She faced him. “If I had it, I wouldna tell ye,” she said quietly. “It’ll be enough if I ha’ to sacrifice myself. Speak no more to me about this business, John Corrie, for I ha’ nothing more to say. Only terrible thoughts.” And with that she left him.
CHAPTER XIV
Colin Hayward began the journey south with much to wonder about. He had obtained no light whatever on the extraordinary affair in front of the burning house, for Sam had not recovered consciousness. It was, indeed, doubtful whether he would ever do so. Colin had not the slightest suspicion as to the identity of the muffled coward whom he had seen fell the half-suffocated postman; he had not, owing to position, observed the former take anything from the latter’s helpless hand; neither had he in his rage noticed the crushed letter fall. It was in his path as he turned to the victim’s succour, and he had picked it up almost automatically, with some vague notion that it might be of consequence to somebody or other.
Then he had forgotten about it.
Now—an hour after leaving the junction—having exhausted the contents of his cigarette case, he put his hand into a pocket for a reserve packet, and encountered the document. He merely glanced at its heading, intending to place it in his letter-case for attention later. He had no intention of reading it through. Enough to learn to whom it belonged. But the words “My dear Corrie” arrested both hand and eye. Presently he told himself that there was nothing so very strange in this; the letter might easily have been dropped and left lying there hours before the ghastly affair took place. He noticed the date was of more than five years back. But in the same moment he was caught by the words “Kitty” and “Zeniths”—and “5,000 shares.”
“I’m afraid,” he said to himself, “I’ve got to read this whether I like it or not.”
It was a longish letter, written in a clear small hand on both sides of a large square sheet. The portion with which we are concerned was as follows:—
“You may perhaps find nothing in the enclosed share certificates (which, please note, are ‘bearer’) but a fresh evidence of my folly in worldly matters. Still, the Zenith Gold Mine is the only thing of the kind I ever put hard-earned money into. There are 5,000 £1 shares, and I paid 2s. apiece for them, and at the moment they are unsaleable. I acted on the advice of a friend who had seen the property, and who had knowledge of such things. He was convinced that the mine would come right in time—meaning years—and pay big dividends. Well, he may have been all wrong, and I the silliest of poor fools; but now, John, I put the shares in your keeping as a ‘possibility’ for Kitty, when she comes of age. I have never mentioned them to her—certainly not with any reference to herself—for I don’t want her to be more disappointed in me than I can help. Give them to her when she is twenty-one, and show her this letter, and if by any chance they are worth money then, or later, she will at least repay you what she may have cost you—though, of course, I am hoping she will earn enough to do that as she goes along.
N.B. Should you hear of the shares rising before then, you will just use your discretion, and do the best you can for my girl.”
Colin’s delight at the thought of Kitty having a fortune of her own was soon swamped by a flood of doubts and suspicions. The remainder of the journey was a sort of nightmare. Of only one thing could he assure himself as he neared London: Kitty’s fortune, were it in danger from persons in London or Dunford, was not going to be made an easier prey by any act of his. At first he had thought of showing the letter to Mr. Risk and asking his advice, but now he determined that his only course was to return to Dunford at the earliest possible moment, and put it into the hands of Kitty herself. He might be losing the chance of his life by such an action, and Mr. Risk might be the best and straightest of men, but Colin was so truly in love with the girl that the hopelessness of it made no difference. Consequently nothing but her happiness mattered.
It was about five o’clock when he reached Aberdare Mansions. He was admitted without delay to his employer’s study. Before he could speak, Mr. Risk, with a smile, said—