The Complete Adventures of Hazard & Partridge Read Online Free PDF Page B

her.
    It was in no gentle mood that I pursued her. Remember, to me she was at best a housebreaker, and I suppose my nerves were somewhat tense and jumpy, too. She got into the hall before I caught her arm in a grip that must have hurt, and I’m afraid it was with scant courtesy that I drew her back into the parlor.
    But, once there and the lights turned on, I like to remember I released her quickly.
    “I beg your pardon, miss,” I said.
    II
    IT’S been a saving principle of mine to apply as little thought as possible to feminine beauty. This from, I hope, no innate lack of appreciation in me—but I’ll omit self-analysis and simply say that it was something more than beauty that made me instinctively apologize to the intruder. Character was stamped on her sensitive yet sanely strong and sensible face. Whatever the reason for her presence in Cragcastle, it could not be a guilty one, and suddenly I felt guilty under the blazing wrath of her clear blue eyes. As for the unveiled contempt in them, it was as hard to endure as it was, for a moment, to understand.
    But, when she spoke, I understood it—at least in part.
    “Well, Cousin John,” with icy bitterness, “what are you going to do?”
    She, too, like Hardridge, had immediately accepted me in my assumed character of John Maxon. That was quite natural, for who else would be occupying Cragcastle? But to be addressed by her as “Cousin” was somewhat different. The late John Maxon, Jr., had, according to Osborne, no near relatives at all. That had been one of Osborne’s best arguments why I might, in safety and with no great moral guilt, take his place. If it had been a lie, Osborne must have known I would very shortly discover it. I suppose my stare at the girl must have been quite idiotic.
    “Have you come back witless as well as everything else?” she asked sharply. “Can’t you speak?”
    I could see that under the surface she was really frightened. She was trying the old device of simulating—and perhaps stimulating—courage by hard words.
    “I’m naturally astonished,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
    “Merely paying a cousinly call, of course.” She laughed mirthlessly.
    “I think you’d better answer me,” I told her quietly. “This is my house; it’s nearly midnight; you’ve evidently gained entrance by stealth. In other words, you’re in the position of a common burglar. The fact that you’re my cousin will not prevent me from turning you over to the police.”
    “I suppose not. The tarred stick would blacken the whole branch. The family name—”
    “You should have thought of that before breaking into my house.” It was a rare part, for me, playing the stern landlord.
    “I’m not begging,” she replied tartly. “Do what you will. Of course, you know what I’m doing here. There’s only one thing worth coming for—and that by rights belongs to me, anyway. Or rather, to my father. If your father hadn’t stolen it—”
    “What do you mean? Don’t say that.”
    “He did, and you know it. It belonged to father. It was willed to him—all he got out of the estate—because he was the eldest son. It’s always been so, and grandfather wouldn’t break the chain even for your father’s lies. Then it disappeared. Who could have taken it except the man who got everything else, who had every opportunity—your father! Why, didn’t he tell father he had it—gloat over it—and that it would never be discovered save by his son, you?”
    I was getting quite beyond my depth. One thing was clear, however; I was relieved of all obligation toward Lawyer Osborne. By his multiplied falsehoods he had discredited once more the pretty bedraggled saying, “Honor among thieves.” Moreover, it seemed likely I might progress faster in solving the riddle if I doffed my mask before this girl—in whose presence, I admit, the wearing of it had become rather odious.
    “Why, no,” I said. “I must admit all that’s a riddle to me.