“Now, Mr What’s-your-name, do you live here?”
“No,” said Saul sharply, and he returned the other’s defiant look, and felt hard pressed to keep back his jealous rage as he saw Gertrude rest calmly, with her hand in that of the new-comer. “No – not yet,” he added to himself.
“Well, then, my dear sir, as I do – in future – and as I have come a very long journey, and am tired and hungry, and want to talk to miss here, perhaps you’ll be good enough to take your hat and get out.”
Saul’s eyes flashed, and his cheeks became of an uglier pallor, as he listened to this speech, which bore a strong resemblance to that of one of the late Mr Chucks, the boatswain, of “Peter Simple” fame. For it was all refinement at the beginning, and wandered off into argot that was the very reverse.
“I am not accustomed to be ordered out of this house, sir,” said Saul in a low voice, full of suppressed rage; “and I refuse to go until I have seen your credentials.”
“What!”
“And I’m not going to be bullied,” said Saul. “Your cowboy manners don’t frighten me; and if it wasn’t for the lady here, whom, in spite of her preference for an utter stranger, I am bound to protect, I’d just take you and show you how to behave in an English house.”
“Would you, sir? Then look here. Out in the West, from where I came, we have no policemen and magistrates at every corner, ready to do all our dirty work. We do it ourselves, and carry with us all that is ready and necessary for the job.”
He advanced menacingly towards Saul; and as he took his first step, his hand dropped Gertrude’s, and he put it behind him.
“George Harrington! For Heaven’s sake?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” he cried laughingly, taking her hand, laying it upon his arm, and stroking it gently. “I forgot. He riled me, and I felt as if I was back among the roughs out yonder. There, I don’t want to quarrel, Mr Saul Harrington. I suppose we are uncles and cousins or something of the kind. Shake hands, and let’s have a glass of something to show we are not bad friends. I suppose there is something in the house – eh, my dear?”
“Yes, but – ”
“Look here, sir,” cried Saul, ignoring the proffered hand, “I am not frightened by your Yankee, bullying ways, and I tell you what it is – ”
Saul Harrington did not tell the new-comer what it was, for the door opened, and Doctor Lawrence came in hastily.
“What’s the matter?” he cried. “Some one ill?”
“Yes, old gentleman,” said the stranger banteringly. “This chap – Mr Saul Harrington I think he calls himself – has got a fit.”
Doctor Lawrence gazed sharply at the speaker, and then placed his glasses upon his nose, as Gertrude withdrew her arm and hurriedly crossed to the doctor’s side.
“Yes, sir,” cried Saul fiercely, “a fit of indignation. I refused to – ”
“Oh, look here, let’s have an end of this. I don’t know who you are, old gentleman.”
“My name is Lawrence.”
“Well, then, Mr Lawrence – Oh, I know; you are my grandfather’s executor.”
“One of them, sir.”
“Well, I’ve come home at my grandfather’s wish, and I find he’s dead, and this man ready here to bully, and order, and insist upon my showing my papers.”
“Hum, my dear, don’t be alarmed,” said the doctor quietly; and then he turned to the last speaker. “You come as a stranger, sir, and it will be quite necessary for you to give ample proof that you are Mr George Harrington.”
“Of course, old gentleman, of course.”
“To me and my colleague, Mr Hampton; but I think Mr Saul Harrington might have waited till those who have a right to question come upon the spot. Lucky I came down.”
“You got my telegram?” said Gertrude.
“Telegram? No, my dear. I left home two hours ago. Now, Mr Saul, what have you to say?”
“Oh, I do not want to interfere,” said Saul quickly. “But there was no one here to protect Miss Bellwood.”
“Surely she needed no protection?” said the doctor, looking from one to the other.
“How do you know that, sir, when a man comes here assuming to be my cousin.”
“Assuming!” cried the new-comer very fiercely.
“Yes, assuming, sir. You refused to show any credentials.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t, and I don’t. But when a fellow begins to bully me, and to come the high-handed, I hit back. Look here, Mr Lawrence, has this Mr Saul Harrington any right to insist upon my clearing up to him?”
“None whatever, sir.”
“That’s enough. As to my refusing – not such a fool. Only we learn too much out in the West to begin opening out to every one who says, ‘I’m the proper moral custom-house officer: give up your keys.’”
“I only interfered as the executors were not present,” said Saul Harrington. “If this gentleman is what he professes to be, I shall only be too glad to give him the hand of welcome.”
“Thank ye for nothing. Now then, I’m hungry, so don’t let’s have any more jaw.”
Chapter Nine
Proofs of Identity
The new-comer was furnished with refreshment, and at the end of a couple of hours, after a long talk between Saul and Doctor Lawrence, the visitor rejoined them, just as there was a loud ring, steps, and, to Gertrude’s great delight, the lawyer entered the room.
“Who’s this?” said the young man sharply. “My fellow executor – Mr Hampton,” said the doctor. “Hampton, this is Mr George Harrington.”
“Oh, indeed,” said the old lawyer, setting down a very glossy silk hat, and depositing a new pair of black kid gloves therein. “Good-morning, my dear Miss Gertrude. Sit down, sir, pray.”
“Thank ye.”
“Mr Saul Harrington, are you going to stay to this little conference?”
“Certainly, sir. You know it concerns me very closely.”
“Ye-es,” said the lawyer, “true. Mr George Harrington?”
“Yes, sir. Mr Hampton, I am George Harrington.”
“You will excuse me, I am sure.”
“Oh, yes, old gentleman, go ahead.”
“You see Doctor Lawrence and I are the late Mr Harrington’s executors, and we have a duty to perform. In the pursuit of that duty we shall have to ask questions that may seem impertinent.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. Quite right. I’ll answer, only let’s get it done. Here! I like dogs,” he said softly to Gertrude, as he patted his leg, chirruped, and Bruno wagged his tail, trotted toward him, and then turned off, and went to the other side of where Gertrude was seated. “Ha, ha, ha! Dog wants to hear first whether I am the genuine article.”
Saul watched him closely, and the doctor and lawyer exchanged glances, as if satisfied by the bluff nonchalant manner of the claimant, who raised his eyes now, and looked long and searchingly at the portrait whose eyes met his.
“Will you be good enough, sir, to tell me whose son you are?”
“Eh? George and Isabel Harrington’s.”
“And when you were born?”
“No! Hang it all, sir, that’s a poser. Can’t recollect being born.”
The