The Strange Case of Cavendish | Page 2

and have to borrow. To-night I met the girl----"
Frederick Cavendish silenced him and tendered him the bills. "Now,"
he said gravely, "this is the last, unless--unless you cut out such people
as Celeste La Rue and others that you train with. I'm tired of paying
bills for your inane extravagances and parties. I can curtail your income
and what's more, I will unless you change."
"Cut me off?" The younger Cavendish's voice took on an incredulous
note.
The other nodded. "Just that," he said. "You've reached the limit."

For a moment the dissipated youth surveyed his cousin, then an angry
flush mounted into his pasty face.
"You--you--" he stuttered, "--you go to hell."
Without another word the elderly Cavendish summoned the waiter,
paid the bill, and walked toward the door. John stared after him, a smile
of derision on his face. He had heard Cavendish threaten before.
"Your cousin seemed peeved," suggested Miss La Rue.
"It's his nature," explained John. "Got sore because I asked him for a
mere hundred and threatened to cut off my income unless I quit you
two."
"You told him where to go," Miss La Rue said, laughing. "I heard you,
but I don't suppose he'll go--he doesn't look like that kind."
"Anyhow, I told him," laughed John; then producing a large bill, cried:
"Drink up, people, they're on me--and goody-goody cousin Fred."
When Frederick Cavendish reached the street and the fresh night air
raced through his lungs he came to a sudden realisation and then a
resolution. The realisation was that since further pleading would avail
nothing with John Cavendish, he needed a lesson. The resolution was
to give it to him. Both strengthened his previous half-hearted desire to
meet Westcott, into determination.
He turned the matter over in his mind as he walked along until
reflection was ended by the doors of the College Club which appeared
abruptly and took him in their swinging circle. He went immediately to
the writing-room, laid aside his things and sat down. The first thing to
do, he decided, was to obtain an attorney and consult him regarding the
proper steps. For no other reason than that they had met occasionally in
the corridor he thought of Patrick Enright, a heavy-set man with a loud
voice and given to wearing expensive clothes.
Calling a page boy, he asked that Enright be located if possible. During

the ensuing wait he outlined on a scrap of paper what he proposed
doing. Fifteen minutes passed before Enright, suave and apparently
young except for growing baldness, appeared.
"I take it you are Mr. Cavendish," he said, advancing, "and that you are
in immediate need of an attorney's counsel."
Cavendish nodded, shook hands, and motioned him into a chair. "I have
been called suddenly out of town, Mr. Enright," he explained, "and for
certain reasons which need not be disclosed I deem it necessary to
execute a will. I am the only son of the late William Huntington
Cavendish; also his sole heir, and in the event of my death without a
will, the property would descend to my only known relative, a cousin."
"His name?" Mr. Enright asked.
"John Cavendish."
The lawyer nodded. Of young Cavendish he evidently knew.
"Because of his dissolute habits I have decided to dispose of a large
portion of my estate elsewhere in case of my early death. I have here a
rough draft of what I want done." He showed the paper. "All that I
require is that it be transposed into legal form."
Enright took the paper and read it carefully. The bulk of the $1,000,000
Cavendish estate was willed to charitable organisations, and a small
allowance, a mere pittance, was provided for John Cavendish. After a
few inquiries the attorney said sharply: "You want this transcribed
immediately?"
Cavendish nodded.
"Since it can be made brief I may possibly be able to do it on the girl's
machine in the office. You do not mind waiting a moment?"
Cavendish shook his head, and rising, the attorney disappeared in the
direction of the office. Cavendish heaved a sigh of relief; now he was

free, absolutely free, to do as he chose. His disappearance would mean
nothing to his small circle of casual friends, and when he was settled
elsewhere he could notify the only two men who were concerned with
his whereabouts--his valet, Valois, and the agent handling the estate.
He thought of beginning a letter to John, but hesitated, and when
Enright returned he found him with pen in hand.
"A trifling task," the attorney smiled easily. "All ready for your
signature, too. You sign there, the second line. But wait--we must have
witnesses."
Simms, the butler, and the doorman were called in and wrote their
names to the document and then withdrew, after which Enright