For Fortune and Glory Part 7

IN FARNHAM PARK.

Church parade was over, and quiet reigned in the camp of the Fourth Battalion Blankshire Regiment, which was undergoing its annual training at Aldershot.

A young man in civilian clothes sat at breakfast in the officers' mess- tent. He was a visitor and guest, who had no obligation to early rising, so he lay snug till the band, marching the Church of Englanders off at nine o'clock, roused him and then performed a leisurely toilet.

And now he, the subaltern of the day, and the officer who was to take the Roman Catholics, had the tent to themselves. The former was some distance off, the latter sat next to him.

"I came only just in time for mess yesterday, so we had no opportunity for a private chat," said the one in plain clothes. "But I have a lot to say to you."

"Well, look here," replied the other, "my parade is at eleven; the dress bugle has just gone for it. I shall be back by half-past twelve. Then we will have lunch and go for a walk, you, I, and Strachan, if you like."

"I should like it very much, though how you can expect me to eat lunch after such a breakfast as this at such a late hour, I cannot imagine."

"Oh, the air here is wonderful for the appet.i.te. Not like London and Egypt, which seem to be your haunts."

"And the unaccountable disappearance of this will of uncle Richard's, Kavanagh, has it put you in a very big hole?"

"Not just yet. The dear old man felt himself failing, and thought he might forget me as weeks went on. So, instead of sending a quarterly cheque, he paid my allowance for the whole year into the agent's hands.

So kind and thoughtful of him, was it not? But for the future, of course, it will be rather awkward for me if the will does not turn up.

I go in directly after the training for the Compet.i.tive Examination, and so does Strachan. We have both pa.s.sed the Preliminary, and shall have served our two trainings. Well, if I pa.s.s, it will be hard enough to live on my pay, but I must get into the Indian or Gold Coast Services, and try it that way. If I don't succeed, why then I have no idea what to do next. At least, I have an idea, but there is no need to think it out till the necessity comes."

"What do you think of your chance?"

"Well, my coach thinks it doubtful. He has known fellows get their commissions who were worse up than I am, and he has known fellows fail who were better up than I am. It depends on the lot of compet.i.tors, and also on their quality, and a little bit on luck. There is a good bit of luck in having the questions you have crammed set, you know."

"I can imagine there must be. And how about Strachan?"

"Well, if he has not got a good bit in hand, I am not in it, that's all.

He could give me a hundred marks and a beating. However, I fancy that he must be safe. But there is the Fall-in; I must be off."

As Kavanagh left the tent Strachan came into it.

"Well, old fellow, and how did you sleep?" he asked.

"Not badly," said Forsyth. "I fancy? Should have been still at it but for that big drum of yours."

"Hush! It is lucky the Colonel is not here. Never speak of the big drum in that irreverent tone to him, I pray. It would well-nigh give him a fit. The big drum is his fetish, though he nearly smashed it himself last year."

"How was that?"

"We were out on the Queen's Birthday, and had to fire a _feu de joie_.

Rattle up the front rank, rattle down the rear rank, three times, you know. The horses hate it, and the chief had a young one who did not like ordinary firing very well, though he had got him in hand for that.

But the roll was too much for the gee's nerves; he went wild with terror, bolted slap through the band, and finally reared up till he rolled over. It looked as if the Colonel was under him, and those who went to help thought him smashed. But he got up, and said, with a face of intense anxiety--

"'Is the big drum safe?' But, I say, how jolly it is to meet you again, old fellow. Don't you remember that last evening at Harton, we said we were sure to meet, we three; and here we are, you see. But, I say, this is a bad story for Kavanagh about this will being missing, is it not?

Bad for you, too, though. Your mother was in it, was she not?"

"Yes; but as the testator's sister she will come in for something, probably, anyhow. True, it is mostly land, and I believe an uncle abroad will inherit that. But I don't know the legal rights of the matter yet quite. Anyhow, she has something of her own, and I have learned how to get work and earn my bread by it. So all round it is worse for Kavanagh. What is his chance of pa.s.sing?"

"Not very good, I fear," said Strachan. "I don't feel safe, and I have read more than he has. And he is such a good fellow! He was awfully sorry about Mr Burke's death, but made no trouble whatever of the missing will. That is, of course, he thought the prospect of being penniless a great bore, but he never got into low spirits, or worried others about it. And with his tastes and ideas, too!"

"Yes," said Harry; "fellows at Harton used to think him a tremendous swell. And those who did not know him were apt to take a prejudice against him. 'Lady Kavanagh' some called him, you remember. But we must have a long talk, we three, for my time is short; I must go back to-morrow. Kavanagh proposed a walk after lunch."

"Certainly, if you like. We generally walk over to Farnham on a fine Sunday afternoon: where the bishop's palace is."

"I know. I have often heard of Farnham, and should like to see it,"

said Harry. And others coming in, the conversation became general.

Then lunch time arrived, and was on the table very punctually, though Harry did not want anything. But with the majority, who had breakfasted before eight, it was different. Kavanagh came in ready dressed for the walk, and expressed impatience at Strachan being still in uniform.

"I have got to pay my company," explained Strachan; "but I shall do it directly the dinners are over, and then it won't take me five minutes to change." And he was as good as his word, for by a quarter to two he was ready to start.

It was a fine afternoon and a pretty walk; round the end of the Long Valley by c.o.c.ked Hat Wood, skirting the steeple-chase course; through shady lanes to the wild furze-clad common land; up the sides of the hill range, where the old Roman encampments can still be clearly traced.

"This one looks precious modern," said Harry, doubtfully.

"Oh, the engineers may have been digging about a bit. And this certainly is a modern shelter trench. There are battles fought here, you know, whenever the generals are too lazy to go as far as the Fox Hills," said Strachan, irreverently.

"But look at the view. Over there to the left, where you see the queer- shaped black wood, is Sir Walter Scott's novel--what's his name: the first one and the least interesting; at least, I could never get through it."

"Waverley," said Kavanagh. "Don't expose your ignorance and want of taste, Strachan. You could not see the abbey if we went there, Forsyth, or else I should have proposed it. But the gra.s.s is not cut yet, and till it is no one may go to the ruins. That is Farnham Park below us.

Yonder is the Hog's Back."

A pretty road led them down to the park paling, which they skirted till they came to a ladder stile, which they crossed into the park, close to the solid old-world walls and towers of the bishop's castle.

"What splendid trees!" cried Harry, as the three old friends settled themselves comfortably under one of them. "I don't know when I have seen such beeches."

"Very condescending of you to admire anything in England, such a traveller as you have been," said Strachan. "And you have been to Egypt? I envy you; I have always longed to see Egypt."

"There are more unlikely things than that when you are in the Line.

Things are not settled there yet."

"Why, Arabi's insurrection is completely quelled, and he is a prisoner.

And the Government will have nothing to do with the Soudan business, they say."

"Who is _they_? One set of _theys_ say so, and another set of _theys_ say we can't help having to do with it, let the Quakers say what they will. For my part, I hope all will be quiet," said Forsyth.

"Quiet!" cried Strachan. "Why, if there is no war there will be fewer vacancies, and I am less likely to get my commission in the Line!"

"Modest youth! So you want some tens of thousands of fellow-creatures to be slaughtered, palms and fruit-trees to be destroyed, and a whole country made desolate and miserable for years, and millions upon millions of pounds drained from the British tax-payer, in order that you may get your commission with a little less trouble! You remind me of the reasonable prayer in the poem--

"'Oh, G.o.ds! Annihilate both Time and s.p.a.ce To make two lovers happy.'"

"Oh, bother! I don't look so deep into things as that," said Strachan; "I can't declare a war, and I would not take the responsibility if I could; but if it comes and does me good, I can't help liking it. It is like winning a wager--I am sorry the other chap should lose, but I am consoled by the reflection that I win."

"Exactly," said Harry; "and I strongly expect that I should lose by any disturbance in the Soudan, and that Kavanagh would too. It is a long story; but you are such an old friend that it won't bore you, Strachan, though it does not concern you personally. You both know all about the will and its mysterious disappearance, so I need not recapitulate that.

Well, I have been to Ireland and seen the lawyers--Burrows and f.a.gan. I could not make much of Burrows, who is a duffer; but f.a.gan has his wits about. He had never had to do with that branch of the business, but now the credit of the firm was at stake he busied himself in making searching and pertinent inquiry. A sharpish boy-clerk was certain that the will was left at the office, and kept in the Burke deed box in the late Mr Burrows' time; and, when closely pressed and questioned, the present Burrows recalled having seen it there since he came into the partnership. Then the question arose--Who could profit by its disappearance? The answer was, if a former will were in existence, Philipson--my uncle's son-in-law, who was his original heir--would. But the old will is not forthcoming either, and Philipson is done both ways, for he neither gets the property left him by the first will, nor the allowance secured to him by the second. Indeed, he is barely existing on small sums advanced him by a speculative solicitor on the chance of one of the wills turning up. I saw a lot of Philipson: such a jolly nose--like a big red truffle. He said he was certain the late head clerk--a chap of Egyptian or Arab extraction, named Daireh--had got the will, or wills, having abstracted them after my uncle's death, because he had hinted at being able to tell him how to find them, and had appointed the Sunday to meet him, but had failed to keep tryst, and had disappeared. All this had to be wormed out of Philipson, who spoke very reluctantly at first. And I suspect he is as big a rascal as the other, and was in a plot with him to destroy will Number 2, and prove will Number 1, only the other would not trust him, but wanted money down.

The reason he did not keep his appointment is evident, for the police wanted him for forgery about a fortnight later, and of course he had found out that he was discovered, and made tracks at once without waiting to come to terms with Philipson. The police have tried to track him everywhere without hitting on a ghost of a clue beyond London, from which place a letter was sent to his employers. But I know the direction in which to look for him."