The Key Note

CHAPTER XVI
THE NEW CLIENT

She used her lorgnette upon the pair of guests when they were ushered in, but her interest in the silent boy was quickly transferred to the tall, attractive blond man with the flashing smile and sparkling eyes, who greeted her daughter with such accustomed friendliness.

"Mamma, may I present Mr. Barrison," said Diana serenely.

Philip's smile vanished and he bowed. His manner, Mrs. Wilbur thought, was unpleasantly good.

"And this is Herbert Gayne, Mamma," went on Diana.

The boy's eyes roved to the plump lady, who came forward and took his hand.

"I knew your grandfather, my dear child," she said, and she glanced over his shabby figure, appalled that the name of Loring could ever fall so low.

Bertie said nothing. What did the lady mean by talking about his grandfather? No one but his mother had ever done that.

A slight smile touched his lips as Mrs. Lowell greeted him, and then he looked over his shoulder and all about the flower-strewn room.

"Your uncle is not here," she said quietly. "He isn't coming, Bertie. We are going to have lunch alone."

The boy's melancholy eyes lifted to hers questioningly. She nodded reassuringly.

"Mr. Barrison, this is the key to Bert's room," said Diana. "Will you go up with him and then return here? Luncheon will be ready."

Philip took the key, and, wondering, escorted his charge to the elevator. "Bert's room," he said to himself. When they arrived there, the flowers on the dresser caused him to remember Matt Blake's absurd account, and he felt his first questioning as to whether ice-cream and a show or two did really cover the plans of these ladies for the boy. "But where is Uncle Nick?" was his mental query.

Herbert, second, looked about his bathroom. He had never seen anything in the slightest degree like it.

"Treating you pretty well, aren't they, old man?" said Philip, opening his bag and taking out the boy's worn brush and broken comb.

"Uncle Nick will be mad," said Bert.

"I heard Mrs. Lowell say that he wasn't coming," remarked Philip.

"Of course – he'll come," returned the boy. "And he'll – he'll beat me."

"Bet you a thousand dollars he won't," said Philip. "Have you any money with you?"

The boy felt in his pockets and brought forth a penny.

"That's all right," said Philip gayly. "If your Uncle Nick beats you, I'll give you a thousand dollars. If he doesn't, you are to give me that penny. Understand?"

Philip's smile was infectious. The corners of the boy's mouth twitched a little. The flowers on the dresser smelled sweet, so did the soap he was using. It was all like a wonderful dream, but over its brightness hung a dark cloud: Uncle Nick.

"All right," he said vaguely.

"Say, make it snappy, boy. I'm as hungry as a bear, aren't you? Here's a nailbrush. Better use it."

Bert hurried, and finally dried his hands and brushed his hair obediently. As much as he noticed anybody he had always noticed and liked Philip from the day that he watched him paint the Inn sign, and now, in spite of his apprehensions, he felt some stimulation from the company of this big strong man who was going to give him a thousand dollars if Uncle Nick should beat him.

While he was brushing his hair, the telephone rang. Philip answered it. It was Diana speaking.

"I want to thank you so much for doing this errand for us. I know you must be mystified by the urgency of my wire, and this is my best way to tell you in a few words what has occurred. You can see that the matter is confidential, for time and labor and the law will be necessary to adjust matters, but I feel we owe it to you to tell you all. Of course, the boy knows nothing as yet – "

When Philip finally turned from the telephone, he met his companion's troubled gaze, the hairbrush hung suspended in the air.

"Was it Uncle Nick?" he asked.

"No," returned Philip. He continued to sit still for a minute, regarding the unconscious millionaire with the penny in the pocket of his outgrown trousers. "It's all right, old man. Miss Wilbur wants us to come down to lunch, that's all."

As they went to the elevator to descend, the boy spoke again: "Uncle Nick hates – he hates Mrs. Lowell," he said.

"Good thing he isn't coming, then, isn't it?" returned Philip.

"But he'll – he will come sometime," said Bert with conviction.

Arrived at Diana's suite, they found luncheon ready to be served. Mrs. Wilbur had vanished, not without some uneasy comments upon Philip, which Diana had answered with such utter serenity as to quiet any suspicion she might have entertained that there was something personal in her child's extraordinary attachment to the wilderness.

The four sat down to the charming little meal, and, in spite of the boy's unconquerable apprehensions, he ate pretty well, as he sat there opposite Philip and between Mrs. Lowell and Diana.

The former asked him about the garden and the croquet ground, while Philip addressed himself to Diana, who wore the gray gown with a rose at the belt, although she had felt she could never put it on again. The contents of a suitcase do not admit of much variety of costume.

"I'm almost dumb with surprise at your news," he said.

"Of course you would be."

"Does the ogre know of the arrival of relatives?"

"He has not the least suspicion of it. He will be told to-morrow."

"Can a can be tied to him?"

Bert was telling about weeding the garden with Veronica, and Diana leaned a little toward Philip. "What – what was your question?"

Philip smiled. "I asked if it would be possible to eliminate the gentleman."

"I think so. Mr. Loring's lawyer is, of course, attending to the whole matter and is to see him for the second time to-morrow. Does any one doubt that truth is stranger than fiction?"

"No." Philip looked across at Mrs. Lowell and the sweet regard she was bending upon the boy, who was trying in his hesitating way to tell her something about the beach.

Bert put his hand in his pocket, and Philip wondered if he were going to produce his capital, but instead he drew forth a little yellow stone and offered it to his friend.

"That is unusually lovely," she said, and held it up to the light before she handed it back.

"No, it is for you," said the boy. Sad as he may have maintained that it made him to be in this lady's company, her gentle presence was irresistible to him, and his face, as he handed back to her the little stone, had a more interested expression than his friends had ever seen it wear.

"It is to go – with the others in – in a bottle," he said.

"It is almost too nice for that. I think this is a little gem. Supposing I take it to a lapidary, a man who polishes stones, and have it made into a scarf-pin for you."

"No, for you," said the boy.

Philip and Diana exchanged a look.

"There is 'the greatest thing in the world' working again," he said.

They had just finished dessert when Miss Wilbur was called to the telephone.

"Ask him to come up to my room," she answered.

"Is it – Uncle Nick?" asked Bert, his light extinguished.

"No," returned Mrs. Lowell, smiling reassuringly. "You must remember I told you he is not coming."

Philip gave the boy his gay smile. "Bert thought he was going to make a thousand dollars," he said; but the rusty springs of the lad's mind could not respond quickly. He looked at the young man questioningly. "Don't you remember," added Philip, "we have a bet up, one thousand dollars to a cent?"

The boy did not answer. He kept his eyes fixed on the door. Nothing which could be said was able entirely to quiet the apprehension that his uncle would walk in upon him, surrounded as he was by forbidden companions, and a luxury which his tyrant had not been invited to share.

"The gentleman who is coming to call on us is one who knew your mother," said Mrs. Lowell. "You will like to meet him."

"Is he – is he angry with her, too?" asked the boy quickly.

"No, dear child," returned Mrs. Lowell, compassion surging through her for this young life which knew so much of anger and so little of anything else.

The noiseless waiters were removing all signs of the luncheon when the door opened and Luther Wrenn entered.

As soon as he had greeted the ladies and Philip had been introduced, his smooth-shaven, keen face at once centered on the boy. Mrs. Lowell, her hand on Bert's arm, guided him to stand.

"This is Herbert Gayne, Mr. Wrenn, and this is your mother's friend, Bertie."

The boy's plaintive, spiritless gaze and the passive hand which the lawyer took bore out all he had heard of him, but Mrs. Lowell's expressive face was courageous and the lawyer sat down beside Herbert Loring's heir determined not to be outdone by her in hopefulness. Of course, he had been painstakingly told every detail concerning the boy which Mrs. Lowell had discovered, and it was a very kindly look with which he regarded his new client as they were seated near together.

"I brought my introduction with me, Herbert," he said, and feeling in a breast-pocket he drew forth the card photograph which had yesterday been put into his hands.

Color streamed over the boy's face when he saw it. "It is – it is like one I lost," he said, and he held it between his hands, studying it.

"You shall have this one, then," said Mr. Wrenn. "I was fond of your mother, Herbert."

"They were angry with her," said the boy, and his lip quivered at some memory.

"Yes, her father felt very badly because she went away from him, but he has gone to her now. Did you know that?"

The boy lifted his eyes to the thin, kindly face. "No," he said.

"Yes," went on Mr. Wrenn quietly. "Her father has gone to her in that pleasant world where she is."

"I want to go," burst forth the boy, holding the picture tightly.

"All in good time," returned the lawyer. "You have some work to do for her here first."

"Do you mean – weed the garden?"

"I mean quite a lot of very pleasant things. I'll tell you about them later."

"But Uncle Nick won't – won't let me. He – I don't know whether I can hide this picture." A sudden panic seemed to seize the boy, and he looked toward the door. It was not possible that his uncle would not come in upon all these totally forbidden proceedings.

"See here, Herbert," – Mr. Wrenn leaned toward the lad, speaking very kindly. "I think it quite likely that you will never see your uncle again."

Some thought made the boy's eyes dilate. "He hasn't – gone where – where my mother is – has he?"

"No."

"I'm – I'm glad. He'd – he'd spoil heaven," declared Bertie earnestly.

Luther Wrenn nodded slowly. "An excellent description," he said. The three observers of the interview smiled. "Do you think you might adopt me in his place?" added the lawyer.

"He – he wouldn't let me. He'll come," said the boy with conviction.

"Now, Herbert," said Mr. Wrenn, with reassuring calm, "I know more about this than you do. I talked with your uncle yesterday and I think he will give you to me."

The boy's lips fell apart and he stared at the speaker gravely.

"To me, and to Mrs. Lowell. How would you like that?"

It was evident that this information could not be credited entirely, but the boy glanced around at Mrs. Lowell, who still sat close beside him, and she looked as if she believed this marvel. Unconsciously he pressed the picture against his breast. Luther Wrenn regarded the thin wrists and ankles protruding from the worn coat and trousers.

"Have you your sketch of your mother?" asked Mrs. Lowell. "Will you show it to Mr. Wrenn?"

The boy put his hand in a pocket and drew out the small folded square, and the lawyer felt some obstruction in his throat as he saw the worn tissue paper and the morsel of oiled silk being so tenderly unrolled.

"When I lost the one like – like this, I tried to – to make another," the boy explained.

Luther Wrenn put on his eye-glasses and examined the little sketch. He looked at Mrs. Lowell and nodded. "Save this," he said to the boy. "Go on being careful of it, for you will always be glad you made it, but you need never hide anything again. Do you understand that? We will get a case for this photograph so you can carry it in your pocket, and I can have an enlargement made of it so you can have it framed on your wall."

"I haven't – haven't any money," said Bertie, overwhelmed by these novel prospects, and convinced that this kindly visitor must be laboring under some great delusion. "I just have – have one cent, but – but I have to give that to – to Mr. Barrison if Uncle Nick doesn't – doesn't beat me. He bet me a thousand dollars."

Luther Wrenn gave a queer broken sort of laugh and wiped his eye-glasses. "Mr. Barrison has won," he said. "Always pay your debts, Herbert."

"Do you mean I – I shall give him the cent?"

"Your last cent, yes. He was right, you see, and it belongs to him."

The boy took out the penny and, rising gravely, crossed to Philip and proffered the coin.

Philip accepted it and bowed. "You are an honorable gentleman," he said.

Bert returned quickly to his chair and again possessed himself of the picture which he had given Mrs. Lowell to hold during the financial transaction.

"Now, Herbert," said Mr. Wrenn slowly, "I see that you were thinking that photograph cases and frames cost money. You will be glad to know that your grandfather – your mother's father, who has now gone to her – has left you some of his money. If you think of anything especial that you would like to have while you are here in Boston, you can buy it."

No one present ever forgot the boy's face as he spoke, looking up into the lawyer's eyes. "A pencil?" he said.

Luther Wrenn nodded and swallowed again. "Yes, pencils, paper, sketch-blocks, brushes, paints, anything you want. Just tell Mr. Barrison. I think he will take you out presently and get you the clothes you need – " The boy looked down over his old suit, quite dazed, and more than ever certain that all this must be a dream and that he should waken on his cot at the island and find the familiar dark face bending over him and some greeting, like "Get up, stupid," assailing his ears.

But he did not waken. Mrs. Lowell put her arm around his shoulders and gave him a little squeeze, and when he looked up he found her smiling at him.

Mr. Wrenn addressed her. "The more I see of the boy, the more I recognize a resemblance to his mother." He rose and crossed to Philip, who got to his feet. "Mr. Barrison, we are greatly indebted to you, and we wish to be more so. Can you oblige us by dressing this young client of mine this afternoon?"

"Delighted," replied Philip.

"What has he brought with him?"

"A brush and comb and toothbrush, all veterans, and all wounded."

"Very well. If you will get for him everything a boy needs for the remainder of the summer only, I shall be greatly obliged. Mrs. Lowell will make the list, I am sure, and you can help her if she gets lost. Have everything charged to me. Here is my card with the order, and here is a check for your traveling expenses on this trip."

"It is too much," said Philip as he saw the figure.

"Pretty accurate," said the lawyer. "I am calculating that you will stay in town over one night at least. If there is a balance you might send some roses to" – the door opened and a very dignified and extremely curious little lady entered: a quite plump and not entirely pleased little lady – "some roses to Mrs. Wilbur," finished the lawyer.

"Do you hear that, Mrs. Wilbur?" asked Philip. "Mr. Wrenn is telling me I may send you roses. Is that one word for me and two for himself?"

The lady shrugged her marvelously fitted shoulders, but she smiled. Even she could not help responding to Philip's vital spark. "It is my own private feeling that some attention should be paid to me," she returned, lifting her chin.

Philip approached her. "Name your color!" he exclaimed with an air of devotion.

"I think it will be a real pleasure to him, Mamma," said Diana, smiling, "to turn from an immersion in sublunary matters like socks and neckties to a poetic purchase."

"Why should Mr. Barrison be about to bathe in socks and neckties?"

"He is kind enough to take the matter off my hands, Mrs. Wilbur, and make our young friend fit," said the lawyer.

The lady lifted her lorgnette and surveyed the silent boy.

Mr. Wrenn approached him. "Herbert, you have no reason to like the name of Gayne. What do you say to dropping it? What do you say to being Herbert Loring, Second?"

"If Mrs. Lowell says so," he responded. He might have said: "What's in a name?" For the excited color had settled in his cheeks. Let them call him what they liked. He was going, boldly and unafraid, to have a pencil.

CHAPTER XVII
THE HEIR

Luther Wrenn gave himself the luxury of calling at the Copley-Plaza the next morning, perhaps as a bracer for his afternoon appointment. When he sent up his name, he received a summons to come to a room on the floor above Diana's.

Entering, he found the group he had left yesterday, minus Mrs. Wilbur, chatting and laughing before a boy's wardrobe spread out on the bed. As he shook hands with the boy himself, the lawyer looked him over with satisfaction. From the barber to the haberdasher, the lad had evidently been served well; and though pale and thin, Herbert Loring, Second, stood there a credit to his name already, and full of promise for the future. A wardrobe trunk in steamer size stood at one side of the room and a fine suitcase beside it.

"Is everything all right, Herbert?" asked Mr. Wrenn, with a hand on the boy's shoulder and his eyes wandering over the variety of apparel laid out on the bed. "Nothing seems to be missing."

"I have – I have blue pyjamas," said the boy.

"And did they sleep all right, eh?"

"They did not," said Philip. "I had the other room opening off Bert's bath and I prowled once in a while to see how the land lay, and the electric light was evidently too easy. He was always examining his box."

"What box is that?" asked Mr. Wrenn.

The boy was keeping lifted eyes on him, not quite sure whether this dispenser of gifts was going to be displeased at the burning of midnight electricity. At the question he hurried to a table and brought the new sketching materials which had interfered with his dreams.

Mr. Wrenn gave the boy's shoulder a little shake and laughed. "They won't run away in the night," he said. "Better sleep and keep your eyes bright. When do you plan to return to the island, Mrs. Lowell?"

She was sitting with Diana by the bed, where they were sewing markers on Bert's new possessions. "If your afternoon interview proves satisfactory, and you can arrange that we shall not be molested, I think we might go to-morrow," she replied.

"Want to go back to the island, Herbert?" asked Mr. Wrenn. The appealing eyes, so like Helen Loring's, were winning him more and more with their trustfulness.

"I – I don't care where we go if he – if nobody takes me away from – from Mrs. Lowell."

"You dear youngster," said that lady, her swift needle stitching busily.

"Well, it is my intention that nobody shall, for the present. Of course, when these charming ladies hamper themselves with husbands, it brings in an element of uncertainty. What sort of a man is Monroe Lowell, now? I suppose his wife is entirely impartial."

Mrs. Lowell laughed. "The finest ever," she said, "but I see signs of impatience beginning to show in his letters. So I hope he will soon join us. Probably I know what you are thinking of, Mr. Wrenn, but let us not cross any bridges until we come to them. The right way is sure to open."

The lawyer nodded. "I will let you have a bulletin as soon as the final farewells are said this afternoon. I hope to secure the island from further intrusion."

Diana looked up from her work. "Would it not be well to offer him money not to return?"

Philip, who was engaged in snipping the markers apart, spoke: "If he comes, I can take the bone of contention to my place until the hurricane is passed."

"I am quite certain he will not go," said Mrs. Lowell quietly.

"Why is that?" asked Mr. Wrenn. "I must confess to some qualms myself."

"Because it is not right for him to go," said Mrs. Lowell.

"My dear young lady," the lawyer smiled, "if that is the only ground for your belief, my limited observation of the gentleman suggests that he never has done anything right in his life unless by accident. But no money, Miss Diana. Start that once with that individual and you will be purchasing something from him at intervals the rest of his life. I must be off. Good-bye, Herbert."

The boy started. He had been hanging over his treasures and handling them, oblivious to everything around him. This gentleman, who knew his mother and had showered upon him so many benefits, was looking at him now with kind, serious eyes, and Bert became mindful of a little talk Mrs. Lowell had had with him this morning.

He walked up to the lawyer and held out his slender hand. "I thank you – sir," he said.

"Good boy. I will see you again before you leave," and, bowing to the others, Mr. Wrenn went out, Philip accompanying him to the elevator.

"Thank you, Mr. Barrison, for your good offices," he said as they shook hands.

"Never had so much fun in my life," said Philip. "Made me wish I had half a dozen of my own and the coin to treat them like that."

The lawyer bent his heavy brows upon him and smiled. "Are events shaping themselves toward that end? That extremely charming young woman who has been making you the slave of the lamp is enough to turn any man's head."

Philip flushed. "Any man's head would be turned," he responded quickly, "if he thought of her as approachable. No, some common mortal for me some day, I hope, but she's a goddess, you know."

The young fellow smiled and the lawyer still regarded him, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Never let anything like money rob you," he said slowly and with emphasis. "Goddesses have been known to stoop to mortals before this."

"I think her parents would see to that," responded Philip, laughing.

The elevator came, and with one more nod of farewell the lawyer disappeared.

"Fierce job he's got before him," muttered Philip as he returned to the dry goods, refusing to allow his mind to dwell on his new friend's surpassingly ignorant suggestions.

Promptly at the appointed time Nicholas Gayne presented himself at the lawyer's office and was admitted to the sanctum. His air of assurance almost reached the swaggering stage, and his "How are you?" breathed a suggestion of a fortifying beverage. Without waiting for permission, he fell into the chair near the desk.

"Well, are you satisfied?" he asked triumphantly.

"Yes, I am satisfied that the boy is my old friend's grandson."

"I knew you would be. Now, how soon do you think you can fix it up?"

"Fix what up?"

"The inheritance."

"I told you the boy was not mentioned in the will."

"I know that, but what's the law for if it can't get justice done?" came the impatient question, and Gayne's chin shot out belligerently.

"It can and will get justice done," said Luther Wrenn slowly, "but it will take time."

"Oh, of course, I know it will, but you can advance money on a sure thing, and I'll make it worth your while as soon as the cash is in my hands."

"In yours?" The lawyer tapped his desk with a paper-cutter.

"Yes. I told you the boy's delicate. He needs care."

"I'm sure he does. It may take a year to straighten out the matter of the will."

"It don't need to," said Gayne angrily. "I've had the expense of Bert for five years and I ought to be reimbursed and provided with enough money to care for him right, until he gets all that's coming to him."

Luther Wrenn looked for a silent minute at the dark, impatient face and thick, powerful shoulders and hands, and recalled the boy's panic.

"I have obtained a good deal of information as to the occurrences of the past years as they affect Mr. Loring's grandson," he said quietly, and his visitor scowled at him, startled.

"I'm a poor man," he blustered. "I told you I hadn't been able to care for him right."

"If you would like," went on the lawyer slowly, "to be relieved of the boy, I am willing to take charge of him from now on for his mother's sake."

"For his mother's sake," sneered Gayne. "You know damned well that it's because you know you can get hold of the money that ought to be his."

"You have been drinking, Mr. Gayne, and the reason I don't have you put out of the office is because we shall never meet again, and it is always well to settle matters out of court if possible. I am going to tell you, instead of asking a judge to do so, why I am taking Helen Loring's boy away from you."

"Lambert Gayne's boy and my nephew!" roared Gayne. "Where do you get that stuff? Take him away from me, after all the expense – "

"Be quiet, Mr. Gayne, or I shall have to forego my peaceful plans. I have a man outside prepared to take you; so it would be better for you to listen to me."

Nicholas Gayne looked behind him in angry amazement.

"What have you done for that helpless boy?" went on Wrenn quietly. "Have you endeavored to have him properly taught and cared for? Have you allowed him the happiness, which would have cost you nothing, of exercising the talent inherited from his mother?"

"I'm a poor man," – the declaration came with a loud burst. "He couldn't spend his time like a nabob."

"No. So you took no pains to have him educated. You allowed him to be made to scrub floors and wash windows and do any menial work which a lazy, dissolute woman could put upon him. You allowed a creature like Cora to be his companion, caring less than nothing for the possible degradation of the boy's mind and body."

Nicholas Gayne started up from his chair, purple in the face with surprise and fury.

"All this you did with the one single base intention of so beating down any sign of mental efficiency in your nephew that in time you could get the handling of his heritage."

As the words fell clearly and concisely from the lawyer's lips, Nicholas Gayne's muddled brain worked fast. Where could this devil of a lawyer have learned so much in two days? The boy was at the island. It must be the women. That Mrs. Lowell! But how could she have connected Bert with Herbert Loring in the first place, and how could she, with her slight opportunity, have elicited so much from the dull boy and communicated with Luther Wrenn? Gayne wished his brain were clearer, but, looking at the stony calm of the lawyer's face and the cold accusation in his eyes, he realized that the combination of legal power and money made it very hard in instances like this for a poor man like himself to get his rights.

"Now, I will detain you only a minute longer, Mr. Gayne. Herbert Loring, Second, as he will after this be called, is now at the Copley-Plaza with friends." Gayne stared and seized the back of the chair from which he had risen, apparently for support. "I shall provide for him as I think best. It is too early as yet to tell whether your criminal treatment of the child has worked permanent injury. Time and the tenderest, wisest care will be necessary to establish that, and, meanwhile, you will be left in freedom. We desire to avoid all publicity, and, if you keep out of the way and do not intrude and awaken in the boy brutal and sad associations, we may succeed in restoring him to a normal condition, but, I assure you, if you even show your face near the boy or interfere in any degree, you will be called upon to answer serious charges, and witnesses will be easy to procure."

The purple had faded from Nicholas Gayne's face and it was ashy under the sunburn. He opened his lips to speak, but no sound came. Mr. Wrenn touched a button on his desk and the office door opened. Gayne started and looked toward it.

"I feel that we understand each other perfectly, Mr. Gayne," said the lawyer, pleasantly. "Good-afternoon."

Nicholas Gayne mumbled something and, moving as swiftly as his unsteady knees would permit, he disappeared from that office, fear engulfing all his other emotions. He wondered which of the men in plain clothes, whom he saw moving about outside, was the one who might have been his escort.

Luther Wrenn took up the telephone and called Diana.

"Mr. Wrenn speaking."

An excited voice answered, all serenity thrown to the winds. "Oh, Mr. Wrenn, is it over?"

"Yes, Miss Diana, and very satisfactorily. I'm a little tired and I believe I won't make you another call to-day."

"I'm sure you must be tired," sympathetically.

"I just wanted you and Mrs. Lowell to know that you may plan to take the nine o'clock train for Portland to-morrow morning with as much freedom as if our precious uncle had passed away from the planet."

"Thank you, thank you."

"And, by the way, Miss Diana, you may tell Mr. Barrison, too."

"Oh, of course, I should."

"Do you know, I find him a very engaging young man. Why, why are your cheeks blooming so? Can't one say as much as that for relaxation after a nasty quarter of an hour?"

A soft gurgle of laughter went to the listening lawyer.

"I did not know you ever condescended to such play, Mr. Wrenn."

"Well, don't tell, will you? My best wishes to you all, and especially to Herbert, and tell him I shall come to the island to look him over in a short time."

"Do. Mr. Barrison will take you fishing."

"Is he always successful? Does he know just what bait to use?"

Another soft gurgle. "You don't understand, Mr. Wrenn. He uses too much bait. He catches too many fish. Good-bye. My mother has just come in. She is going with us to Maine." A pause. "She hopes to see you there. Good-bye."

Before the arrival of the Copley-Plaza contingent at the island, Matt Blake received the following letter:

Dear Matt:

You know the business that brought me to Boston. I proved my position all right. The old man's lawyer couldn't deny it, but the boy, not being named in the will, as, of course, I knew he wouldn't be, the lawyer said it would take a long time before he could get anything for Bert, and advised me to put the boy into his hands. So I'm going to let him run matters to suit himself.

I'm asking you if you will be good enough to pack up my stuff at the island and send everything on C.O.D. to the address on the card I enclose. You know what I found at the farm, but I've got to wait till I can get some backing before I can do anything about it. Keep it under your hat, though. You know what I left at the farm, too: out in the kitchen. Take that for your trouble. I don't know what I'm going to do next. What I do know is that a lawyer has no more blood than a turnip, and that a man can go to the expense and trouble of taking care of a boy for five years and then be asked to hand him over to those that know he'll have money, without even a thank you for all he has done. I'm disgusted with the world.

Your friend,

Nicholas Gayne

When he read this, Matt Blake looked off thoughtfully, his thin lips twitching.