TWO MEN AND MARY

Wairarapa Times-Age, 12 May 1938, Page 12

TWO MEN AND MARY

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

By

HOLLOWAY HORN.

(Author of “George,” “That Man at Claverton Mansions,” etc.)

SYNOPSIS. MARY ROSSITER, twenty-one, pretty, educated at Cambridge where she attained proficiency in languages, lives in a small flat in Red Lion Square, London. Her first job was as secretary to SIR HECTOR GILROY, the head of a big firm of South American merchants.

Mary has no relatives, the last one, her father, having died soon after her return from Cambridge. He left her some £7OOO.

ANTHONY MCCARTHY, her father’s solicitor, takes a friendly interest in Mary. He is thirty, with dark-grey hair and blue eyes, and married. His wife, who is suffering from consumption, is at a sanatorium at Davos? Mary instinctively trusts him and likes him. On Sir Hector’s sudden death, his son, RONALD GILROY, becomes Mary’s boss. He is a young man of twenty-five and is in love with Mary. But Mary hates him. When he persists in his attentions, she resigns her job and goes to Freudenstadt, in Germany, on a holiday. Having taken a room at the Pavilion Hotel, she goes for a stroll in the pine woods of the Black Forest, where, to her surprise, she encounters LIEUTENANT KURT EIDENMULLER. whom she had known while at Cambridge. He is in love with her and takes her to dances and other places of amusement. Mark likes him immensely, but only as a friend. After only a few hours of their meeting, Kurt Eidenmuller has to part, having received an order from his regiment to go to Munich immediately. In the hotel where Mary is staying she makes the acquaintance of a very wealthy old Englishwoman of seventyeight. MRS. WESTERTON likes Mary and takes her as a companion at thirty pounds a month.

Mrs Westerton, so she tells Mary, has no relatives except her nephew and his wife, who live in England. She hates then! both. For some days they tour in Germany, and, on Mary’s suggestion, go to Davos. On arrival at Davos, Mary goes to the Gunther Institute to see Evelyn, McCarthy’s wife. The nurse tells her Evelyn died three days ago and that McCarthy who had come for the funeral, is staying at the Phoenix Hotel.

Mary is shocked at the news, and when she goes back to her hotel tells Mrs Westerton all about the misfortune of her friend and solicitor, McCarthy. Mrs Westerton asks Mary to ring up at once as she wants to meet him to do some business. Mary does so, but she is told McCarthy is out. Leaving a message to call as soon at he returns, Mary goes for a walk. (Now Read On).

CHAPTER V— Continued. “You have not lunched?” she asked politely. “We have,” said the female of the species, glancing round the sitting room. “You would doubtless like to see your aunt?” “Not now. Later. You were my aunt’s companion. “Yes.” “To what date were your wages paid?” “To the first of last month. But there’s no need —” “It is my place to decide whether there is a need or not.” “I communicated with Mrs Westerton’s solicitor,” Mary said quietly. “He’s on his way down here.” “Her solicitor?” “Yes. Mr McCarthy, of Messrs Swannick, Swanick and Jevons.”

“But why?” the nephew demanded angrily.

“I thought it the proper thing to do. Just as I communicated with you.”

“I really think you might have left matters to my husband and myself. I don’t see what concern it is of yours at all.”

“I happened to be in charge when your aunt died.” “Did my aunt leave a will?” “I really don’t know. She never mentioned it to me.”

The nephew breathed more easily. “As her only blood relation, the estate of course devolves on me,” he said pompously. “I’m sure you’ve done your best, and have been very kind to my aunt, but there seems no reason why you should remain on any longer, Miss —” “Rossiter,” said Mary. “I’m quite ready to go; but if you don’t mind I think I will wait for the solicitor. I happen to know him, and in any case I have to pack.”

With that she left them in the sitting room. She was still in her room when McCarthy came. She went downstairs to find that Mrs Skeggs had already ushered him into the sitting room. “Hallo!” he smiled as she entered. He was sitting in the window; the nephew and his wife standing up watching him. “Really, Miss Rossiter, this interview is a private one,” the nephew’s wife said. “With all respect I think that Miss Rossiter should remain,” McCarthy said. “Mrs Skeggs, too, should come in.” “I’ll fetch her.” said Mary. “But this is the first I have heard of a will,” the nephew was saying

when Mary and Mrs Skeggs returned. “Possibly. Nevertheless the document is the last will and testament of the deceased, and with your permission I propose to read it.” “But when was it drawn up? And by whom?” the nephew demanded. “It was drawn up only a few weeks ago. By me, on instructions received from my client in Davos, Switzerland. It is very short. I am appointed the sole executor.” ‘

“You?” the nephew asked, increduously. ' “Certainly. I am a solicitor. It is not unusual. This instrument deals only with Mrs Westerton’s private estate as distinct from certain real estate in which she had a life interest only, I understand.” “That’s mine . . now-,” said the ne-

phew. “Quite,” said the lawyer. “If you are ready and will allow me, I will read the will.”

“Yes . . yes,” said the nephew impatiently. “To Mary Rossiter, my friend and companion, I leave the cottage on Mossford Common and all its contents together with the sum of eight thousand pounds in 3| per cent Conversion Stock absolutely. To Mrs Sarah Skeggs now living at the cottage thp income of the same stock. At her death,” the solicitor went on, “the capital goes to various charities which Mrs Westerton enumerated. The remainder of her estate —a considerable one —is left to the same charities.”

“It’s . . it’s a scandal!” the nephew’s wife protested. “What exactly do you mean?” McCarthy asked in an ominously quiet tone.

“She’s only known this . . this lady a few months.”

“Well? Some of the charities which benefit can hardly be known to her at all.” “But I’m her relation.” “I’m afraid the matter was decided entirely by the deceased. I drew up the will according to her very precise instructions.”

“Thank goodness the old cat couldn’t stop the bulk of the property coming to us,” the nephew’s wife said spitefully.

■ “From you point of view that is true," McCarthy commented. “But with my client lying dead upstairs I feel that your language is not in the best of taste.”

“You feathered your nest nicely, my girl,” the wife went on, turning to Mary. “I’d not the least idea in the world . . .” Mary began.

“Not the least idea in the world,” the nephew’s wife repeated in shrill tones. “I don’t think.” She was almost beside herself with mortification and anger. “If I may suggest it, the better course would be for your solicitor to communicate with us,” McCarthy went on, turning to the nephew and handing him a card.

“Yes,” the nephew said, and suddenly added: “Here, come on, Eleanor, or you’ll be saying something you don’t mean.”

“The will will be contested. Undue influence,” he wife cried.

“That is a very serious allegation,” McCarthy said quietly. “And, moreover, an entirely unfounded one.” "Companion!” the nephew’s wife sneered.

“May I remind you that you are my guest.” Mary put in. “Your guest. I like that.” “This is, apparently, my house.” Suddenly, as if she were fearful of exploding, the nephew's wife turned to the door. Her husband, with a pathetic gesture, followed her. “But do you mean to tell me that the poor old darling left all that money to me?” Mary demanded when they had gone.

“I do.” “But why?” “Presumably because she was fond of you.” “And the cottage? I can understand her leaving Mrs Skeggs her legacy, but I’ve only known her a few months.” “She was powerful fond of you, Miss,” Mrs Skeggs put in. “She said in one of her letters that you were like a daughter to her.” “She was the only mother I’ve ever had,” Mary said. “It’s dreadful to think that she's dead, that she’ll never smile again. I’m sorry for Mrs John,” she went on. “I can quite see her point of view.”

“H’s more than I am, Miss” Mrs Skeggs insisted. “I don't ’old with waiting for dead men’s shoes. That’s what they’ve been doing. Mrs Westerton couldn't stand her. Begging your pardon, sir. but would you tell me again about the will. I didn't understand. I knew she would remember me—l been with her nigh on thirty years—but I didn’t understand.” “It boils down to the fact that she has left you about two pounds a week for the rest of your life, Mrs Skeggs.” “Fancy that, now! I’d rather she was ’ere, though. Shall I make a cupper tea. Miss?” “I should love one,” said Mary. “And I'm sure Mr McCarthy would. By the way, Mrs Skeggs, I do hope that you can stay on for awhile.” (To be Continued).