Part 9 (1/2)
And a fourth time Doctor Hilary repeated them.
At the end of a lengthy interview, James Glieve opened the door of his sanctum to show Doctor Hilary out.
”You might give my kindest remembrances--” he stopped. ”Bless my soul, I was just going to send my remembrances to old Nick, and we've been spending the last hour settling up his will. Where's my memory going! I shall probably run down in a few days, and go through matters with you on the spot. A--er, a melancholy pleasure to see the old place again.
What?”
Henry Parsons, within the room, lost this last speech; therefore it found no echo.
When Antony entered the private sanctum of James Glieve, he saw a stout red-faced man, with a suspicion of side whiskers and a slight appearance of ferocity, seated at a desk. On his right, and insignificant by comparison, was a small grey-haired and rather dried-up man.
”Mr. Antony Gray?” queried the red-faced man, looking at Antony over his spectacles.
Antony bowed.
”You come in answer to our communication regarding the will of the--er, late Mr. Nicholas Danver?” asked James Glieve.
”I do,” responded Antony. And he drew the said communication from his pocket, and laid it on the table.
James Glieve glanced at it. Then he leant back in his chair, put his elbows on its arms, and placed the tips of his fingers together.
”The--er, the conditions of the will are somewhat unusual,” he announced.
”It is my duty to set them plainly before you. Should you refuse them, we are to see that you are fully recompensed for any expense and inconvenience your journey will have entailed. Should you, on the other hand, accept them, it is understood that as a man of honour you will fulfil the conditions exactly, not only in the letter, but in the spirit.”
”In the spirit,” echoed Henry Parsons.
Antony bowed in silence.
”Of course, should you fail in your contract,” went on James Glieve, ”the will becomes null and void. But it would be quite possible for you to keep to the contract in the letter, while breaking it merely in the spirit, in which case probably no one but yourself would be aware that it had been so broken. You will not be asked to sign any promise in the matter. You will only be asked to give your word.”
”To give your word,” said Henry Parsons, looking solemnly at Antony.
”Yes,” said Antony quietly.
James Glieve pulled a paper towards him.
”The conditions,” he announced, ”are as follows. I am about to read what the--er, late Mr. Nicholas Danver has himself written regarding the matter.”
He cleared his throat, and pushed his spectacles back on his nose.
Antony looked directly at him. In spite of the business-like appearance of the room, the business-like att.i.tude of the two men opposite to him, he still felt that odd Arabian Nights' entertainment sensation. The room and its occupants seemed to be masquerading under a business garb; it seemed to need but one word--if he could have found it--to metamorphose the whole thing back to its original and true conditions, to change the room into an Aladdin's cave, and the two men into a friendly giant and an attendant dwarf. The only thing he could not see metamorphosed was George, the office-boy-butler. He retained his own appearance and personality. He appeared to have been brought--as a human boy, possibly--into the entertainment, and to have grown up imperturbably in it. Though quite probably, under his present respectable demeanour, he was well aware of the true state of affairs, and was laughing inwardly at it.
James Glieve cleared his throat a second time, and began.
”The conditions under which I make the aforesaid Antony Gray my heir,” he read, ”are as follows. He will not enter into possession of either property or money for one year precisely from the day of hearing these conditions. He shall give his word of honour to make known to no person whatsoever that he is my heir. He shall live, during the said year, in a furnished cottage on the estate, the cottage to be designated to him by my friend Doctor Hilary St. John. He will undertake that he lives in that cottage and nowhere else, not even for a day. He will live as an ordinary labourer. That this may be facilitated he will have a post as one of the under-gardeners in the gardens of Chorley Old Hall. Golding, the head-gardener, will instruct him in his duties. He will be paid one pound sterling per week as wage, and he shall pay a rent of five s.h.i.+llings per week for the cottage. He will undertake to use no income or capital of his own during the said year, nor receive any help or money from friends.
Briefly, he will undertake to make the one pound per week, which he will earn as wage, suffice for his needs. He will take the name of Michael Field for one year, and neither directly nor indirectly will he acquaint any one whomsoever with the fact that it is a pseudonym. In short, he will do all in his power to give the impression to everyone that he is simply and solely Michael Field, working-man, and under-gardener at Chorley Old Hall.