Part 6 (1/2)
”You have no need, my dear sir,--no need whatever.”
”No need!” repeated the younger man in astonishment, for the words seemed like an insinuation that he knew the secret means by which he intended to evade his difficulties. ”Why, what do you mean?” he asked seriously. ”I tell you, it is pay or smash with me.”
”I regret to hear that, but you will adopt the former course,” Graham replied mysteriously.
Hugh laughed sarcastically.
”That's very likely, when I have no money. But, look here, what do you want with me?”
”To impart some news.”
”News!” exclaimed Trethowen, suddenly interested. ”Good or bad?”
”Both.”
”What is it? Tell me quickly,” he demanded, with an impatient gesture.
”Simply this. I wish to congratulate you upon your inheritance.”
”What inheritance?”
”Well, the information it is my pleasure to communicate will undoubtedly cause you mingled pain and satisfaction. Briefly, your brother, Douglas Trethowen, is dead, and--”
”What!” cried Hugh, starting to his feet in amazement. ”You're humbugging me!”
”I repeat, your brother is dead,” resumed the old solicitor calmly, looking intently into the face of the man before him. ”In consequence of that event you inherit the whole of the estate.”
”Good heavens, is this true, Graham?” he asked breathlessly.
”It is. Therefore I don't think you need trouble yourself over creditors any longer. You can now pay, and wipe them out.”
The old man laughed at the effect his words had produced, for Hugh Trethowen was standing in mute astonishment.
”But how do you know Douglas is dead?” he asked.
”There is little doubt of it,” answered Mr. Graham coolly. ”Read this,”
and he handed him a newspaper cutting.
Hugh scanned it eagerly, with an expression of abject amazement. The statement was to the effect that it had just transpired that the man found murdered in an omnibus at Charing Cross had been identified as Mr.
Douglas Trethowen, of Coombe Hall, Cornwall. Upon the body some cards and letters had been found, which, for some unaccountable reason, had at first been kept secret by the police.
”I can scarcely believe it,” Hugh e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed at length. ”Besides, after all, it is not absolutely certain that it is he.”
”Not at all,” admitted Graham, with a puzzled look. ”Of course, you, as his brother, must identify him.”
”Yes,” said the other, very thoughtfully; for it had suddenly occurred to him that he had not recognised the features when he saw the body taken from the omnibus.
”No time must be lost,” observed the solicitor. ”The ident.i.ty must be established at once. The inquest will, I believe, be held to-morrow.”
Hugh hesitated, and for some moments remained silent.