The Strange Case of Cavendish | Page 7

say, a hundred thousand. Yes, a hundred thousand; I
hardly think that is unfair."
Cavendish leaped to his feet, his hand gripping his cane.
"You damned black----"
"Wait!" and Enright arose also. "Not so loud, please; your voice might
be heard in the outer office. Besides it might be well for you to be
careful of your language. I said my services would cost you a hundred
thousand dollars. Take the proposition or leave it, Mr. John Cavendish.
Perhaps, with a moment's thought, the sum asked may not seem
excessive."
"But--but," the other stammered, all courage leaving him, "I haven't the
money."
"Of course not," the threat on Enright's face changing to a smile. "But
the prospects that you will have are unusually good. I am quite willing
to speculate on your fortunes. A memoranda for legal services due one
year from date--such as I have already drawn up--and bearing your
signature, will be quite satisfactory. Glance over the items, please; yes,
sit here at the table. Now, if you will sign that there will be no further
cause for you to feel any uneasiness--this line, please."
Cavendish grasped the penholder in his fingers, and signed. It was the
act of a man dazed, half stupefied, unable to control his actions. With
trembling hand, and white face, he sat staring at the paper, scarcely
comprehending its real meaning. In a way it was a confession of guilt,

an acknowledgment of his fear of exposure, yet he felt utterly incapable
of resistance. Enright unlocked the door, and projected his head outside,
comprehending clearly that the proper time to strike was while the iron
was hot.
Calling Miss Healey, one of his stenographers, he made her an official
witness to the document and the signature of John Cavendish.
Not until ten minutes later when he was on the street did it occur to
John Cavendish that the carbon copy of the will, together with the
rough notes in his cousin's handwriting, still remained in Enright's
possession. Vainly he tried to force himself to return and demand them,
but his nerve failed, and he shuffled away hopelessly in the hurrying
crowds.
CHAPTER IV
: A BREATH OF SUSPICION
As Francois Valois trudged along the night streets toward his rooming
house his heart was plunged in sorrow and suspicion. To be discharged
from a comfortable position for no apparent reason when one
contemplated no sweet alliance was bad enough, but to be discharged
when one planned marriage to so charming a creature as Josette La
Baum was nothing short of a blow. Josette herself had admitted that
and promptly turned Francois's hazards as to young Cavendish's
motives into smouldering suspicion, which he dared not voice. Now, as
he paused before a delicatessen window realising that unless he soon
obtained another position its dainties would be denied him, these same
suspicions assailed him again.
Disheartened, he turned from the pane and was about to move away,
when he came face to face with a trim young woman in a smart blue
serge. "Oh, hello!" she cried pleasantly, bringing up short. Then seeing
the puzzled look upon the valet's face, she said: "Don't you remember
me? I'm Miss Donovan of the Star. I came up to the apartments the
morning of the Cavendish murder with one of the boys."

Valois smiled warmly; men usually did for Miss Donovan. "I
remember," he said dolorously.
The girl sensed some underlying sorrow in his voice and with
professional skill learned the cause within a minute. Then, because she
believed that there might be more to be told, and because she was
big-hearted and interested in every one's troubles, she urged him to
accompany her to a near-by restaurant and pour out his heart while she
supped. Lonely and disheartened, Valois accepted gladly and within
half an hour they were seated at a tiny table in an Italian café.
"About your discharge?" she queried after a time.
"I was not even asked to accompany Mr. Frederick's body," he burst
out, "even though I had been with him a year. So I stayed in the
apartment to straighten things, expecting to be retained in John
Cavendish's service. I even did the work in his apartments, but when he
returned and saw me there he seemed to lose his temper, wanted to
know why I was hanging around, and ordered me out of the place."
"The ingrate!" exclaimed the girl, laying a warm, consoling hand on the
other's arm. "You're sure he wasn't drinking?"
"I don't think so, miss. Just the sight of me seemed to drive him mad.
Flung money at me, he did, told me to get out, that he never wanted to
see me again. Since then I have tried for three weeks to find work, but
it has been useless."