The Mynns' Mystery. Fenn George Manville

yes. Father had a ranche, and he went gold-digging, and prospecting, and we had an old nigger servant, who used to wash and cook and do everything; and a half-breed chap, half Indian, half Englishman, who used to take me out in the woods; and old Jake, that was the nigger, used to give me rides on his back.”

      “But I mean about your earlier life.”

      “No; can’t go back any farther than that.”

      “You remember your grandfather, of course?”

      “Eh? No, how should I remember a man I never saw?”

      There was a pause here, and the young man looked sharply from one to the other, as the old lawyer cleared his throat.

      “Will you be good enough to tell us any little act that you can recall.”

      “Well, I haven’t a very good memory, gentlemen, but I’ve got a few notes and letters in my pocket-book.”

      “Ha! documentary evidence,” said the lawyer, brightening up, as the young man took a well-worn letter-case from his pocket.

      “Here’s the old man’s letter to me about a watch I sent him.”

      Gertrude’s face, which had seemed pained and full of anxious care brightened at this, and Saul bit his lip.

      “To be sure – yes,” said the lawyer, passing the letter to Doctor Lawrence, who smiled and nodded.

      “Then here are a few notes I made about some remittances I sent home.”

      “To be sure – yes,” said the lawyer, eagerly scanning the pencilled entries in the book. “Anything else, my dear sir?”

      “There are some letters in one of the pockets, and the last one I received is there, telling me to come back, and what I was to do. But don’t read that aloud,” he said, smiling, as he fixed his eyes meaningly upon Gertrude’s, making her lower her lids and turn scarlet, while Saul, who missed nothing, ground his teeth. “Private, that letter is, gentlemen, please.”

      “Yes, yes, yes,” said the doctor, nodding pleasantly at Gertrude; who felt at the moment as if she would have given anything to have had with her an elderly woman friend.

      “All very satisfactory, Mr George Harrington,” said the old lawyer gravely; “but, unpleasant as it may seem, we must go a little further, please.”

      “Come,” said the young man, smiling, “you acknowledge me as George Harrington, then?”

      “A lapsus lingua– a mere slip of the tongue. Now, sir, can you give us any other proof. Have you brought any letters of introduction from well-known people in the States?”

      “I have brought you a letter of introduction from my grandfather, gentlemen – several.”

      “Yes, yes. Quite right. But any others?”

      “Good Heavens, gentlemen, I have been for months hunting in the wildest parts of the North West, fighting bears; always on the watch to save myself from Indians; and when at last I got your letter at Laramie City, I came home. Letters from people in the States! Why, I never thought of such a thing.”

      “No, he would not,” said the doctor quietly.

      “By the way, gentlemen, as I am to come into some property now, I ought to make a will.”

      “A most wise proceeding, sir,” assented the old lawyer.

      “Then will you two gentlemen agree to be my executors?”

      “Really, sir, I – ”

      “Because no man could have a more careful pair.”

      “You are complimentary, sir. Doctor Lawrence and I are only doing our duty.”

      “Of course, of course. Well, gentlemen, I’ve shown you my grandfather’s letters, etcetera, and I am George Harrington. That’s all I have got to say.”

      “But – you’ll excuse me. We are rather awkwardly placed. We ought to have some other proof of your identity. My dear Miss Gertrude, have we any of Mr George Harrington’s letters?”

      “I think there are some among my guardian’s papers.”

      “Stop a moment – I forgot. Here’s my watch, with my initials engraved upon the case, and to be sure – why, what a dunderhead I am!”

      Saul, who had been undergoing a torture of change – doubt and hope – watched the young man’s actions as he passed his hands behind his neck, and for a few moments seemed to be trying to unfasten something.

      “That’s it,” he said, as he undid the clasp of a thin gold chain, and drew out chain and locket, both gold, and pressing a spring at either end, the locket flew open back and front, to display two daguerreotype heads. “Know them Mr – Mr – ”

      “Hampton,” said the old lawyer, taking the locket, and examining it carefully, and looking long at the two faces before handing them to Doctor Lawrence. “What do you say to those?”

      The Doctor examined the locket as carefully as his colleague, while Saul looked on with an intense interest as he waited for the next remark, and the claimant of the estate chirruped carelessly to the dog.

      “As far as I can recollect them,” said Doctor Lawrence, at length, “I should say these are the miniatures of Mr and Mrs George Harrington, but I only saw them once.”

      “Well,” said the young man, smiling, as he held out his hand for the locket, “satisfactory?”

      “Quite, sir,” said the old lawyer, handing back the locket.

      “Looks girlish,” said its recipient, “but I always wear it round my neck. Shouldn’t like to lose that. Now, gentlemen, any more questions to ask?”

      “One more, sir,” said the old lawyer. “My dear Gertrude Bellwood, may I ask you to leave us for a few minutes. You may have some orders to give.”

      Gertrude started to her feet, and was making for the door, when Saul rose to open it, but his rival was quicker, darting before him, and smiling at the girl as she passed out, more agitated and excited than she had ever felt before.

      “Now, gentlemen, what’s the next piece of cross-examination which this culprit is to bear?”

      “I have – we have – but one more question to ask, sir,” said the old lawyer. “It is in our instructions, drawn out by my old and esteemed client, a year before his death. If you can answer that to our satisfaction, I for one shall be perfectly satisfied.”

      “And I,” said the doctor; then to himself, “as far as your being the right man is concerned.”

      “Very good, gentlemen,” was the smiling reply; “let’s see if I can oblige you.”

      The words were light, but there was a peculiar intensity in the speaker’s eyes, and a slight twitching about the corners of his lips, which a close observer would have detected.

      “Have you not some birth-mark about you?” said Doctor Lawrence.

      “No, sir, as far as I am aware – none.”

      “No peculiar marks about your person?”

      “I have the scar of a bullet-wound in the shoulder – the entrance and exit. I believe it went through my scalp.”

      “Scapular,” said the doctor, smiling.

      “Yes – the blade-bone.”

      “Anything else?”

      “An ugly seam or ridge on the skull where I had a chop from an Indian axe; and a knot here in my right arm, where it was broken and mended again.”

      “Is that all, sir?”

      “No; one other mark – a trifle done some time or another – here on my breast. Like to see it, gentlemen?”

      “Ha!” ejaculated the old lawyer. “If you are Mr George Harrington, sir, you have the figure of a heart tattooed