"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."
"I congratulate you on your logical arguments, and on your business capabilities," said Carver with grave irony; "but I am afraid that you are mistaken, or else that the late Mr. Edermont deceived you wilfully--a thing which I can hardly believe. I know all the details of my late client's monetary affairs. As I said before, I purchased for him the Red House freehold some twenty years ago--shortly after his arrival in the neighbourhood. The two hundred per annum which you inherit under the will is the rental of three farms, which I purchased at a later period for him. The silver, furniture and pictures, which you also inherit, he brought with him from his last dwelling-house. Finally, Miss Carew," added the lawyer, with the air of a man who is making a satisfactory statement, "I know precisely how he invested that fifty thousand pounds which, by the will, has been so foolishly offered as a reward for the discovery of the murderer of the testator. All these matters I can explain and prove, but as regards your supposititious income of five hundred pounds, I know nothing. There are," concluded Mr. Carver calmly, "neither letters, nor scrip, nor documents of any kind whatsoever among the papers of my late client which can in the least substantiate your statement, or even hint at the possibility of such a thing."
Dora listened to this long speech in silent amazement. She had never contemplated the possibility of such a deception--for now it seemed plainly a deception. Why Edermont should have told so many lies, and fostered in her a belief that she was independent as regards pecuniary matters, she could not understand. Carver waited for her to argue the matter, but Dora made no attempt to do this. The lawyer's explanation was so clear and decisive that she saw no reason to doubt his honesty. Besides, he had been always well-disposed towards her, and no motive could exist to induce him to deceive her.
"Then I am penniless?" she murmured in dismay. "Mr. Edermont deceived me!"
"Apparently he did deceive you," assented Mr. Carver, placing the tips of his fingers together; "but if you will permit me to remind you, Miss Carew, you are not penniless."