For Fortune and Glory: A Story of the Soudan WarHough, Lewis
History
For Fortune and Glory: A Story of the Soudan War
Hough, Lewis
Great Britain -- History, Military -- 19th century -- Fiction; Sudan -- History -- 1881-1899 -- Fiction
"Oh, bother! I don't look so deep into things as that," said Strachan;
"I can't declare a war, and I would not take the responsibility if I
could; but if it comes and does me good, I can't help liking it. It is
like winning a wager--I am sorry the other chap should lose, but I am
consoled by the reflection that I win."
"Exactly," said Harry; "and I strongly expect that I should lose by any
disturbance in the Soudan, and that Kavanagh would too. It is a long
story; but you are such an old friend that it won't bore you, Strachan,
though it does not concern you personally. You both know all about the
will and its mysterious disappearance, so I need not recapitulate that.
Well, I have been to Ireland and seen the lawyers--Burrows and Fagan. I
could not make much of Burrows, who is a duffer; but Fagan has his wits
about. He had never had to do with that branch of the business, but now
the credit of the firm was at stake he busied himself in making
searching and pertinent inquiry. A sharpish boy-clerk was certain that
the will was left at the office, and kept in the Burke deed box in the
late Mr Burrows' time; and, when closely pressed and questioned, the
present Burrows recalled having seen it there since he came into the
partnership. Then the question arose--Who could profit by its
disappearance? The answer was, if a former will were in existence,
Philipson--my uncle's son-in-law, who was his original heir--would. But
the old will is not forthcoming either, and Philipson is done both ways,
for he neither gets the property left him by the first will, nor the
allowance secured to him by the second. Indeed, he is barely existing
on small sums advanced him by a speculative solicitor on the chance of
one of the wills turning up. I saw a lot of Philipson: such a jolly
nose--like a big red truffle. He said he was certain the late head
clerk--a chap of Egyptian or Arab extraction, named Daireh--had got the
will, or wills, having abstracted them after my uncle's death, because
he had hinted at being able to tell him how to find them, and had
appointed the Sunday to meet him, but had failed to keep tryst, and had
disappeared. All this had to be wormed out of Philipson, who spoke very
reluctantly at first. And I suspect he is as big a rascal as the other,
and was in a plot with him to destroy will Number 2, and prove will
Number 1, only the other would not trust him, but wanted money down.
The reason he did not keep his appointment is evident, for the police
wanted him for forgery about a fortnight later, and of course he had
found out that he was discovered, and made tracks at once without
waiting to come to terms with Philipson. The police have tried to track
him everywhere without hitting on a ghost of a clue beyond London, from
which place a letter was sent to his employers. But I know the
direction in which to look for him."
"You do?" cried Kavanagh, much interested.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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