Adventure, February 1917 — page 108: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

106 He paused for an answer. None came. The bold hawk-eyes stared at him. “T’ll let that go as said. I had every rea- son—but that isnomatternow. You know, I suppose, that young Page telegraphed in answer to an advertisement of mine? Prob? ably you guessed. Well, all that I saw and heard made me more and. more. certain. Youw-see, the point was this: “The jury only refrained — bringing in a verdict of wilful murder against God-- frey Campbell’s wife because they thought she was dead. I thought the same, but did not think it absolutely proved she was. You see, after the affair was over and for- gotten, Vd engaged detectives on my own account, and they raked up a thing or two —not much, but it made me think. So I spent a good bit on advertisement. And then came the cable from young Page.” “T thought it was that little devil,” com- mented Slade pitilessly. “He has got his own.” ; - “And I was quite certain then. It found me in Australia; I’d gone to renew some old friendships of my Australian Station days—and as I was so near, I came on.” Campbell paused for a moment, obviously collecting his thoughts. . “To go back. The Campbells are what’s _ known as a ‘good’ family, in an ordinary way; commercial on a large scale, and all that. There was a mésalliance in my great- grandfather’s time. His brother married a _ pretty barmaid of a very low class; no one knew anything about her people. She died mad—mad with drink; put an end to her- self. It was hushed up. Godfrey’s father, my granduncle, was her son. My father, thank God, had a different sort of mother. Well, you can imagine the family wasn’t proud of the alliance, and it was never spoken of; people didn’t bother about her- edity in those days anyhow. So when poor old Godfrey pegged out——”’ Slade interrupted; the suspense, under- neath his Egyptian-granite calm of coun- tenance, was sickening him. ‘Do you mind —this is what I’d call rather much yap before the beginning of the story. Do I understand you to say you’ve concluded Mr. Godfrey Campbell committed suicide?”’. “Not on that evidence alone; it wouldn’t satisfy any jury in the world. There’s more. Godfrey’s father had an old house- keeper till a year or so ago; woman named Adventure > Sige ~ Riddle, attached to the family and all that. Seems she was twice married, and poor old Page was her son. He was too much of a snob to say anything about a mother who was only a servant, so nobody here knew, not even his own boy. He used to try and pose==—”” “T know. Go on!” “But all the same I judge he was fond of her; used to write and get\letters, and hear all the news. Now it seems old Mrs. Rid- dle was really a connection of the family, and they gave her a job to keep her from talking; her husband was the brother of the barmaid. So Page was a cousin of the Campbells; he didn’t brag about that, be- cause he couldn’t have done it without let- ting out that his mother was a servant. “T must tell you how I know all this, by the way. The box of papers the poor old boy wanted—I found it on the ship this morning—was one that contained his moth- er’s letters, and a bit of her hair, and a pho- a oe of her grave. I think, in some dim way, he knew he was very ill and hankered after her, as one does, when it’ S getting on that way. _ “Well, he couldn’t read the letters when he got them, so I tried to read them to him. Poor old beggar! You should have seen his twisted face on the pillow, looking at me out of one eye. I saw he didn’t understand a word, so I stopped, and put them in my pocket. And I told the nurse to look out for him all she could, and went out onthe top of the hill to read ‘the letters myself. It occurred to me there was more about the Campbell case in them than any man had a right to keep to himself. I needn’t bother you with all the details; but it struck me very hard that the old lady kept warning him against drink as she did. In one ot the letters Ss “Give it to me, please,” said Slade. Campbell felt in his pocket, sorted some papers, and handed over a letter written on handsome note-paper, in an uneducated hand. My DEAR SON: This leaves me well, hoping it finds my dear boy the same, and if you ever think of coming home to England to see your poor old mother, I shall be very, very thankful, but if not, God’s will be done. My dear, boy, I hope you keep well and that above all things you keep off the drink, for it is what -has been the ruin of your fa- ther’s people. And more than one has died by his own hand, being out of his mind, the worse for drink. (EO) Gomicbooks