The Opal Serpent Part 15

"Well, then, to a young gentleman whom I have only seen twice. Why do you ask, Mr. Beecot?"

"I was wondering if the change of name had anything to do with the murder," said Paul, hesitating.

"How could it," said Pash, testily, "when the man never expected to be murdered?"

"Beggin' your parding, Mr. Pash, but you're all out," said Deborah.

"Master did expect to have his throat cut, or his 'ead knocked orf, or his inside removed--"

"Deborah," cried Paul, hastily, "you are making Sylvia nervous."

"Don't you worrit, pretty," said the maiden, "it's only silly old Debby's way. But master, your par as was, my pretty, went to church and prayed awful against folk as he never named, to say nothin' of lookin'

over the left shoulder blade and sleepin' in the cellar bolted and barred, and always with his eye on the ground sad like. Old Baileys and police-courts was in his mind, say what you like."

"I say nothing," rejoined Pash, putting on his hat and hopping to the door. "Mr. Lemuel Krill did not honor me with his confidence so far. He came here, over twenty years ago and began business. I was then younger than I am, and he gave me his business because my charges were moderate.

I know all about him as Aaron Norman," added Pash, with emphasis, "but as Lemuel Krill I, knowing nothing but the name, can say nothing. Nor do I want to. Young people," ended the lawyer, impressively, "let sleeping dogs lie."

"What do you mean?" asked Sylvia, looking startled.

"Nothing--he means nothing," interposed Paul hastily, for the girl had undergone quite enough torments. "What about the change of name?"

"Ah yes!" said the lawyer, inquiringly. "Will you call yourself Krill or Norman, Miss Sylvia?"

"Seein' her name's to be changed to Beecot in a jiffy," cried Deborah, "it don't matter, and it sha'n't matter. You leave Krill and its old Baileys, if old Baileys there are in it, alone, my lovey, and be Miss Norman till the pa.s.son and the clark, and the bells and the ringers, and the lawr and the prophets turn you into the loveliest bride as ever was," and Deborah nodded vigorously.

"I wish father had mentioned my name in his will," said Sylvia, in a low voice, "and then I should know what to call myself."

Paul addressed the lawyer. "I know little about the legal aspect of this will"--

"This amateur will," said Pash, slightingly.

"But I should like to know if there will be any difficulty in proving it?"

"I don't think so. I have not gone through all the safes below, and may come across the marriage certificate of Miss Krill's--I beg pardon, Miss Norman's--mother and father. Then there's the birth certificate. We must prove that Miss Sylvia is the daughter of my late esteemed client."

"What's that?" shouted Deborah. "Why, I knowed her mother as died. She's the daughter right enough, and--"

"There's no need to shout," chattered Pash, angrily. "I know that as well as you do; I must act, however, as reason dictates. I'll prove the will and see that all is right." Then, dreading Deborah's tongue he hastily added "Good-day," and left the room. But he was not to escape so easily. Deborah plunged after him and made scathing remarks about legal manners all the way down to the door.

Paul and Sylvia left alone looked and smiled and fell into one another's arms. The will had been read and the money left to the girl, thereby the future was all right, so they thought that Pash's visit demanded no further attention. "He'll do all that is to be done," said Paul. "I don't see the use of keeping a dog and having to bark yourself."

"And I'm really a rich woman, Paul," said Sylvia, gladly.

"Really and truly, as I am a pauper. I think perhaps," said Beecot, sadly, "that you might make a better match than--"

Sylvia put her pretty hand over his moustache. "I won't hear it, Paul,"

she cried vehemently, with a stamp of her foot. "How dare you? As if you weren't all I have to love in the world now poor father--is--is de-a-d,"

and she began to weep. "I did not love him as I ought to have done, Paul."

"My own, he would not let you love him very much."

"N-o-o," said Sylvia, drying her eyes on Paul's handkerchief, which he produced. "I don't know why. Sometimes he was nice, and sometimes he wasn't. I never could understand him, and you know, Paul, we didn't treat him nicely."

"No," admitted Beecot, frankly, "but he forgave us."

"Oh, yes, poor dear, he did! He was quite nice when he said we could marry and he would allow us money. You saw him?"

"I did. He came to the hospital. Didn't he tell you when he returned, Sylvia?"

"I never saw him," she wept. "He never came upstairs, but went out, and I went to bed. He left the door leading to the stairs open, too, on that night, a thing he never did before. And then the key of the shop. Bart used to hang it on a nail in the cellar and father would put it into his pocket after supper. Deborah couldn't find it in his clothes, and when she went afterwards to the cellar it was on the nail. On that night, Paul, father did everything different to what he usually did."

"He seems to have had some mental trouble," said Paul, gently, "and I believe it was connected with that brooch. When he spoke to me at the hospital he said he would let you marry me, and would allow us an income, if I gave him the serpent brooch to take to America."

"But why did he want the brooch?" asked Sylvia, puzzled.

"Ah!" said Beecot, with great significance, "if we could find out his reason we would learn who killed him and why he was killed."

Sylvia wept afresh on this reference to the tragedy which was yet fresh in her memory: but as weeping would not bring back the dead, and Paul was much distressed at the sight of her tears, she dried her eyes for the hundredth time within the last few days and sat again on the sofa by her lover. There they built castles in the air.

"I tell you what, Sylvia," said Paul, reflectively; "after this will business is settled and a few weeks have elapsed, we can marry."

"Oh, Paul, not for a year! Think of poor father's memory."

"I do think of it, my darling, and I believe I am saying what your father himself would have said. The circ.u.mstances of the case are strange, as you are left with a lot of money and without a protector.

You know I love you for yourself, and would take you without a penny, but unless we marry soon, and you give me a husband's right, you will be pestered by people wanting to marry you." Paul thought of Grexon Hay when he made this last remark.

"But I wouldn't listen to them," cried Sylvia, with a flush, "and Debby would soon send them away. I love you dearest, dear."

"Then marry me next month," said Paul, promptly. "You can't stop here in this dull house, and it will be awkward for you to go about with Deborah, faithful though she is. No, darling, let us marry, and then we shall go abroad for a year or two until all this sad business is forgotten. Then I hope by that time to become reconciled to my father, and we can visit Wargrove."

Sylvia reflected. She saw that Paul was right, as her position was really very difficult. She knew of no lady who would chaperon her, and she had no relative to act as such. Certainly Deborah could be a chaperon, but she was not a lady, and Pash could be a guardian, but he was not a relative. Paul as her husband would be able to protect her, and to look after the property which Sylvia did not think she could do herself. These thoughts made her consent to an early marriage. "And I really don't think father would have minded."

"I am quite sure we are acting as he would wish," said Beecot, decisively. "I am so thankful, Sylvia sweetest, that I met you and loved you before you became an heiress. No one can say that I marry you for anything save your own sweet self. And I am doubly glad that I am to marry you and save you from all the disagreeable things which might have occurred had you not been engaged to me."

"I know, Paul. I am so young and inexperienced."

"You are an angel," said he, embracing her. "But there's one thing we must do"--and his voice became graver--"we must see Pash and offer a reward for the discovery of the person who killed your father."

"But Mr. Pash said let sleeping dogs lie," objected Sylvia.

"I know he did, but out of natural affection, little as your poor father loved you, we must stir up this particular dog. I suggest that we offer a reward of five hundred pounds."

"To whom?" asked Sylvia, thoroughly agreeing.

"To anyone who can find the murderer. I think myself, that Hurd will be the man to gain the money. Apart from any reward he has to act on behalf of the Treasury, and besides, he is keen to discover the mystery. You leave the matter to me, Sylvia. We will offer a reward for the discovery of the murderer of--"

"Aaron Norman," said Sylvia, quickly.

"No," replied her lover, gravely, "of Lemuel Krill."