Read Ebook: The Detective's Clew: Or The Tragedy of Elm Grove by Adams O S

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 2505 lines and 78104 words, and 51 pages

"I wonder what they can want of ?Colonel Conrad?" mused the clerk, staring after them.

After discussing the matter, Carlos and Leonard determined not to visit their uncle until the next morning. So, after spending an hour in rambling about town, and by the shore of the bay, they returned to the hotel and retired at an early hour.

The next morning they set out for Colonel Conrad's residence. The walk was dusty at first, but soon merged into a pleasant avenue, shaded on either side by ancient and noble trees. Then there was a gentle ascent, a slope downward, and a short distance farther, situated on a rise of ground, was Elm Grove, the residence of Colonel Conrad.

The heart of Carlos beat nervously, his step was hurried, and his motions were quick. Not so with Leonard. He was cool and composed, and, as the two passed through the open gate, and up the broad gravel walk, he said:

"Come, now pick up courage. Think of your father, be a man, and defend him from insult, whoever it comes from."

The words had their desired effect. A look of resolution came into Carlos' face, which Leonard regarded with satisfaction.

They ascended the steps and rang the door-bell.

A servant appeared.

"Is Colonel Conrad at home?" asked Carlos.

"I think he is," replied the servant. "Shall I take your names?"

They handed him their cards. Carlos' was edged with black. Soon the servant returned, and said that Colonel Conrad would see them.

They were ushered through a wide hall, on the left side of which was the room where Colonel Conrad awaited them.

The servant bowed them in.

The room was not a large one, but it was fitted up with elegance and taste. On one side was a row of shelves, on which were ranged books of all sizes and colors.

It was the colonel's library, and a choice one it was, too, valuable principally for the age and rarity of some of the volumes.

There was a fire-place, a writing-table, a closed desk, heavy, rich, and antique in pattern, a huge clock, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, a smaller case of book-shelves near it, a couch, and a few chairs.

All this was taken in at a glance, as was also the figure of the proprietor of the mansion, seated in an easy-chair, with an open book lying on the table beside him.

Never were two persons more surprised than were the cousins at the appearance of Colonel Conrad. They had expected to see in their uncle a large, frowzy, ferocious-looking monster in human form, with a face expressive of malice, and that peculiar expression that always belongs to lips given to invective and denunciation.

Instead, there sat before them a man not above the medium size, with hair thickly tinged with gray, and a careworn, studious, thoughtful face. His eyes were blue, and, in contrast with his appearance otherwise, were bright as those of a youth of twenty. His brow was wrinkled irregularly, suggesting inward conflict and mental anxiety.

He sat and looked at his nephews steadily without speaking. Carlos gazed earnestly and apprehensively into his face, while Leonard stood in an easy attitude, apparently not in the least discomfited.

At length the uncle bent his gaze more particularly on Carlos. It was impossible to tell the thoughts that occupied his mind. Finally he said:

"You're his son?"

"I am your brother's son," replied Carlos.

"I suppose it is unnecessary to ask what that means?" said Colonel Conrad, holding up the card edged with black.

"You can readily imagine," said Carlos, with difficulty controlling his emotion.

The old man bowed his head for an instant, and then looking up again, said, impatiently:

"Well, well, why don't you be seated? What are you standing up for? There are plenty of chairs."

The cousins smiled, and acted on the hint thus conveyed.

"Colonel Conrad," interrupted Carlos, endeavoring to control himself so as to appear calm, "you must not talk in that way. I'll not hear it--no, not even from you. Your dead brother was a good man, and I, his son, will not hear his name traduced."

"Y-o-u'-l-l not h-e-a-r his name tr-a-d-u-c-e-d!" repeated Colonel Conrad, in a prolonged, contemptuous tone, staring at Carlos with his piercing eyes. "I'd like to know what you are going to do about it?"

"I'll defend him, sir, with my right arm," said Carlos, rising to his feet. "I'll call out the first man who dares to slander him. He was a good and true man, and I am here to prove it."

"You had better sit down, young man," said the colonel. "I suppose you have come here begging, but you'll not gain anything by such behavior, I can tell you."

"I am no beggar," retorted Carlos, angrily, "and I will accept none of your money. But I have an errand to do, and after it is performed, I will leave you. It is a message from my father."

"Well, Carlos," said his uncle, suddenly assuming a nonchalant manner, "I see you have pluck, and I like you for it. But too much pluck is not always a good thing. I have had too much of it in my day, so has your father, the vil--but no, I'll not call him names now; let him rest in peace."

After a pause and a moment's dreamy silence, he resumed:

"I have seen much sorrow in my time, boys, and have gone through some hard experiences. There was that quarrel with my brother--we were both hasty, and have not seen each other since. There was my wife--bless her memory!--who died many years ago, leaving me no children. Yes, I have passed through some sad experiences, and all I have to do in my old age is to sit still and think about them. I tinker a little with one thing and another--bother my head over machinery and philosophy--and that is about all I have to relieve the tedium of my life. But no, there's Florence--she's a good girl."

The last words he spoke rather to himself than to his listeners.

"You have a nephew living in Dalton, have you not?" said Leonard, who had as yet taken no part in the conversation.

"A nephew? Oh, yes--Geoffrey Haywood, I suppose you mean. He is a very good man--very pious and very honest. He has met with great success in his business. Yes, Geoffrey is my best friend."

He glanced up, as he spoke, in a slightly defiant manner, as if he expected to be contradicted; but seeing no such purpose on the part of his auditors, he ceased speaking, and drummed nervously on the table.

"Well, Colonel Conrad," said Leonard, "Carlos has come here on an errand, and he wishes, though he dreads, to open the subject. It is from your dead brother, Anthony. Carlos knows of the enmity that existed between you and him, but he hopes and I hope that you will hear him through."

The old man shook his head.

"No good can come of any talk about my dead brother," he said, sadly; "but he may speak. I will hear what he has to say, for if his father left with him a message, it is his duty to deliver it."

"Thank you for those words, uncle," said Carlos, "for now I can go on and tell the story untrammeled. It is a tale of deep wrong, which should bring curses on the perpetrator. The quarrel between you and my father was the work of a villain, whose heart must have been black and rotten--whose sordid desire for wealth must have made him forget all that was noble and manly within him."

Carlos then began at a period dating years back, giving the details of a plot that had separated Anthony and William Conrad, filling them with hate and venom toward each other. There was one who had caused it all--who had studied his plans well, and carried them out with fiendish precision; and who was now reaping the harvest of his mischief by living near Colonel Conrad, enjoying his friendship and--his gold.

"I never received it," said Colonel Conrad, huskily.

"Ah! that is some more of Haywood's work. My father's health was poor, and he never left Europe after writing the letter. But a few weeks ago, on his dying bed, he told me about it, and charged me to come to you and inform you how you had both been wronged. He gave me this package to deliver to you, which he says contains convincing proofs. He died reconciled to you in his heart, and wished you to forgive him while he yet lived on this earth. Take the package and examine it impartially, for the memory of the love which you once cherished for your brother."

Carlos laid the package down and ceased speaking. He had performed his duty.

Colonel Conrad's head was bowed, and he appeared to be in deep thought. A hard, impenetrable look came across his features, and he said, in a perfectly calm voice:

"Carlos, your story is a strange one. If true, it is indeed a terrible record of wrong. You have done your duty, and I cherish no ill-will toward you. But I am lost and perplexed. Don't you think it would stagger any man? I must think. You must leave me for the rest of the day--or rather I must leave you, for you will, both of you, be my guests. I must shut myself up. I will read the papers contained in the package, for that will be no more than an act of simple justice."

"Thank you, my uncle," said Carlos. "But I shall not consent to share your hospitality at present. As yet, you are my father's enemy, and may continue to be so. We will remain at a hotel until you have investigated the matter and rendered a decision."

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet