Scarhaven Keep by J. S. Fletcher (best value ebook reader TXT) 📕

at Scarhaven, just a week after the real Marston Greyle had died. He claimed to be Marston Greyle, he produced his papers. My father told about the Marston Greyle he’d buried. Martin pooh-poohed that⁠—he said that that man must be a secretary of his, Mark Grey, who, after stealing some documents had left him in New York and slipped across here, no doubt meaning to pass himself off as the real man until he could get something substantial out of the estate, when he’d have vanished. I tell you my father accepted that story⁠—why? Because he knew that if Miss Greyle there came into the estate, she and her mother would have bundled Peter Chatfield out of his stewardship quick.”

“Proceed, if you please,” said Sir Cresswell. “There are other details about which I am anxious to hear.”

“Meaning about your own brother,” remarked Addie. “I’m coming to that. Well, on his story and on his production of those papers⁠—birth certificates, Greyle papers of their life in America and so on⁠—everybody accepted Martin as the real man, and things seemed to go on smoothly till that Sunday when Bassett Oliver had the bad luck to go to Scarhaven. And now, Sir Cresswell, I’ll tell you the plain and absolute truth about your brother’s death! It’s the absolute truth, mind⁠—nobody knows it better than I do. On that Sunday I was at Scarhaven. I wanted to speak privately to Martin. I arranged to meet him in the grounds of the Keep during the afternoon. I did meet him there. We hadn’t been talking many minutes when Bassett Oliver came in through the door in the wall, which one of us had carelessly left open. He didn’t see us. But we saw him. And we were afraid! Why? Because Bassett Oliver knew both of us. He’d met Martin several times, in London and in New York⁠—and, of course, he knew that Martin was no more Marston Greyle than he himself was. Well!⁠—we both shrank behind some shrubs that we were standing amongst, and we gave each other one look, and Martin went white as death. But Bassett Oliver went on across the lawn, never seeing us, and he entered the turret tower and went up. Martin just said to me ‘If Bassett Oliver sees me, there’s an end to all this⁠—what’s to be done?’ But before I could speak or think, we saw Bassett at the top of the tower, making his way round the inside parapet. And suddenly⁠—he disappeared!”

Addie’s voice had become low and grave during the last few minutes and she kept her eyes on the table at the end. But she looked up readily enough when Sir Cresswell seized her arm and rapped out a question almost in her ear.

“Is that the truth⁠—the real truth?”

“It’s the absolute truth!” she answered, regarding him steadily. “I’m not altogether a good sort, nor a very bad sort, but I’m telling you the real truth in that. It was a sheer accident⁠—he stepped off the parapet and fell. Martin went into the base of the tower and came back saying he was dead. We were both dazed⁠—we separated. He went off to the house⁠—I went to my father by a roundabout way. We decided to let things take their course. You all know a great deal of what happened. But⁠—later⁠—my husband and Martin began to take certain things into their own hands. They put me on one side. To this minute, I don’t quite know how much my father got into their secrets or how little, but I do know that they determined to make what you might call a purse for themselves out of Scarhaven. Martin left certain powers in his brother’s hands and went off to London. He was there, hidden, until Andrius got all ready for a flight on the Pike. Then he set off to Scarhaven, to join her. But he didn’t join her, and none of us knew what had become of him until today, when we heard of what had been found at Scarhaven. That explained it⁠—he had taken that shortcut from the Northborough road through the woods behind the Keep, and fallen over the cliff at the Hermit’s steps. But that very night, you, Mr. Vickers, and Mr. Copplestone and Miss Greyle, nearly stopped everything, and if Andrius and Chatfield hadn’t carried you off, the scheme would have come to nothing. Well⁠—you know what happened after that⁠—”

“But,” interjected Vickers, quickly, “not your share in the last development.”

“My share’s been to see that the thing was up, and that if I wanted to save them all, I’d best put a stop to it,” rejoined Addie, with a grim smile. “I tell you, I didn’t know what they’d been up to until today. I was in England⁠—never mind where⁠—wondering what was going on. Yesterday I got a code message from my husband. When he fetched my father away from you, he forced him to tell where that gold was⁠—then he wired to me⁠—by wireless⁠—full instructions to recover it during last night. I did⁠—never you mind the exact means I took nor who it was that I got to help⁠—I got it⁠—and I took good care to put it where I knew it would be safe. Then this morning I went to meet the two of them at Scarvell’s Cut. And I took the upper hand then! I got them away from that sail loft⁠—safely. I made my husband give me a code message for the man in charge of the Pike, telling him to return at once to Scarhaven; I made my father write a note to Elkin at the bank, telling him to place the gold which I sent with it to the credit of the Greyle Estate. And when all that was done⁠—I got them away⁠—they’re gone!”

Vickers, who had never taken his eyes off Addie during her lengthy explanation, gave her a whimsical smile.

“Safely?” he asked.

“I’ll defy the police to find ’em, anyway,” replied Addie with a quick