old times as hesipped the old Squire's famous port; then he went off to the littlestation, joined Stafford and his fellow actors and actresses, andreturned with them to Norcaster. And at Norcaster Mr. Dennie separatedhimself from the rest and repaired to his quiet lodgings--rooms which hehad occupied for many years in succession whenever he went that way ontour--and once safely bestowed in them he pulled out a certainold-fashioned trunk, which he had owned since boyhood and lugged aboutwherever he went in two continents, and from it, after much methodicalunpacking, he disinterred a brown paper parcel, neatly tied up with greenribbon. From this parcel he drew a thin packet of typed matter and acouple of letters--the type script he laid aside, the letters he openedout on his table. Then he took from his pocket the letter which AudreyGreyle had given him and put it side by side with those taken from theparcel. And after one brief glance at all three Mr. Dennie madetypescript and letters up again into a neat packet, restored them to histrunk, locked them up, and turned to the two hours' rest which he alwaystook before going to the theatre for his evening's work.

  He was back at Scarhaven by eleven o'clock the next morning, with hisneat packet under his arm and he held it up significantly to Audrey whoopened the door of the cottage to him.

  "Something to show you," he said with a quiet smile as he walked in."To show you and your mother." He stopped short on the threshold of thelittle parlour, where Copplestone was just then talking to Mrs. Greyle."Oh!" he said, a little disappointedly, "I hoped to find youalone--I'll wait."

  Mrs. Greyle explained who Copplestone was, and Mr. Dennie immediatelybrightened. "Of course--of course!" he explained. "I know! Glad to meetyou, Mr. Copplestone--you don't know me, but I know you--or yourwork--well enough. It was I who read and recommended your play to ourpoor dear friend. It's a little secret, you know," continued Mr. Dennie,laying his packet on the table, "but I have acted for a great many yearsas Bassett Oliver's literary adviser--taster, you might say. You know, hehad a great number of plays sent to him, of course, and he was a verybusy man, and he used to hand them over to me in the first place, to takea look at, a taste of, you know, and if I liked the taste, why, then hetook a mouthful himself, eh? And that brings me to the very point, mydear ladies and m
y dear young gentleman, that I have come specially toScarhaven this morning to discuss. It's a very, very serious matterindeed," he went on as he untied his packet of papers, "and I fear thatit's only the beginning of something more serious. Come round me here atthis table, all of you, if you please."

  The other three drew up chairs, each wondering what was coming, andthe old actor resumed his eyeglasses and gave obvious signs ofmaking a speech.

  "Now I want you all to attend to me, very closely," he said. "I shallhave to go into a detailed explanation, and you will very soon see whatI am after. As you may be aware, I have been a personal friend ofBassett Oliver for some years, and a member of his company without breakfor the last eight years. I accompanied Bassett Oliver on his two tripsto the United States--therefore, I was with him when he was last there,years ago.

  "Now, while we were at Chicago that time, Bassett came to me one day withthe typescript of a one-act play and told me that it had been sent to himby a correspondent signing himself Marston Greyle; who in a coveringletter, said that he sprang from an old English family, and that the playdealt with a historic, romantic episode in its history. The principalpart, he believed, was one which would suit Bassett--therefore he beggedhim to consider the matter. Bassett asked me to read the play, and I tookit away, with the writer's letter, for that purpose. But we were justthen very busy, and I had no opportunity of reading anything for a time.Later on, we went to St. Louis, and there, of course, Bassett, as usual,was much feted and went out a great deal, lunching with people and so on.One day he came to me, 'By-the-bye, Dennie!' he said, 'I met that Mr.Marston Greyle today who sent me that romantic one-act thing. He wantedto know if I'd read it, and I had to confess that it was in your hands.Have you looked at it?' I, too, had to confess--I hadn't. 'Well,' saidhe, 'read it and let me know what you think--will it suit me?' I madetime to read the little play during the following week, and I toldBassett that I didn't think it would suit him, but I felt sure it mightsuit Montagu Gaines, who plays just such parts. Bassett thereupon wroteto the author and said what I, his reader, thought, and kindly offered,as he knew Gaines intimately, to show the little work to him on hisreturn to England. And this Mr. Marston Greyle wrote back, thankingBassett warmly and accepting his kind offer. Accordingly, I brought theplay with me to England. Montagu Gaines, however, had just set off on atwo years' tour to Australia--consequently, the play and the author's twoletters have remained in my possession ever since. And--here they are!"

  Mr. Dennie laid his hand dramatically on his packet, looked significantlyat his audience, and went on.

  "Now, when I heard all that I did hear at that inquest yesterday," hesaid, "I naturally remembered that I had in my possession two letterswhich were undoubtedly written to Bassett Oliver by a young man namedMarston Greyle, whom Oliver--just as undoubtedly!--had personally met inSt. Louis. And so when the inquest was over, Mr. Copplestone, I recalledmyself to Mrs. Greyle here, whom I had known many years ago, and I walkedback to this house with her and her charming daughter, and--don't beangry, Mrs. Greyle--while the mother's back was turned--on hospitablethoughts intent--I got the daughter to lend me--secretly--a letterwritten by the present Squire of Scarhaven. Armed with that, I went hometo my lodgings in Norcaster, found the letter written by the AmericanMarston Greyle, and compared it with them. And--here is the result!"

  The old actor selected the two American letters from his papers, laidthem out on the table, and placed the letter which Audrey had given himbeside them.

  "Now!" he said, as his three companions bent eagerly over these exhibits,"Look at those three letters. All bear the same signature, MarstonGreyle--but the hand-writing of those two is as different from that ofthis one as chalk is from cheese!"