The Yellow Snake Read Online Free PDF

was the principal beneficiary under the will. And this man was old Joe Bray's manager, one to be ordered rather than persuaded; the merest employee—Mr Narth's employee in prospect, for if he was inheriting old Joe's wealth, he also inherited the indubitable authority which wealth carries with it.
        "Er—Mr—um—Lynne, I think this discussion of my poor cousin's—state of mind is not quite proper, and I cannot allow you to asperse his—um—revered memory without protest."
        The stranger was looking at him curiously.
        "Oh, you're Narth, are you—I've heard about you! You're the gentleman who speculates with other people's money!"
        Stephen Narth went red and white. He was for the moment speechless. The crudeness of the statement was paralysing. Had Mr Narth been wise, he would have arrested all further comment, either by walking from the room or by a direct and tremendous rebuke.
        "These things get about," said Lynne, stroking his beard. "You can't turn the light off a business like yours."
        Stephen Narth got back his voice.
        "I am not prepared to discuss such wanton slanders," he said. There was murder in his eyes if Clifford Lynne had ever seen murder. "For the moment it is necessary to tell you that as the sole beneficiary under Mr Bray's will and—er—proprietor——"
        "In prospect," murmured Lynne, when he paused. "You feel that I ought to keep in my place? I am almost inclined to agree. Do you want me?"
        He stared at Joan, his expression blank, almost fatuous. She had an odd inclination to laugh.
        "Because," he went on, "if you want me I'm here and ready. The Lord knows I don't want to force my attentions upon any shrinking maiden, but there's the position. Joe said, 'Will you give me your word?' and I said 'Yes.'"
        He was still staring at her thoughtfully. Did he expect an answer, she wondered. Apparently not, for he went on:
        "This complicates matters—I had no idea we should annoy the Joyful Hands—but I've been and gone and done it!"
        Mr Narth thought that it was a moment when he might without loss of dignity edge himself into the conversation on nearly equal terms.
        "The Joyful Hands, I think you said—who on earth are the Joyful Hands?"
        The stranger did not seem to resent the intrusion, and Stephen Narth had the queer sensation that the admonishment directed to him a few seconds before was in the nature of a statement of fact made without any real disapproval or malice. Clifford Lynne knew but did not condemn.
        "I have taken the Lodge—the Slaters' Cottage, don't they call it?" said Clifford in his strangely abrupt way. "A weird hole, but suitable for me. I'm afraid I've made rather a mess of your carpet."
        He looked down gloomily at the evidence of tragedy.
        "Anyway, snakes have no right to be on carpets," he said in a tone of relief, as though he had found an unexpected excuse for the disorder he had created.
        Mr Narth's face fell.
        "You're staying here, are you?" he asked, and it was on the tip of his tongue to suggest that the stranger, in all his future visits, should come into the house by the servants' entrance. But something inhibited this discourteous expression. A man who could treat grand larceny as a matter of indifference, who carried on his person lethal weapons which he could draw, use and replace so quickly that no mortal eye could see his hand's movement, was not to be insulted with impunity. Instead:
        "The Slaters' Cottage isn't a very nice place for you," he said. "It is little better than a ruin. I had it offered to me the other day for a hundred and twenty pounds and refused it——"
        "You missed a bargain," said Cliff Lynne calmly. "It has a Tudor fireplace worth twice that amount."
        He was looking absently at the girl as he spoke.
        "I shouldn't be surprised if I settled down in the Slaters'