The Opal Serpent Part 22

"I have lost the money, certainly," said Beecot, lighting his lamp, "but the wife will be mine as soon as I can save sufficient to give her a better home than this."

Monsieur le Comte de la Tour sat down and gracefully flung open his overcoat, so as to expose a spotless s.h.i.+rt front. "What?" he asked, lifting his darkened eyebrows, "so you mean to marry that girl?"

"Of course," said Paul, angrily; "do you think I'm a brute?"

"But the money?"

"What does that matter. I love her, not the money."

"And the name. Her birth--"

"I'll give her my own name and then we'll see who will dare to say a word against my wife."

Hurd stretched out his hand, and, grasping that of Beecot's, shook it warmly. "Upon my word you are a man, and that's almost better than being a gentleman," he said heartily. "I've heard everything from Mr. Pash, and I honor you Mr. Beecot--I honor you."

Paul stared. "You must have been brought up in a queer way, Hurd," he said drily, "to express this surprise because a man acts as a man and not as a blackguard."

"Ah, but you see in my profession I have mixed with blackguards, and that has lowered my moral tone. It's refres.h.i.+ng to meet a straight, honorable man such as you are, Mr. Beecot. I liked you when first I set eyes on you, and determined to help you to discover the a.s.sa.s.sin of Aaron Norman--"

"Lemuel Krill you mean."

"I prefer to call him by the name we both know best," said Hurd, "but as I was saying, I promised to help you to find out who killed the man; now I'll help you to get back the money."

Paul sat down and stared. "What do you mean?" he asked. "The money can't be got back. I asked a legal friend of mine, and put the case to him, since that monkey of a Pash has thrown us over. My friend said that as no name was mentioned in the will, Maud Krill would undoubtedly inherit the money. Besides, I learn that the certificate of marriage is all right. Mrs. Krill undoubtedly married Aaron Norman under his rightful name thirty years ago."

"Oh, yes, that's all right," said Hurd, producing a dainty silver cigarette case, which was part of his "get-up." "Mrs. Krill is the widow of the murdered man, and the silly way in which the will has been made gives the five thousand a year to her daughter, whom Mrs. Krill has under her thumb. It's all right as I say. But I shouldn't be surprised to learn that there were circ.u.mstances in Aaron Norman's past life which led him to leave his wife, and which may lead Mrs. Krill into buying silence by giving Miss Norman half the income. You could live on two thousand odd a year, eh?"

"Not obtained in that way," said Beecot, filling his pipe and pa.s.sing a match to Hurd. "If the money comes legally to Sylvia, well and good; otherwise she will have nothing to do with it."

Hurd looked round the bleak garret expressively and shrugged his shoulders again. "I think you are wrong, Mr. Beecot. You can't bring her here."

"No. But I may make enough money to give her a better home."

"Can I help you?"

"I don't see how you can. I want to be an author."

"Well," said Hurd, whose British speech was in strange contrast to his foreign appearance, "it's not a bad game to be an author if you get a good serial connection. Oh, don't look surprised. I know about newspapers and publishers as I know about most things. See here, Mr.

Beecot, have you ever tried your hand at a detective story?"

"No. I write on a higher level."

"You won't write on a more paying level," replied Hurd, coolly. "I know a newspaper which will give you--if I recommend you, mind--one hundred pounds for a good detective yarn. You apply for it."

"But I couldn't make up one of those plots--so intricate."

"Pooh. It's a trick. You set your puppets in such and such a way and then mix them up. I'll give you the benefit of my experience as a 'tec, and with my plot and your own writing we'll be able to knock up a story for the paper I talk of. Then, with one hundred pounds you'll have a nest-egg to start with."

"I accept with grat.i.tude," said Beecot, moved, "but I really don't know why you should trouble about me."

"Because you're a white man and an honorable gentleman," said the detective, emphatically. "I've got a dear little wife of my own, and she's something like this poor Miss Norman. Then again, though you mightn't think so, I'm something of a Christian, and believe we should help others. I had a hard life, Mr. Beecot, before I became a detective, and many a time have I learned that prayers can be answered. But this is all beside the question," went on Hurd quickly, and with that nervous shame with which an Englishman masks the better part of himself. "I'll see about the story for you. Meanwhile, I am going to a card-party to meet, incidentally, Mr. Grexon Hay."

"Ah! You still suspect him?"

"I do, and with good reason. He's got another mug in tow. Lord George Sandal, the son of Lord--well I needn't mention names, but Hay's trying to clear the young a.s.s out, and I'm on the watch. Hay will never know me as the Count de la Tour. Not he, smart as he is. I'm fly!"

"Do you speak French well?"

"Moderately. But I play a silent part and say little. I shut my mouth and open my eyes. But what I came here to say is, that I intend to find out the a.s.sa.s.sin of Aaron Norman."

"I can't offer you a reward, Hurd," said Paul, with a sigh.

"Oh, that's all right. The widow, by the advice of Pash, has doubled the reward. One thousand pounds it is now--worth winning, eh?"

"Humph!" said Paul, moodily, "I shouldn't think she loved her husband so much as that."

Hurd's brown eyes shot a red flame which showed that he was excited, though he was cool enough externally. "Yes," he admitted in a careless manner, "she certainly does act the weeping widow in rather an exaggerated fas.h.i.+on. However, she's got the cash now--or at least her daughter has, which is the same thing. The two have taken up their quarters in a fas.h.i.+onable hotel in the West End, and are looking for a house. The old woman manages everything, and she will be one too many for Mr. Hay."

"What? Does he know Mrs. Krill? He said he didn't."

"Quite right. He didn't when the ladies went first to Pash's office. But Hay, on the look-out for a rich wife, got Pash to introduce him to the ladies, who were charmed with him. He's making up to the daughter, even in the few weeks that have elapsed, and now is a.s.sisting them to find a house. The daughter loves him I fancy, but whether the mother will allow the marriage to take place I can't say."

"Surely not on such a short acquaintance."

Hurd bent forward as about to say something, then changed his mind.

"Really, I don't know--Hay is fascinating and handsome. Have you been to see him yet?"

"No. He asked me, but all these troubles have put him out of my head.

Why do you ask?"

"Because next time he invites you, go."

"You warned me against him."

"And I warn you again," said the detective, dryly. "Don't ask me to explain, for I can't. But you go to see Hay when he invites you, and make yourself agreeable, especially to Mrs. Krill."

"Am I likely to meet her?" asked Paul, with repugnance.

"Yes, I fancy so. After all, you are engaged to the daughter of the dead man, and Mrs. Krill--I don't count Maud, who is a tool--is a deucedly clever woman. She will keep her eye on you and Miss Norman."

"Why? She has the money and need take no further notice."

Hurd closed one eye in a suggestive manner. "Mrs. Krill may not be so sure of the money, even though possession is nine points of the law. You remember that sc.r.a.p of paper found by the maid?"

"In which Norman warned Sylvia against allowing his real name to become known? Yes."

"Well, the letter wasn't finished. The old man was interrupted, I suppose. But in the few lines of writing Norman says," here Hurd took a sc.r.a.p of paper--a copy--out of his book and read, "'If the name of Krill gets into the papers there will be great trouble. Keep it from the public, I can tell you where to find the reasons for this as I have written'--and then," said Hurd, refolding the paper, "the writing ends.

But you can see that Aaron Norman wrote out an account of his reasons, which could not be pleasant for Mrs. Krill to hear."