The Herapath Property

cond w

And in point of strict fact, Barthorpe was both stunned by the news he had just received and plunged into deep speculation by a certain feature of it. He hurried along, scarcely knowing where he was going-but he was thinking all the same. And suddenly he pulled himself up and found that he had turned down Portman Street and was already in the thick

tered. "Some place in which t

exercise restored him; when the waiter had taken his simple order and gone away, Barthorpe was fully himself again. And finding himself in as satisfactory a state of privacy as he could desire, with none to overlook or

rew a letter, and as he unfold

ut not Upper Seymour Street any longer, I think. Now let's

e penmanship as that of his uncle's ex-secretary, Burchill, second witness to the will which had just been exhibited to him. Then he read, slowl

lengrove

a Val

ber 11

ar

than snap at a mastiff's heels. I am very well aware (having had the benefit of a year's experience of your character and temperament) that you have very little respect for unmoneyed people and are contemptuous of their ability to interfere with the mone

cret which you have taken such vas

onfidently expect to hear that you will take pleasure in obligin

faith

k Bur

ing to read the meanings, the implications, the subtly veiled threat. When he fo

ckma

gers on the table, and thought. Naturally, he thought of the writer of the letter. Of course, he said to himself, of course he knew Burchill. Burchill had been Jacob Herapath's private secretary for rather mo

f that secretary o

do?" Barthor

huckle, "and though Peggie's a girl of sense, that fellow's too good looki

private secretary a fellow who looked, dressed, spoke, and behaved like a play-actor. As it all came within the scope of things he mused on Burchill and his personal appearance, calling up the ex-secretary's graceful and slender figure, his oval, olive-tinted face, his large, dark, lustrous eyes, his dark, curling hair, his somewhat affected dress, his tall, wide-brimmed hats, hi

in that conversation of which Barthorpe was thinking. "B

he only will in existence, would leave him, Barthorpe, a ruined man. Burchill had written a letter to Jacob Herapath asking for some favour, reward, compensation, as the price of his silence about

nd interview Mr. Frank Burchill. In one way or another he must make sure of him, or, rather-though it was really the same thing-sure of what he could tell. And on t

obody of that name, she said. But on being assured that there once had been a lodger of that name in residence there, she observed

e ago," she said. "Nearly six mo

his letters were to be sent?" as

haven't been," answered the landlady. "And I'v

ely what he wanted. The three people whom he had left in Portman Square in all probability knew no other address than this at which to seek for Burchill when he was wante

ants. It was some time before Barthorpe succeeded in getting an answer to his ring and knock; when at last the door was opened Burchill himself looked out upon him, yawning, and in a dressing-gown. And n

ou see, I'm doing dramatic criticism now, and there was an important première last night at th

tes from the mantelpiece offered its contents to his visitor. Barthorpe, secretly wondering if all this

rchill?" he remarked good-humouredly, as he took the match which his ho

d a cigarette for hims

w who's going to turn up. But to be candid, I didn't

ase from his pocket, took Burchill's l

he said significantly. "That!

plendidly, and instead of writing dramatic criticism he ought to put on the sock and buskins himself. But somehow he

stance-in answering me? Foolish-foolish! Or, since that is, perhaps, too strong a

en he put the letter back in the case

you pretending? Or-haven't you heard? Say-th

dropped his cigarette, and when he straightened him

ed. "I didn't know. Dead! Wh

rthorpe. "Sudden?

genuine signs of surprise. He stood staring at Barthorpe for a full minute of

eard nothing. But I've not been out since two o'clock this morning, so how could I hear

g my uncle's will," replied Barthorpe prompt

of C