Detective and mystery stories; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction
She was a simple soul and fell easily into the trap. In half an hour Mr.
Ransom was ensconced in a pleasant room over the porch, a room which he
soon learned possessed many advantages. For it not only overlooked the
main entrance, but was so placed as to command a view of all the rooms on
his hall. In two of those rooms he bade fair to be greatly interested,
Mrs. Deo having remarked that they were being prepared for a lady who was
coming that night. As he had no doubt who this lady was, he encouraged
the good woman to talk, and presently had the satisfaction of hearing her
say that she was very happy over this lady's coming, as she was a Sitford
girl, one of the old family of Hazens, and though married now and very
rich was much loved by every one in town because she had never forgotten
Sitford or Sitford people.
She was coming! He had made no mistake. And this was the place of her
birth, just as he had decided when he saw that long line of oxen! He
realized how fortunate he was, or rather how indebted he was to Mr.
Harper, since in this place only could he hope to gain satisfaction on
the mooted point raised by that same gentleman. If she had been born
here, so had her twin sister; so had the brother whose claims lay counter
to that sister's. Both must have been known to these people, their
persons, their history and the circumstances of their supposed deaths.
The clews thus afforded must prove invaluable to him. From them he must
soon be able to ascertain in which story to place faith and which
claimant to believe. He might have interrogated his hostess, but feared
to show his interest in the supposed stranger. He preferred to wait a few
hours and gather his facts from other lips.
Meantime it rained.
CHAPTER VIII
ELIMINATION
At about three o'clock in the afternoon Mr. Ransom left his room. He had
been careful almost from his first arrival to sit with his door ajar. He
had, therefore, only to give it a slight push and walk out when he heard
the bustle of preparation going on in the two rooms in whose future
occupancy he was so vitally interested. A maid stood in the hall. A man
within was pushing about furniture. The landlady was giving orders. His
course down-stairs did not lead him so far as those rooms, so he called
out pleasantly:
"I have written till my head aches, Mrs. Deo. I must venture out
notwithstanding the rain. In which direction shall I find the best
walking?"
She came to him all eagerness and smiles. "It's all bad, such a day,"
said she, "but it's muddiest down by the factories. You had better climb
the hill."
"Where the cemetery is?" he asked.
"Yes; do you object to cemeteries? Ours is thought to be very
interesting. We have stones there whose inscriptions are a hundred and
fifty years old. But it's a bad day to walk amongst graves. Perhaps you
had better go east. I'm sorry we should have such a storm on your first
day. Must you go out?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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