England -- Fiction; Murder -- Investigation -- Fiction; Mystery and detective stories
Mr. Carver lived and worked in a dusty, dingy, dreary house near
Mercery Lane. His rooms were above--he was a bachelor, dry and
crusty--and his offices below. Two clerks, as lean as their master,
worked in the dismal outer office, and in the inner apartment, the
window of which looked on to a mews, Mr. Carver sat all day, and often
far into the night. The appearance of so charming and blooming a woman
as Dora quite lighted up the musty, fusty den. Her fresh beauty had
little effect upon Carver, who regarded women as the root of all evil.
The generally accepted root of all evil is money. This he approved of
and hoarded; but women--he could not bear them, save in the light of
clients, and then they gave him endless trouble.
"Mr. Carver," said Dora, facing the saturnine lawyer on the other side
of the table, "I have called to see you about my financial position. I
was, as you know, a ward of Mr. Edermont's"--Carver nodded--"and he
has left me the Red House and two hundred a year." Mr. Carver nodded
again. "But what about my own income of five hundred a year?"
"What five hundred a year?" said Carver grimly.
"The income which was left me by my parents."
"I was not aware that any income had been left to you by your parents,
nor, for the matter of that--if you will excuse me--was I aware that
you had any parents."
"What do you mean, sir?" asked Dora, sitting up very straight.
"Why," said the lawyer meditatively, "it is not hard for you to gather
my meaning. I never saw your parents--I never heard mention of them.
All I know is that my late client arrived here with you, and shortly
after his arrival purchased the Red House. You were then a year old,
and as twenty years have now elapsed, it makes you twenty-one," added
Mr. Carver in parenthesis. "My late client said that you were an
orphan, Carew by name, whom he intended to bring up; but as to
parents, or history, or income--I know nothing about them, absolutely
nothing."
"But Mr. Edermont assured me that I had five hundred a year of my
own!" stammered Dora, taken aback by this plain speaking. "He handed
me money from time to time, and stated frequently that he was saving
the rest of the income to give me when I came of age. If this is so, I
ought to be entitled to at least eight thousand pounds."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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