In Jeopardy

by Van Tassel Sutphen

Horace Hildebrand, elder son of Randall; succeeded his father, 1862; died, 1865; aged thirty-five; no issue.

Richard Hildebrand, younger son of Randall; succeeded his brother, 1865; died, 1918; aged eighty-three; no issue.

Francis Hildebrand Graeme, great-nephew to Richard; succeeded his great-uncle, 1918; died, 1919; aged forty-five; no issue.

Now as we analyze these dates and periods we come upon some curious coincidences; and also, upon some marked discrepancies. For example, Yardley Hildebrand reigned for one brief year, and the same is true of Randall Hildebrand and of Francis Graeme. But Horace enjoyed three full years of sovereignty, while Richard was Hildebrand of the "Hundred" for no less a period than fifty and three years. Yet all five went to their death along an unfrequented road, and no man can say of a certainty what was the essential damnation of their taking-off. They died, and they died alone—here in this very room where I sit waiting, waiting.

I dare say that you, Hugh Hildebrand, will read what I have written here, and I have now a word for your ear alone. Not long ago John Thaneford gave you your choice—Betty or the "Hundred." You could not have both.

Well, you possess your wife; take her and go in peace; stay, and you do so at your unending peril. I leave you this warning merely to clear the ground for the assertion of John Thaneford's rights in the estate; they will be defended, and all the odds are against you. So I warn you, but it would be idle for me to pretend to any philanthropic motive, and there is but small show of friendship between us. You have treated me with courtesy, even with kindness, and I am not unmindful of the obligation imposed upon me. But I must be perfectly frank: you are in the way; either you go of your own volition, or you will be removed—at the appointed time. It may be in one year, or in three years, or in three and fifty years; upon that point I cannot speak definitely. But there was only one man out of the five who drew a long straw—remember that.

Neither have I any cause of quarrel with you, Cousin Betty Graeme. You have been very good to a poor and proud relation; and what little measure of human affections I had left over—after John Thaneford had turned me inside out, like an old glove, and flung me on the dust heap—was truly given to you. Believe me, then, when I tell you that if your happiness is bound up with the life of your husband, there is but one way of preserving it; you must persuade him to relinquish "Hildebrand Hundred," and be content with the ready money and the personal property specifically bequeathed in Francis Graeme's will. I dare say you will have difficulty in bringing this about; men are so ridiculously stubborn and unwilling to take a woman's advice that I do not expect to see my counsel followed. But when the blow does fall do me the favor to remember that I gave you fair and honorable warning.

This is not a confession. It is true that Cousin Francis Graeme came to his death through violence, but I had no share in it, direct or indirect. Seeing that I am waiting to follow him over the same dark and unfrequented road that he has already traveled, I can speak no more and no less than the truth.

At the same time I have no hesitation in admitting the essential correctness of the deductions offered by Chalmers Warriner as to my share in what happened posterior to the event. I was on the library terrace that Tuesday noon, and I did receive a message from Sugar Loaf that the way was clear for me to enter the library and secure the will which disinherited John Thaneford. I don't like dead men, but I am not afraid of them, and I should have examined the despatch-box on the spot had I not been disturbed by the knocking at the door—I mean the effort of the negro peddler, Dave Campion, to gain access to Mr. Graeme. Then it occurred to me that as I should have to leave by the postern-door, as I had entered, it might prove useful in the future to cover my trail. Accordingly, I snatched, at random, a cocoon from the case, dabbed it with library gum, and stuck it in place over the crack, just as Mr. Warriner was clever enough to figure out.

But I had run the risk to no purpose; the new will was not in the despatch-box, and John Thaneford would be disinherited after all. Then I reflected that it was a bare possibility that Cousin Francis had postponed the making of the new will; in this case the earlier testament would remain in force. Obviously, I must get the despatch-box containing it back in the library before any formal examination should be made of the surroundings. My chance came unexpectedly when Effingham was left on guard at the library door. As you already know, I sent him upstairs on an errand, having first secured from him the master-key. I re-entered the library, put the box back in its original position, and was standing quietly at the door when Betty and Doctor Marcy arrived.