The Vagrant Duke Part 53

"I'll admit that. But I don't see----"

"You will in a minute, sir----"

"Go on."

"If I have been correctly informed, you sold out your copper holdings in Madre Gulch for something like half a million dollars----" Peter paused for McGuire's comment. He made none. But he had sunk into his chair again and was listening intently.

"The interest on half a million dollars, even at six per cent, if compounded, would in fifteen years amount with the princ.i.p.al to a considerable sum."

"Ah, I see what you're getting at----"

"You will admit that what I say is true?"

"Yes----"

"You'll admit also, if you're reasonable, that the money which founded your great fortune was as a matter of fact not yours but Ben Cameron's----?"

"But why speak of him now?" muttered the old man.

"Do you admit this?"

McGuire frowned and then growled, "How can I help admitting it, since you know the facts? But I don't see----"

"Well then, admitting that the 'Tarantula' mine was Ben Cameron's and not yours or Hawk Kennedy's, it seems clear that if any of Ben Cameron's heirs should turn up unexpectedly, they might claim at least a share of what should have been their own."

McGuire had started forward in his chair, his gaze on Peter's face, as the truth was suddenly borne in upon him.

"You mean, Nichols, that----." He paused and gasped as Peter nodded.

"I mean that Ben Cameron's only child, a daughter, lives here at Black Rock--the niece of your housekeeper--Mrs. Bergen----"

"Miss Cameron--My G.o.d!" McGuire fell back in his chair, staring at Peter, incapable of further speech.

"Beth Cameron," said Peter gently, "the lady who has done me the honor of promising to become my wife----"

"But how do you know?" gasped McGuire. "There must be some mistake. Are you sure you----" He broke off and then a sly smile curled at the corners of his lips. "You know, Nichols, Cameron is not an unusual name.

It's quite possible that you're--er--mistaken."

"No. I'm quite sure there's no mistake. I think the facts can be proved--that is, of course, if you're willing to help to establish this claim and to admit it when established. Otherwise I intend to establish it without your a.s.sistance--as an act of justice and of--er--retribution."

McGuire watched his superintendent's face for a while before replying.

And then, briefly, "What are the facts on which you base this extraordinary statement?" he asked.

"I'll present those facts when the time comes, Mr. McGuire," said Peter at a venture. "I don't think it will be a difficult matter to identify the murdered man. He wrote home once or twice. He can be traced successfully. But what I would like to know first is what your disposition toward his daughter will be when the proper proofs are presented."

"_If_ they're presented," said McGuire.

"Will you answer me?"

"It would seem time enough to answer then. I'll do the right thing."

"Meaning what?"

"Money enough to satisfy her."

"That won't do. She must have what is hers by right. Her price is one million dollars," said Peter quietly.

McGuire started up. "You're dreaming," he gasped.

"It's her money."

"But I developed that mine."

"It was her mine that you developed."

McGuire stopped by the window and turned.

"And if I refuse----?"

"I don't think you will----"

The two men stared at each other, but Peter had the whip hand--or McGuire thought he had, which was quite sufficient.

"Will you help me to perform this act of justice?" Peter went on calmly.

"It's the only thing to do, Mr. McGuire. Can't you see that?"

McGuire paced the floor heavily a few times before replying. And then,

"I've got to think this thing over, Nichols. It's all so very sudden--a million dollars. My G.o.d! man, you talk of a million as if it grew on the trees." He stopped abruptly before the fireplace and turned to Peter.

"And where does Hawk Kennedy come in on this?"

"Beth Cameron's claim comes before his--or yours," said Peter quietly.

"Whatever happens to either of you--it's not her fault."

Peter hadn't intended a threat. He was simply stating the princ.i.p.al thought of his mind. But it broke McGuire's front. He leaned upon the armchair and then fell heavily into it, his head buried in his hands.

"I'll do--whatever you say," he groaned at last, "but you've got to get me out of this, Nichols. I've got to have that paper."

Peter poured out a drink of the whisky and silently handed it to his employer.

"Come, Mr. McGuire," he said cheerfully, "we'll do what we can. There'll be a way to outwit Hawk Kennedy."

"I hope to G.o.d there is," muttered McGuire helplessly.

"I'll make a bargain with you."

"What?" asked McGuire helplessly.

"If I get the confession from Kennedy, you give Beth Cameron the money I ask for."