The Alington Inheritance

Then Monday morning, and the papers with the unbelievable news -MURDER ON HAZELDON HEATH. He was expecting that, and read on. The paper dropped from his grasp. He hadn’t killed Je

After a minute or two he picked up the paper again. There was something in his having killed a girl he had never heard of. He read all about her. She was Miriam Richardson, and she was the cousin of Mrs. Merridew whom he knew by name because she had a relation in Alingford- Miss Crampton, the late Vicar’s daughter, for whom he had a strong detestation. Mrs. Merridew stayed there occasionally. He hadn’t known that she was living at Hazeldon. There were too many old women in the world-that was a fact.

He went on reading about Miriam Richardson. She had gone up on to Hazeldon Heath to meet a man, one Jimmy Mottingley. A sense of her folly rushed upon him. Mrs. Merridew lived next door. What had possessed Miriam Richardson to come in where Je

So the girl had a lover. That was who Jimmy Mottingley was. And he had arrived late, and he had killed her-killed her. Well, it made quite a good story, and quite a likely one. A girl with a hot temper would be pretty wild if she had had to wait three quarters of an hour or so on a dark deserted heath. It was a black empty place for a girl to wait.

A sense of its blackness and emptiness swept over him as he read. He crushed it down. It had nothing to do with him. None of it had anything to do with him. Miriam Richardson was nothing to him. It was Je

A cold rage possessed him. He had made a fool of himself-had run into the utmost danger and had gained nothing. And somewhere in all this welter of mistakes-somewhere there was the note that he had written to Je

What must he do? That was what mattered now. That was all that mattered. He began to pace the room. What mattered most was the note. If he could only remember whether he had dated it or not-it had simply never occurred to him when he was writing it to think that Je

As he paced the room he was not conscious of any remorse about Miriam’s death. He regarded her as negligible. He had meant to kill Je

The revulsion came-a cold, deadly revulsion. Je

The note-what had happened to it? He saw no reason to suppose that it had never reached her.

And the note lay in Dicky Pratt’s pocket screwed up in a welter of the things boys carry in their pockets. No one had read it except Mac himself. There was no one to tell him that it was quite neatly and legibly dated in the top left-hand corner.

Chapter XXVIII

By Saturday Mac had made up his mind that no harm was going to come of his unfortunate note. Either it had not reached Je

He went down to Alington House on Saturday. Mrs. Forbes looked up as he came in. He kissed her carelessly and went to stand in front of the fire. The day was a cold one for September, and he had driven fast.

“Any more news of Je

Mrs. Forbes had been writing letters. She rose now and came to the fire.

“Je

“A murder case? Good heavens!”

Mrs. Forbes bent down and put another log on the fire.

“I told you she was at Hazeldon-I’m sure I did. Well, a girl who was staying next door was murdered, and they say that Je

“My dear Mother, this sounds interesting. Je

“Oh, just that the girl had dropped in to see them-that is, Je

He said carelessly, “I can’t think why.”

“Oh, just to fix the time she left the house, I should think. I got a whole dose of it this morning in the village.”

“The village? This village?”

“Oh well, I’m sure I told you about Mrs. Merridew being a cousin of Miss Crampton’s. You remember?”

“Yes, I remember. A little squit of a thing with poison under a honeyed tongue.”

“Yes, that’s her. But don’t let anyone hear you say it. Miss Crampton is very much respected.” She made an impatient gesture.

Mac stooped down and adjusted the log.

“I saw something about it in the papers. I didn’t really co

“Good heavens, I hope not!”

He laughed.

“It’s a wise parent who knows what his children are thinking about! Do you suppose that you really knew anything at all about Alan and me when we were that age?”

Mrs. Forbes felt a cold touch of fear, she didn’t know why. The words were nothing, and the tone in which they were said was light enough, but something swept over her like a dark shadow. It was gone again almost before she had recognized it. It was nothing-nothing at all. She couldn’t think why for a moment there had been that frightening blackness. In a revulsion of her feeling she laughed.

“My dear boy, how ridiculous that sounds!”

“Does it? I don’t mind betting that what fathers and mothers don’t know about their children would fill more books than what they think they do know. I could tell you all sorts of things.” He pushed the log with his foot and a sudden flame shot up. “But I don’t think I will. It might keep you awake at night.”

Mrs. Forbes smiled rather vaguely. The mood that had touched her was so completely gone that she couldn’t even remember it. She was thinking about Je