The Everlasting Arms Part 10

Romanoff lay back in his chair and quietly smoked his cigar.

"But why these questions?" persisted d.i.c.k.

"I was only thinking, my friend, on what small issues fortune or poverty may rest."

"But--but really----"

"Here is the case as I understand it. Your lawyer told you that Mr. Anthony Riggleton, the only man who stood between you and all your uncle's possessions, was killed in a drunken brawl in Melbourne, and that on his death you became heir. That was why he sent you that wireless; that was why he summoned you back to England."

"Exactly."

"But what if Mr. Anthony Riggleton is not dead?"

"There is no doubt about that," replied d.i.c.k, in tones of relief. "Mr. Bidlake realised the importance of this, and sent to a lawyer in Melbourne to make investigations. Every care was taken, every possible loophole of mistake was investigated. I saw all the doc.u.ments, all the newspaper reports."

"Has it ever struck you that mistakes might be made about this?"

"Of course. As a consequence I questioned Bidlake closely, and he told me that doubt was impossible."

"Let me understand," and Romanoff continued to speak quietly. "Your position is that Anthony Riggleton, the then heir to all your Uncle Faversham's fortune, was living in Australia; that he was known in Melbourne; that he went to a house near Melbourne with some boon companions; that there was a night of orgy; that afterwards there was a quarrel; and that Mr. Anthony Riggleton was killed."

"Evidently you've worked up the case," and there was a sneer in d.i.c.k's voice.

"But I'm right, am I not?"

"As far as you've gone, you are roughly right. Of course, his body was afterwards identified by----"

"By the cashier of the bank from which he had drawn money, and by others," interrupted Romanoff. "But what if that cashier made a mistake? What if it paid him to make it? What if the others who identified the body were paid to do so? What if Mr. Anthony Riggleton is still alive?"

"What if a hundred things are true?" cried d.i.c.k angrily. "One can ask such questions for ever. Of course, if Mr. Anthony Riggleton is still alive, I have no right here. If he is alive, I clear out."

"And does the prospect please you?" and the Count looked at d.i.c.k like one anxious.

"Of course, it doesn't please me. If it's true, I'm a pauper, or next door to one. If it's true, I should have to leave everything and go out into the world to begin again."

"And give up all thought of Lady Blanche Huntingford," added the Count.

"I say, Romanoff, if you've anything definite to tell me, tell it. I tell you honestly, I don't enjoy all this."

"Of course you don't. The thought of giving up all this is like thinking of having your eyes pulled out, isn't it?"

"But of course it's all rubbish. Of course you are imagining an ugly bogey man," and d.i.c.k laughed nervously.

"I'm imagining nothing, Faversham."

"Then you mean to tell me----"

"That Mr. Anthony Riggleton is alive? Yes, I do."

d.i.c.k gave the Count an angry look, then started to his feet and began to pace the room.

"Of course it's all nonsense," he cried after a few seconds. "Please don't imagine that I'm going to accept a c.o.c.k-and-bull sort of story like that. Do you think that Bidlake would be deceived? Do you imagine that the man he employed in Melbourne would be duped? No, no, I'm not such a fool as to accept that. Besides, what have you to do with it? Why did you come here in such a fashion, and with such a story? It does not look very friendly, does it?"

"Why I came here, and why I have told you the truth, will leak out presently. You will see then that I came not as an enemy, but as a friend."

"As a friend!" and there was an angry sneer in d.i.c.k's voice.

"As a friend," repeated Romanoff. "Of course," he went on quietly, "I expected that you would take it in this way; but you will soon see that my motives are--not unworthy of a friend."

"Tell me then how you came to know of this. Perhaps you will also give me some proofs that Mr. Anthony Riggleton, who was found dead, whose body was identified by responsible witnesses, has so miraculously come to life again. Believe me, this hearsay, this wonderful story does not appeal to me. Do you come to me with this--this farrago of nonsense with the belief that I am going to give up all this?" and he looked out of the window towards the far-spreading parks as he spoke, "without the most absolute and conclusive proof? If Mr. Anthony Riggleton is alive, where is he? Why does he not show himself? Why does he not come here and claim his own?"

"Because I have stopped him from coming," replied Romanoff.

"You have stopped him from coming?" cried d.i.c.k excitedly.

"Exactly."

"Then you have seen him?"

"I have seen him."

"But how do you know it was he? Are Mr. Bidlake's inquiries to go for nothing? No, no, it won't do. I can't be deceived like that."

"I know it was he because I have the most absolute proofs--proofs which I am going to submit to you."

"You saw him, you say?"

"I saw him."

"But where?"

"In Australia. I told you, didn't I, that--after leaving you I went to Australia? I told you, too, that I left Australia quickly because I did not like the country. That was false. I came because I wanted to warn you, to help you. You asked me just now why, if Mr. Anthony Riggleton was alive, he did not show himself. I will tell you why. If I had allowed him to do so, if he knew that he was heir to all you now possess, you would be a poor man. And I did not want you to be a poor man. I did not want your life to be ruined, your future sacrificed, your hopes destroyed. That's why, Faversham. That's why I left Australia and came here without wasting an hour. That's why I examined your uncle's will; that's why I came to warn you."

"To warn me?"

"To warn you."

"Against what?"

"Against dangers--against the dangers which might engulf you--ruin you for ever."

"You speak in a tragic tone of voice."

"I speak of tragic things. I told you that this was your hour of destiny. I told you the truth. This night will decide your future. You are a young fellow with your life all before you. You were born for enjoyment, for pleasure, for ease. You, unlike your uncle, who made all the wealth we are thinking of, are not a business genius; you are not a great master personality who can forge your way through difficult circ.u.mstances. You are not cast in that mould. But you can enjoy. You have barely felt your feet since you came into possession of great wealth, but already you have dreamt dreams, and seen visions. You have already made plans as to how you can suck the orange of the world dry. And to-night will be the time of decision."

d.i.c.k laughed uneasily. "How?" he asked, and his face was pale to the lips.

"Is there a photograph of Mr. Anthony Riggleton in the house?" asked Romanoff.

"Yes, I came across one the other day. Would you like to see it?" He went to a drawer as he spoke and took a packet from it. "Here is the thing," he added.

"Just so," replied Romanoff; "now look at this," and he took a photograph from his pocket. "It's the same face, isn't it? The same man. Well, my friend, that is the photograph of a man I saw in Australia, weeks after you got your wireless from Mr. Bidlake--months after the news came that Mr. Anthony Riggleton was dead. I saw him; I talked with him. He told me a good deal about himself, told me of some of his experiences in this house. There are a number of people in this neighbourhood who knew him, and who could identify him."

"You are sure of this?" gasped d.i.c.k.

"Absolutely."

"And does he know--that--that his uncle is dead?"

"Not yet. That's why I hurried here to see you. But he has made up his mind to come to England, and of course he intends coming here."

"He told you this, did he?"

"Yes. I came across him in a little town about five hundred miles from Melbourne, and when I found out who he was I thought of you."

"But how do you explain the news of his death, the inquest, and the other things?"

"I'll come to that presently. It's easily explained. Oh, there's no doubt about it, Faversham. I have seen the real heir to all the wealth you thought your own."

"But what do you mean by saying that you stopped him from coming here?" and d.i.c.k's voice was husky.

"I'm going to tell you why I stopped him. I'm going to tell you how you can keep everything, enjoy everything. Yes, and how you can still marry the woman you are dreaming of."

"But if the real heir is alive--I--I can't," stammered d.i.c.k.

"I'm here to show you how you can," persisted Romanoff. "Did I not tell you that this was the hour of destiny?"

CHAPTER XII.

THE DAY OF DESTINY.

d.i.c.k Faversham wiped away the beads of perspiration that stood thick upon his forehead. It seemed to him that he was surrounded by peculiar influences, that forces were at work which he could not understand. In one sense he did not at all believe in the story that Count Romanoff had told him. It appeared to him chimerical, unconvincing.

It did not seem at all likely that a man of Mr. Bidlake's experience and mental ac.u.men could have been so deceived. This subtle-minded lawyer, who had lived in London for so many years and had been spoken of as one of the most astute and level-headed men in the profession, would not be likely to communicate news of such great importance to him without being absolutely certain of his ground. He had shown him details of everything, too, and Mr. Bidlake was absolutely certain that Mr. Anthony Riggleton was dead, that he was murdered near Melbourne. The proofs of this were demonstrated in a hundred ways. No, he did not believe in Romanoff's story.

Besides, it was absurd, on the face of it. Who was this Count Romanoff? He knew little or nothing of him. Though he owed his life to him, he knew nothing of his history or antecedents. He was afraid of him, too. He did not like his cynical way of looking at things, nor understand his mockery of current morality. And should he believe the bare word of such a man?

And yet he did believe him. At the back of his mind he felt sure that he had spoken the truth.

It came to him with ghastly force that he was not the owner of this fine old house, and of all the wealth that during the last few weeks he had almost gloated over. There was something in the tones of Romanoff's voice--something in his mocking yet intense way of speaking that convinced him in spite of himself.

And the fact maddened him. To be poor now after these few brief weeks of riches would drive him mad. He had not begun to enjoy yet. He had not carried out the plans which had been born in his mind. He had only just entered into possession, and had been living the life of a pattern young man. But he had meant to enjoy, to drink the cup of pleasure to the very dregs.

His mind swept like lightning over the conversation which had taken place, and every word of it was burnt into his brain. What did the Count mean by telling him that he could retain everything? Why did he persist in urging that he had hurried from Australia to England to save him from losing everything? What did he mean by telling him that this was his hour of destiny--that on his decision would depend the future of his life?

"You mean--to say then, that--that----" he stammered, after a long, painful silence.

"That Anthony Riggleton, the legal heir of old Charles Faversham, is alive," interrupted Romanoff. "I myself have seen him, have talked with him."

"Does he know that he is--is the rightful heir?"

"Not yet," and Romanoff smiled. "I took good care of that."

"You mean----"

"I mean that I did not save your life for nothing. When I had fully convinced myself that he was--who he said he was--I of course reflected on what it meant. I called to mind what you had told me on that island, and I saw how his being alive would affect you."

"How did you know? I did not tell you the terms of the will. I did not know them myself."

"Does it matter how I knew? Anyhow, he--Riggleton--would guess."

"How did he know?"

Romanoff shrugged his shoulders. "How should I know, my dear fellow? But one can easily guess. He knew he was next-of-kin to old Charles Faversham, and would naturally think he would inherit his wealth. But that is not all. Australia, although a long way from England, is not away from the lines of communication. Melbourne is quite a considerable city. It has newspapers, telephones, cablegrams, and a host of other things. But one thing Anthony Riggleton did not know: he did not know that the terms of the will were published in the Melbourne newspapers. He was afraid to go near Melbourne, in fact. He thought it best for the world to think of him as dead. Indeed, he paid a man to personate him in Melbourne, and that man paid the penalty of his deceit by his life."

"It's anything but clear to me."

"Then I'll make it clear. Riggleton had enemies in Melbourne whom it was necessary for him to see, but whom he was personally afraid to meet. He had served them very shabbily, and they had threatened him with unpleasant things. He had as a friend a man who resembled him very closely, and he offered this friend a sum of money if he would go to Melbourne and personate him. This man, ignorant of his danger, accepted the offer--now, do you see?"

After he had asked many questions about this--questions which Romanoff answered freely--d.i.c.k looked long and steadily at a picture of old Charles Faversham which hung on the wall. He was trying to co-ordinate the story--trying to understand it.

"And where is Anthony Riggleton now?"

"He is in England."

"In England! Then--then----"

"Exactly," interrupted Romanoff. "You see what I meant when I said that the foundations of your position were very insecure. I do not imagine that Lady Blanche Huntingford would think very seriously about d.i.c.k Faversham if she knew the whole truth."

"But--but--in England?"

"Exactly. In England."

"But you say he does not know--the truth?"

"No. He may guess it, though. Who knows?"

"But why did you not tell me this last night? Why wait till now before letting me know?"

Again Romanoff smiled; he might be enjoying himself.