The Mystics | Page 8

ago in the
sordid London home.
With a throb of confidence and anticipation he inserted his finger under
the flap of the envelope and tore it open. With lightning speed his eyes
skimmed the oddly written lines. Then a short, inarticulate sound
escaped him, and the blood suddenly receded from his face.
"MY DEAR NEPHEW," he read.--"In acknowledgment of your
services during the past seven years--and also because I have no wish
to pass into the Unseen with the stain of vindictiveness on my Soul--I
have obliterated from my mind the remembrance of my brother's
ingratitude to our father, and have placed the sum of £500 to your
credit in the Cleef branch of the Consolidated Bank. I trust it may assist
you to commence an industrious career. For the rest, it may interest you
to know that my capital, which I realized upon your grandfather's death,
is already placed in the treasury of the sect to which I belong--where it
will remain until claimed by the One in whose ultimate advent I most
solemnly believe.
"I make you cognizant of these facts that all disputes and unnecessary
differences may be avoided after my death. The papers by which my
property was made over to the Mystics some five years ago--together

with a doctor's certificate as to my mental soundness at the time--is in
the hands of the Council. Any attempt to unmake this disposition of my
fortune would be fraught with failure.
"With sincere hopes for your future welfare,
"Your uncle,
"ANDREW HENDERSON."
For a space John stood pale and rigid, making no attempt to reread the
letter; then all at once one of those rare and curious upheavals of
feeling that shake men to their souls seized upon him. The blood rushed
back into his face in a dark wave; the rose-colored mist that had floated
before his vision flamed suddenly to red; the same implacable rage that,
years ago, had impelled his grandfather to disinherit his favorite son
swelled in his heart. All ideas, all considerations, save one, became
blurred and indistinct; but this one idea rode him, spurred him to a
frenzy of desire. It was the blind, instinctive, human wish to wreak his
loss and disappointment upon some tangible, visible object.
With a dazed movement he turned to the bed; but only the huddled,
impassive figure beneath the coverlet met his gaze. For more than a
minute he stared at it helplessly; then a new thought shot across his
mind and his lips drew together in a thin, hard line. The road to revenge
lay open before him! With an abrupt gesture he stepped forward and
pulled back the counterpane.
In the yellow lamp-light the thin face of the dead man had an ashen hue;
the half-opened eyes and the prominent teeth, from which the lips had
partly receded, confronted him grewsomely. But the force of his
disappointment and rage was something before which mere human
horror was swept aside. With another rapid movement, he stooped over
the bed and unclasped the thin gold chain that hung round the dead
man's neck, letting the metal symbol and the long, thin key slip from it
into his hand. Turning to the dressing-table, he caught up a lamp;
hurried from the room; and, descending the stairs, passed into the
study.

To his excited glance the place looked strangely undisturbed. Though
the frames of the windows rattled in the gale, the interior arrangements
were as precise and bare as usual; the fireless grate stared at him coldly,
and against the whitewashed wall the heavy iron safe stood out like an
accentuated blot of shadow. Impelled by his one dominating idea, he
crossed without an instant's hesitation to the door of this hitherto
inviolable repository of his uncle's secrets, and, inserting the key he
carried, threw back the massive door.
One glance showed him the thing he sought. Lying in solitary state
upon the highest shelf was a heavy book bound in white leather. The
edges of the cover were worn yellow with time and use, and from the
centre of the binding gleamed the familiar octagonal symbol
exquisitely wrought in gold and jewels. With hands that trembled
slightly he lifted the book from its place, closed and locked the door of
the safe, and, extinguishing the lamp, left the room.
In the flood of unreasoning rage and thwarted hope that surged about
him, he had no definite plan regarding the object in his hand. He only
knew, by the medium of instinct, that through it he could strike a blow
at the uncle who had excluded him from his just inheritance--at the
crazy scheme by which he had been defrauded of his due.
With hasty steps he mounted the stairs and re-entered the bedroom. To
his agitated mind it seemed