The Argosy, April 1916 — page 57: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A MYSTERY OF ROSCOE CONKLING PARK. This was in itself a revelation to him, for the rooms he peeped into as he passed the open doors were furnished far above the style he remembered in the days of his for- mer visits. Grandfather Yale had grown to have luxurious tastes in his latter days. He not only went down the narrow stairs from the attic to the second story, but part way also down the front stairs that led to the hall. There he ensconced himself with - many a grimace of pain, and almost imme- diately heard Beverly’s voice. “Of course,” she was saying, “neither my husband, Mr. Owens, nor myself knows” what valuation the present owner, Mr. Yale, puts on either house or furniture.” “In a case of this kind,” responded the visitor, speaking gently, with a voice that seemed to have no volume, “the company is very particular. Now when old Mr. Yale was alive, even though he did not live on the place, he could put what valuation he liked on anything here, and it would be accepted by the company.” “Oh,” said Beverly, with the innocence of a child, ‘and do you mean that young Mr. Yale, ‘the present owner, has increased the valuation?”’ “On the furniture, but not on the house. Of course, suddenly to increase the valua- tion on an old frame house, without having built any additions, would attract atten- tion. People, however, are always buying new furniture, and the amount of the policy changes. My position with the company is what they call appraiser, or inspector of household goods. When Mr. Yale—Mr. Kenneth Yale—increased the face of his - policy five hundred dollars, naturally the company wanted to know what there was in the house to represent that value.” “Naturally the company would,” Yale heard Beverly say, and her remark was fol- lowed by a quiet little laugh. Oh, she was superb, this temporary Mrs. Owens. Yale could have kicked himself for letting even the shadow of a doubt cross his mind. But what was-the game? Yale had at- tended to the insurance on the house and barns, keeping the valuation at what it had been. He had made sure the taxes were paid up to date, and that no lien stood against the property. ~ But, so far as he knew, there was no in- surance on the furniture of any kind. He had never thought of it, much less raised - the amount. 47 He felt like creeping down to the living room in which the two were talking and at- tacking the liar where he was. But wise reflection showed him the absurdity of this. In his present crippled condition he was no match for any one. It would be impos- sible to make it clear to the old dame that a man who had accompanied Beverly into the house as a friend was to be hammered and thrown out as an enemy, so long as he did nothing wrong. He was doing, or planning something wrong now. But Yale could not imagine what it was, and what chance had he of telling the old woman who could not under- stand a word he said? Whatever the game was, it must be played as it started, between Beverly and the stranger, until something developed. “Mr. Owens, I presume, is not at home,” the stranger now said. There was a peculiar undertone to his speech, a lurking irony, that made Yale clench his fist and swear under his breath. He knew the fellow was well enough aware that he was talking to Beverly Wayne. He questioned whether he had not seen Yale’s face at the attic window. At any rate, with both Beverly and Yale missing from Utica, it would be natural enough for the false appraiser to conjecture that if Beverly was in Yale’s house, Yale was not far away. But still he could do nothing. ‘““My husband is not in the house,” Bev- erly answered with perfect composure. “He is somewhere about the farm, or at the mill. It was, in fact, the mill, that determined his choice. Mr. Owens is a machinist, and is thinking of utilizing the mill and a large portion of the land for the manufacture and trying out of war aeroplanes.” “You are not farmers, then. I thought so, from your appearance. Well now, Mrs. Owens, I trust you will pardon me for this seeming rudeness. If the furniture were yours I would accept your inventory. But as it belongs to Yale, I must make my own.” ‘Consider yourself free to do anything you wish,” Beverly answered. “And as I can be of no assistance to. you I will excuse myself. I am quite busy with my up-stairs work.” “Don’t let me detain you, Mrs. Owens. I will make my visit as short as possible.” Yale crept back to the floor above. She came slowly up, nothing in her manner giv- ing the slightest hint of agitation. comiclboool C@