Part 50 (1/2)

”You are very interested in this lady's whereabouts,” he said.

”Naturally. We are relations--distant relations, that is.”

”Indeed! How, may I ask?”

”Well, you know--hang it all, I'm a deuced bad hand at pedigrees and all that sort of thing, but we are, in a way, cousins, on the mother's side,” replied Truscott, testily, in a sort of tone which resented the doubt thrown upon his statement by the other's inquisitiveness.

”I see,” said the lawyer, balancing a paper-cutter upon his forefinger.

But though his features preserved their polite imperturbability, the fact was, he did not believe one word of this statement. ”Let me see, though,” he went on, musingly; ”I know who might be able to give you some information.”

”Who?” asked Truscott, eagerly looking up.

”Miss Dynevard, of Dynevard Chase. She, you are aware, is Miss Strange's stepsister.”

The other's countenance fell. He was more disappointed than he cared to say. Eveline Dynevard was the last person he could communicate with on the subject.

”Er--yes; of course,” he said, hurriedly. ”I had forgotten. I will write to Miss Dynevard.”

”Can I make the inquiry for you?” asked the lawyer, politely.

”No--no, thanks. I needn't trouble you further. Much obliged; good morning,” and taking up his hat Truscott made his way out into the street.

The lawyer went to the window and watched him turn the dingy corner.

”John,” he said to his brother and junior partner, who at that moment entered. ”You saw that chap who just went out from here. He's got an inkling of the contents of old Dynevard's will. I read him like a book as he sat there, clumsily trying to fish out the whereabouts of Miss Strange.”

”H'm! Has he?” grunted John Grantham, who was the greatest possible contrast to his more astute brother, in that he was short, red-faced, and irritable. ”He didn't succeed, I hope?”

”No. I couldn't have told him if I had wanted to, for the simple reason that I don't know. But he says he's her cousin.”

”Hanky-panky,” replied the other, with a contemptuous snort. ”I don't believe a word of it. It's easy to see what he's after. And it would be a bad day for Lilian Strange, or indeed for any other pretty girl, when that rascal got making up to her. I know Master Ralph Truscott and his goings on, a good deal better than he thinks.”

”Well, it's my opinion that the young lady's married long ago. An attractive girl like that is sure to be able to pick and choose in a country where gentlewomen are scarce, I should imagine.”

”Bless my soul--yes,” a.s.sented the other, changing his coat, and brus.h.i.+ng his hat, preparatory to a start for home. ”And the sooner friend Truscott goes to the devil, the better for society at large; he's going there as fast as he can, as it is.”

Meanwhile, the subject of this charitable remark was seated in a hansom with his face turned westward.

”That d.a.m.ned lawyer was lying,” he mused, ”lying all the time. I could see it in his face, and it's those chaps' trade to lie. He could have told me if he had chosen. Never mind, I'll be even with him yet. I'll go to the Cape; by Jove, I will, and at once; the sooner the better, and this place is getting too hot for me just now. A few months of travel and sport, and it'll cool down again, and then, if I find the fair Lilian--Find her? I must find her, and I will.” Then a suggestion, which Mr Grantham had thrown out, crossed his mind, and he turned hot and cold over the idea.

”I think it not improbable that we might have to seek for her under another name,” the lawyer had said. ”Miss Strange, you are aware, was a young lady of considerable attractions. She may have married.”

”No, she will not,” repeated Truscott to himself, ”I know her better than that. Unless--I don't know. Time works queer changes. What a fool I was ever to let her out of my sight! And yet how could I tell that she would ever be worth keeping in it? It was the merest fluke that took me to Doctors' Commons this morning, and a still greater one that moved me to look at old Dynevard's will. I'll go out and look for her, the game's worth the candle, and, by George, if I win--and why shouldn't I? She will almost throw herself into my arms, if only as a contrast to the Kafirs and Boers she is living amongst. Then I'll turn over a new leaf. I could with Lilian, almost, I think. I never saw any woman to come up to her, unless it was--well, never mind. Yes, my luck is on the turn. Nearly six years ago, though. I wonder what she's like now.”

He chuckled gleefully to himself as he leaned back in the cab and lighted a cigar. Then a thought struck him, and opening the trap in the roof he shouted a direction to the driver. The man turned his horse's head and in a moment was speeding away Citywards. Somehow, the reader has already seen the dusty office-door before which Truscott leaped out of his cab, as also the sharp boy who opened it.

”Is your master in?”

The boy nodded and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Quickly mounting the stairs Truscott found himself in the same dingy apartment wherein Claverton had sat, several years previously.

”Hullo, where's Mork.u.m?” he asked, disappointedly.