Aidan de Brune

Find This Man

Warsaw 2018

Contents

CHAPTER I. A RICH MAN LEAVES NOTHING

CHAPTER II. ADDED DEBTS

CHAPTER III. A THIEF IN THE NIGHT

CHAPTER IV. MRS. WESTERN'S GUILE

CHAPTER V. "LORNE, FLORISTS"

CHAPTER VI. RECOGNITION

CHAPTER VII. RICHARD KITHNER INTERVENES

CHAPTER VIII. MORE OF RICHARD KITHNER

CHAPTER IX. IVY FIND THE "UNKNOWN"

CHAPTER X. THE PURSUIT OF THE "UNKNOWN"

CHAPTER XI. DECORATIONS

CHAPTER XII. A MINT OF MONEY

CHAPTER XIII. THE FLOWER-GIRL

CHAPTER XIV. THE SPECTRE AT THE FEAST

CHAPTER XV. THE TWO MEN

CHAPTER XVI. "BIG BOY"

CHAPTER XVII. MRS. WESTERN TAKES A HAND

CHAPTER XVIII. THE DEVIL-TAMER

CHAPTER XIX. A NIGHT OF TERROR

CHAPTER XX. ELUCIDATION

CHAPTER I. A RICH MAN LEAVES NOTHING

„...AND to my dear god-daughter Ivy Breton, I give and bequeath the buhl box standing on my library table with all that it contains, to be delivered to her unopened within 24 hours of the reading of this my last will and testament.”

Mark Kithner, senior partner of the firm of Kithner, Wales and Kithner, solicitors, paused abruptly and looked around the group gathered about the dining-room table. Then, lowering his eyes, he continued the reading of the last will and testament of Basil Sixsmith, deceased.

“Is that all?” Mrs. Martha Western, florid and stout; a half-sister of the I deceased, gasped. “But–but there’s nothing about the residue of his estate. Basil was a wealthy man–if he was–“ The good lady paused. She had been about to declare her half-brother eccentric, but thought that statement would not be conventional at the moment.

“Perhaps there is no residue to the estate.” Mary Kithner smiled quietly.

“Rot!” William Patterson, a small, thin, peaky-looking man with a big, booming voice interjected.

“What about this house?”

“That goes to Mrs. Western–with the proviso that Miss Breton is to occupy it for the three months from the date of the reading of the will.”

„–and pay rent?” A hard light came in Mrs. Western’s small eyes.

“No.” The lawyer spoke quickly. “Your claim to inherit is deferred until the end of Miss Breton’s tenancy.”

“But, the buhl box–.” Charlie Western turned to his mother. “That’s part of the furniture, isn’t it? You’re to have the house and furniture.”

“Basil was always unjust.” Martha Western wore the air of a martyr.

“What I want to know is, where’s his money?” Patterson’s voice dominated the room. “I don’t mind Martha having the house–I was only Basil’s cousin. I don’t mind Ivy–Miss Breton–getting the buhl box. What I want to know is, where’s his cash. He had a lot of it–or, at least, we thought so.”

“I think the provisions of the will cover all the property the deceased had to dispose of.” There was finality in the lawyer’s voice.

“What?” The little man was on his feet. “But–but–there’s not been a penny disposed of. Only this house and furniture and the buhl box–”

„–and a few legacies to servants. I think you forgot those,” Kithner interposed.

“You say, there’s no money?”

“You have heard the will read, sir.”

“Then, what are the legacies to be paid from?” An air of triumph pervaded the little man.

“There is a sum of two hundred and three pounds in the bank.” The solicitor referred to a memorandum before him. “From that-”

“But, the legacies amount to more than five hundred pounds!” Charlie Western, sleek and furtive, interjected.

“The balance will be provided by Mrs. Western from her legacy-”

“Me?”

„–which is valued, house and furniture, at over five thousand pounds.”

“But–“ The lady wailed. “There’s the buhl box and the legacies! I’ll have nothing left!”

“And the testator’s debts.” Patterson appeared to have satisfaction in the lady dilemma. “I hold his note of hand for five hundred pounds.”

“Five hundred pounds!” Charlie protested. “Why, that’s absurd.”

“Oh, why did I get that coffin?” A black-bordered handkerchief did excellent duty in hiding Martha Western’s angry eyes. “Why, I spent over a hundred pounds to put him away decently.”

“And, we don’t know what else he owed.” Her son added, gloomily.

“I believe there are quite a few accounts outstanding.” Kithner appeared to take great enjoyment from the scene.

“There you are!” The lady glared angrily. “I think that under the circumstances Miss Breton should give up the buhl box. It’s quite valuable. I believe, and-”

“I am afraid Miss Breton has no say in the matter.” The lawyer rose to his feet, as if to terminate the meeting. “If you will give me instructions, Mrs. Western, to sell the house and contents–”

“Sell the house and furniture!” That was the last straw to the agitated lady. “I won’t!”

“Then I will send you a list of the outstanding debts.”

“Oh, let him sell, mother.” Charlie spoke. “What’s the use of keeping that old barn?”

“In three months’ time,” continued the solicitor. “In the meantime will you please instruct me as to certain outstanding accounts which will have to be settled without delay. I–”

“Do you mean to say that I’ve got to pay them?”

“The creditors will certainly claim against the estate of the deceased–and that estate appears to be only this house and its contents-”

“And, the money in the bank,” observed Charlie, sagely.

“In the circumstances, the legacies will constitute a debt on the house and contents.” Mark Kithner spoke wearily.

“And that child can live here, rent free, for three months, keeping me out of my own!” Mrs. Western rose majestically from the lounge on which she had been seated. “All I can say is, it’s a scandal; that’s what it is! What’s she got to keep this house up and live on?”

“I have a sum of money. In trust, to provide for Miss Breton’s expenses for the period mentioned.”

“Oh, oh!” The woman glared at the lawyer for some seconds. “So that’s that! Quite a nice little sum, I suppose! Put aside to provide for her. And I’m to pay his debt’s and burial and what he likes to give others who were well paid for what they did for him. Come, Charlie. I’m going to see my solicitors.”

Martha Western sailed, majestically from the room, followed by her son. For a few moments there was an awkward silence, then Patterson rose to his feet.

“There’s nothing for me. Mr. Kithner?” he said, almost pathetically, “Basil left me nothing–and I’ve got to wait three months for that five hundred pounds I lent him?”

“I believe so, Mr. Patterson.”

For a moment the little man looked at the solicitor; then he glanced at the girl seated in a low chair in a dark corner of the room. He turned and went to where the girl sat.

“Sorry, Ivy.” He spoke hesitatingly. “Martha shouldn’t have talked as she did–but you know her.” His voice was subdued. “How’s it going to be with you? What are you going to do?”

“For the present, nothing.” Ivy Breton looked up quickly, a little smile on her well-curved lips. “I’m sorry. Mr. Patterson, about your money. God-dad seems–seems to have left things rather–muddled.”

“Looks like it.” The man grinned, wryly. “And I thought he was quite rich.”

“So did I. If I had known that he was so–so poor I would have found work, long ago, but he wouldn’t let me. He always said that he would leave me something when–when he went-”

“He did.” Patterson’s mouth twisted in a grin. “He left you the buhl box.”

“The buhl box!” The girl laughed. “The buhl box that he was so fond of. Do you know, Mr. Patterson, I don’t think he ever went into the library without fondling that box.”

“And now it’s yours.” The little man shook his head. “Well, well! I’ve got to look to cousin Martha for my money, I suppose–and that means trouble a-plenty. Well! If you get stuck, Ivy, come and see me. I ain’t as rich as cousin Basil was supposed to be, but I’ve got a few shillings and–and–Well, well! You’re not a bad kid, after all.”

With a brief nod to the lawyer the man turned and ambled from the room. Again fell the silence. Ivy was thinking of the man who had been more than father to her–the only father she had known.

The will had puzzled her. All her life she had been taught to consider Basil Sixsmith a rich man. The house had been run in careless, almost spendthrift fashion. There had been money for her and the household expenses. The old man had denied himself little; his adopted daughter nothing.

And, now that he was dead he had left only the house and the few pounds in the bank. But–the money in the bank was borrowed money. It had to be repaid.

She glanced around the handsomely furnished room, remembering when some twelve months before her godfather had refurnished it, against her counsel. He had declared the old furniture to be rubbish, and sent it away, to be sold by auction. To her surprise, it had fetched quite a large sum of money. He had handed her the cheque, telling her to spend it on clothes.

Had he been mad then? Ivy could not repress the thought–and felt herself disloyal. But–she looked up as a shadow fell before her, at Mark Kithner.

“Mr. Kithner, you said you had money In trust for me?” She spoke quickly. “How much is it?”

“Two hundred and fifty pounds, my dear.” The old lawyer looked down on the girl. “Why?”

“I shan’t need that much to keep this house up–if it is necessary for me to do so.”

“Mr. Sixsmith wanted you to live here for three months. He left that money with me, for that purpose.”

“But his debts?”

“They are changed on this house and contents.”

“This house and its contents? But if I am to live in it you will not be able to sell it?”

“Mrs. Western is consulting her solicitor on the subject.” The old lawyer spoke dryly.

“But, why should I keep her out of her money all that time?”

“Mrs. Western is not a poor woman.”

“But it seems unjust.” The girl rose and paced the room. “You said that she would have to pay the legacies–and the other expenses.”

“Yes.”

“But she cannot get the money from this house and furniture to do it with.”

“Mrs. Martha Western is-a wealthy woman.”

“But–it is unjust to her.”

“Was it?” Kithner smiled quietly. For some minutes he was silent. Then: “Ivy, is it unjust to receive money through a legacy?”

“Of course not. That’s–Well, one receives a legacy because the giver likes one.”

“Do you think Basil Sixsmith liked Martha Western?”

“They always quarrelled when they met.”

“Yet he left her this house and the contents–and she is a wealthy woman–while you have nothing. He brought you up to believe that you would be his heiress–and he left you buhl box.”

“I love the buhl box–I shall keep it because he left it to me. Mr. Kithner, god-dad had to leave me nothing.”

“Everyone expected that he would leave you everything.” The lawyer spoke drily. “And now you want to part with the few pounds that Basil Sixsmith placed in my hands to provide for you while you obtained work?”

“I think it should go to pay his debts.”

“But Martha Western can pay them out of the estate left to her.”

“She can’t sell it.”

“For three months.” Kithner paused. “She will have to find something like fifteen hundred pounds to pay the debts and expenses. At the end of the three months she will come into property at between five and six thousand pounds. That is rather good interest, isn’t it?”

“But–why?”

“You said your god-father and Martha Western were always quarrelling?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps a reason can be found in that.” A thin smile came on the legal-looking lips. “Basil Sixsmith was a strange man. He had a queer strain of rather sardonic humour. He knew that he could not entirely ignore his half-sister–his only close relation–without causing comment, yet he did not love her.” The lawyer paused a moment “Can we find a reason there? Did he leave her this house–and a problem?”

“And to me–the buhl box.”

“You don’t offer to hand that over to the estate?”

“I want to keep it.” Ivy turned to face the solicitor. “It’s the one thing that god-dad always wanted to have near him. It–it will be like having him about the place when I see it.”

“The buhl box.” The smile grew on the lawyer’s face. “Come, Ivy. You have inherited the buhl box and its contents. As your legal counsellor, it is only right that I should obtain your inheritance for you. As the legal representative of the deceased, and co-executor with Mrs. Western, of the will,” He made a grimace at the words, “I shall now hand the box over to you and obtain your receipt for it.”

He went to the table and scrawled a receipt on a piece of paper.

“Sign here, Ivy.” He held the pen towards her. When she had signed the receipt he folded it and placed it in his pocket.

“Now come and take possession of your buhl box.”

With old-fashioned courtesy he held the door for her to pass through. Again in the gloomy hall, he smiled quietly as he viewed the trim, little figure, walking before him. Ivy Breton was a pretty girl and although below the average height of woman, carried herself with almost regal air.

At the library door she waited until the lawyer came to her. He opened the door and she passed into the big room.

On the big desk, occupying the centre of the room, stood a box–the buhl box. Immediately the eyes of man and girl turned to it. Kithner picked it up and weighed it in his hand.

“Not heavy.” He laughed gently and tried to raise the lid, but could not. “Locked!”

“There is no key to the box.” Ivy took it in her hands. “See! It opens to a concealed spring. So!”

The lid flew back under the pressure of the girl’s fingers. They bent to peer into the inferior. In the box lay only a letter and underneath it a photograph. Kithner slit the envelope and handed it to the girl. She withdrew the enclosure, a single sheet of paper and, almost without thinking, read the few lines on it, aloud:

Ivy,

You have been a good daughter to me. This last charge I lay on you. Carry out the instructions contained in this–the buhl box.

Basil Sixsmith.

As the girl concluded reading the few lines. Kithner look from the box a photograph of a young man. In silence, he handed it to the girl. She stared at it amazedly. In the place where the autograph is usually written were three words, in her godfather’s writing:

“FIND THIS MAN.”

CHAPTER II. ADDED DEBTS

“ABSURD!” The girl gurgled, delightedly. “Do you, or did dear old god-dad, think I’m going to chase about the world looking for a man to marry me? No, he–”

“He will have to do the chasing.” Kithner’s smile broadened into a chuckle. “Quite right, m’dear. Now to find him and set him on the right track.”

“What track?”

“The chasing.” The solicitor’s eyes twinkled. “No, dear, that was only my joke. Still–“ he paused.

The girl looked at him, inquisitively.

“What are you going to do?” Kithner asked.

“I don’t know.” Ivy had picked up her god-father’s letter again and was reading the few lines, attentively. “God-dad wants me to find him.”

“That’s not going to be easy.” The lawyer walked around the desk and sank into Basil Sixsmith’s armed chair. “There’s not a single clue. The photograph’s mounted on plain card, not an imprint, not a mark on it. He may be in the heart of Australia, for all we know.”

“And I am supposed to go and fetch him out? That’s comforting!” Ivy perched herself on the corner or the desk, a twinkle of mischief in her green-grey eyes. “Still, he’s got to be found.”

“Why?”

“Because god-dad wants him found.” Ivy spoke as if she had given the final reason. Now, Mr Kithner, how do I go about it?’

“Advertise?”

“Of course!” The girl was sarcastic. Will this do? “Wanted a young man photograph: in the possession of a young lady who is looking for a job.”

“Looks to me as if you’ve taken on quite a ‘job’ in this search.”

“And with only two hundred and fifty pounds to finance it.”

“Then you have relinquished the idea of handing over that money to Mrs. Western?”

The girl nodded. “Now, be sensible. How am I to go about this task?”

For some time there was silence Ivy tried to consider the matter from all points of view. It was rather era harassing. She was to find an unknown young man–and that without the slightest clue to where he was likely to be.

Where had Basil Sixsmith found that photograph? Had he known the young man whose picture it was? What had been the relations between the young and the old man And above all, what was to happen when she found him–if she succeeded in her search?

The girl had not much doubt in the matter. She would find the man, only that the finding of him was the last injunction placed on her by the god-father she had loved so dearly She would find him–and then?

Had the old man thought to provide for her future by a marriage between her and this man? The rich colour flooded her face at the thought. This would be just like a man! To provide for her future! As if she was incapable of working?

No, her godfather would not have acted like that. Ivy knew him too well to allow that thought to linger. Her god-father had been too wise try so palpable a trick. There was–there must be–a reason behind the somewhat peremptory instruction that accompanied the photograph.

Could she couple the instruction regarding this man with the disappearance of the wealth her god-dad had been credited with possessing. But, in that case, what relation could this man be to him? Or–

Ivy jumped from the desk and took to pacing the room. Had this unknown man, she had been instructed to find, anything to do with herself her history?

Who was she? Where had she come from? Ivy shrugged. She knew so little of herself. Her godfather had carefully avoided any mention of her birth and parentage. She had ask some questions, but he had always been evasive in his replies. Once she had pressed for an answer–to be asked if she was not entirely happy with him? What could she answer to that? She had known that she was happy; that had she not possessed a native spirit of independence she would have been thoroughly spoilt by the old man.

Something of herself and her parents she had gathered; partly from what her godfather had told her, partly from the answers to the few questions she had asked and he had answered, from time to time. She had learned that she was the daughter of an old, close friend. He had told her that he had travelled to Queensland, when she was a baby, to receive her as a trust from her dying father. Her father? She remembered him so slightly. A tall grave man who hardly ever smiled; a man whose furrowed brow told of a world pressing hard on him.

She could not remember her mother. Once she had questioned the old man regarding her mother, and he had told her to go and look in the glass. She had stood on tip-toe before the old-fashioned mirror, trying to picture herself twenty years older, a mother with a daughter of her own age.

And that was all she knew–except that she was entirely dependent on the man who had taken her and given her a home; at first for the sake of the friend he had loved, then for own self. Had her father and mother had other children?

Was this man, whose photograph she had found in the buhl box, her brother? That might be. She always wanted a brother, someone to look up to–a nice, strong, elder brother who would bully her a bit. She knew that she could not love a brother who gave way to her; the woman in her revolted at the thought She might love a husband who lived in a state of passionate adoration and acquiescence to her demands; but a brother–he had always to be superior, masterful, to call out the best in the adolescent woman that she instinctively known was in her. She laughed, suddenly.

“Well?” Kithner looked up, inquiringly.

“I was wondering if that was a photograph of my brother.”

“And I was wondering how you were going to find this man.”

“You suggested advertising.”

“Good Lord! You never took that seriously?” The lawyer threw up his hands. “Why, every man in the Commonwealth would think that his photograph, especially if he thought that he would be a gainer if he claimed resemblance to it. Why, girl, your money would melt in a staff of secretaries to deal with the correspondence; you would have to get police protection to prevent the doors of this house being thrown down in the rush. No, advertising is no good!”

“Then, what do you suggest?”

“I don’t know. I don’t suggest–anything.” A little smile lurked around the straight lips. “Remember, young lady, I’m only your adviser, that means, I have to carry out the instructions you give me after I have advised you whether, in my opinion, they are good or bad. The onus is entirely on you.”

Ivy looked at him, suspiciously. A sudden thought was born in her mind.

“Exactly, what do you mean?”

“My meaning is carried in my exact words, m’dear.” Kithner laughed, slightly. “The chase is to you. All I will promise is, that I will carry out your instructions faithfully.”

Ivy went and sat on the arm of the lawyer’s chair.

“That means you know something.”

“I know nothing, at the moment.”

“And–if you learn anything in the future?”

“Anything I shall learn will be through carrying but the instructions you honour me with. That information will, of course, be always at your service. But–”

“But–”

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