Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 7, 1922 — page 145: what you’re looking at

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

“I’m listening, Sir Stephen.” “J wish I could turn the whole blame thing over to you, title an’ all.” “ Thank goodness, you can’t.” “Well, here’s what ican do. You know that under Piers’s will I get not only the Holt—which was never his to give—but the little Walton Knoll estate that was his own. fiis wish was that I pass it on to you by deed. He didn’t leave # to you direct. Piers thought eof everything. Maybe he guessed, knowing how he'd treated you, that you wouldn’t take # at his hands.” “ And maybe he was right,” said Bea- trice, “but TH take it at yours, Stephen. Watton Knoll—a dream of a little piace. The house on the cliff gap—the old tower, where you were trapped tke a weasel—the most romantic spot in Essex. And the es- tate, with management and a little hard work, could be made to pay much more than it does now.” “But that ain't enough,” said Stephen. “The Knoll estate don’t bring in twelve hundred a year. Now, see. Our dad left no will, but it’s sure he meant you to have that loose hunted thousand which don’t go with the entail. The same,” added Ste- phen, with a twinkle, “that Piers offered you as your share, if you’d shake me an’ go back to him at the start. I make that over to you, too.” Beatrice shook her head. “Nothing doing, Stephen. I don’t take it. Please don’t you quarrel with me, too.” “ You refuse?” ‘“‘T have no wish to be a rich woman— not at present,” said Beatrice wistfully. “ It would only be another obstacle.” Stephen looked glum. He knew what she meant. His sister turned to him quite frankly. “What news of Dickie? 1’m begmming to think he’s as crazy as Mad Matt. ‘I’ve a crow to-pick with Dickie.” ‘‘ An’ I hope you'll make the feathers fly,” said Stephen viciously. “‘ Dickie has treated us real mean. I wouldn’t have be- lieved it of him.” Richard had, in fact, basely betrayed them both. A fortnight earlier he had descended from his sick room, barely convalescent. On that same day Stephen 291 and Beatrice were summoned to London by Mr. Whitehouse. They returned the following afterncon, to find that Richard had quietly vanished from the Holt, leaving no word behind. Four days later they received a letter, bald, brief and dry, saying that he would commenicate with them later, and that he considered his presence unnecessary. He gave no address. Richard’s absence left a gap in the House of Marney that nothing could fill. The partnership seemed but a shadow of itself. And Stephen observed very plainty that the light bad gone out of his sister’s life. Her pleasure in his own victory was somewhat dulled. ‘* No,” satd Stephen, “ I’ve no more news. But he’ll come back.” “Tm not so sure. not—” “The old Windflower is down in the creek yet. He’s bound to return to her—” “IT go down and tend her every day,” said Beatrice rather tremulously. “I can’t keep away from her. But—” Stephen, watching her, saw her cheeks flush swiftly and her eyes light up. She ‘was not lecking at him at all. ‘You were right, Stephen, and I was wrong.” Richard’s. tall figure was approaching at an easy, unconcerned pace up the drive. Fie looked a little dusty and travel-stained; his face was rather thin; there were lines under his eyes. He raised his hat as he came up te them, and, smiling, held out a hand to Beatrice. She caught both his in her own. “ Betty,” said Richard before she could speak, “‘ the Holt suits you better than the old Windflower—yeu’re looking fine.” He freed one hand and extended it to Ste- phen. “TI hear you’ve won, old man.” “Thanks to you.” “Dickie,” said Beatrice fiercely, ‘‘ what do you mean by it? How dared you sneak away like that?” “There’s. a time for all things,” said Richard. He tried to speak lightly, but his voice was constrained and his smile formal. It did not suit him im the least. “The Holt doesn’t suit me as well as it Stephen, if he does comicboooks C©