CHAPTER II
THE WILL
Old Mr. Marvin's faculties returned with a snap. There was the libraryjust as it had been before his peculiar seizure. His son Harry wassummoning on the telephone Dr. Stevens, the heart specialist, andPauline, his adopted daughter, was on her knees chafing his hands andanxiously watching his face, while Owen, the secretary, was pouring outa dose of his medicine. But the peculiar yellow light had gone. Andwhat about the mummy? It stood just as he had left it, the lower halfof the case was in place, the upper half was out, revealing theloosened bandages and just a glimpse of the forehead.
One strand of jet black hair hung down. All was just as it was whenthe little vial had fallen out.
"I'm all right, I'm all right," protested Mr. Marvin, somewhat testily,as he twisted about in his chair to get a good view of the mummy."Look out, Harry, don't step on that little bottle."
Harry looked down and picked up the tiny vial which had fallen from thebandages wrapped about the ancient form.
"Smell of it," his father ordered. Harry sniffed it and remarked thatit smelled musty and passed it to Pauline. The girl carried it to hernostrils spin and again. She looked perplexed.
"Well, what do you think it is?" asked the old man.
"Why--I can't remember, but I ought to know. I'm sure I do know."
"The devil you do," muttered her faster father.
"What makes you think you ought to know?"
"Why, it is so familiar. I'm certain I've smelled it often before.Haven't I?"
"Well, if you have, Polly, you are a lot older than I am, older thananything in this country, as old as the pyramids. That bottle fell outof the mummy, and I can assure you it has been there some three or fourthousand years. When I smelled of that bottle it had a queer effect onme. I felt as if I were going to have one of my fainting spells andwas glad to get back to the chair. It's funny about that mummy. Ithought she came out and talked to me."
"Why, father, what a horrible thing!" sympathized Pauline.
"Not horrible at all. She was a beauty and a princess. She wasinterested in your picture, Polly, and she looked like you, too,except, let's see--yes, her hair was black, jet black, like that onelock you see hanging down."
"Oh," interrupted Pauline, "I wish my hair were black, and I oftendream that it is, and that I am walking around in a pretty, whitepleated dress and my feet are bare."
"And a bracelet on your wrist--your right wrist?" questioned Marvineagerly.
"I don't remember," Pauline replied thoughtfully.
"Well, we'll see if you had one and also whether I was dreaming ornot," announced the old man with a half ashamed look as he rosesomewhat unsteadily to his feet. Harry and Pauline tried to keep himquiet. He brushed their warnings aside and walked unsteadily to themummy.
"Let's see its face," suggested Harry carelessly.
"No," said his father. "I have an idea that this old but young ladywould not care to have us look at her. But there is one thing I mustfind out. I want to know if she wears a bracelet of linked scarabs onher right wrist or not."
All of this was rather a bore to Harry, who lived intensely in thepresent, had no interest in Egypt, except that Pauline was born andadopted as an orphan baby there, and asked nothing of the future exceptthat it allow him to marry this obstinate but fascinating littlecreature at the earliest possible moment. The question had beenbrought up half an hour before, and he wanted it settled at once.Harry wished they would decide about the marriage instead of fussingaround with an old mummy.
"My son, I venture to say that you would have been interested in thisyoung woman had you met her."
"Possibly," the youth admitted with a slight yawn.
"Yes," continued his father, busily searching for the mummy's rightwrist, "she was probably what you would call a peach."
"She may have been a peach in her day," thought Harry, "but today she'sa dried apricot."
The elder Marvin's searching fingers encountered a hard object. Itproved to be a scarab, or sacred Egyptian beetle, carved in blackstone.
"Did you ever dream about that?" asked Harry, chaffing.
"Yes, I have," replied Pauline. Both men looked at her to see if shewere serious.
"I dreamed that I was very sick and going to die, and an old man with along, thin beard came in. He gave me a stone beetle like that. Thenit seems to me they put it right on my chest and they said--let'ssee, what did they do that for? I think it was to cure me of somethingthe matter with my heart."
"Polly," said Mr. Marvin, "I never knew you had dreams like this. Butare you sure they said it would cure your heart? Wasn't it for someother reason?"
Pauline thought a moment, while Harry lit a cigarette and his fatherworked his fingers down toward the mummy's right wrist.
"No," said Pauline, "I remember now. It wasn't to cure it at all. Itwas to make it keep quiet."
"Ho, ho!" laughed Harry. "I never knew of any one making it fluttermuch. I guess that was no dream."
Harry's father silenced him with an impatient gesture and turned toPauline, who was watching the wind make cat's paws on the polishedsurface of the Hudson River.
"Go on, girl, go on. This is remarkable. I have read of this customin the Egyptian 'Book of the Dead'! Why did they want to keep yourheart quiet?"
"They said," continued Pauline, dreamily, "that after I died my spiritwas to be called before somebody--a God, I guess--who would judgewhether I was good enough for Heaven or not. That stone beetle wasplaced on my heart to make it keep silent and not tell anything wickedI might have done in life. Aren't dreams crazy things? Say, Harry,there goes a hydroplane."
The two young people hung out the open window. The old man wasabsorbed, too. He had at last worked his fingers along the entirelength of the mummy's right wrist. It was dry and hard as any mummy hehad ever seen, but it bore neither bracelet nor any ornament whatever.
"Well," he said, reluctantly, "it was all a dream, interesting but notimportant. Like Polly's dream, it was just the echo of something Ihave read or seen."
"Oh, pshaw! What are dreams, anyway?" muttered Harry, withimpatience.
"Dreams," said Pauline, authoritatively, "dreams are the bubbles whichrise to the surface of the mind when it cools down in sleep."
"Now," observed Harry, quietly, "when you and father are throughtalking about mummies and dreams I wish you would consider somethingthat I am interested in. I'd like to know how soon you are going tomarry me?"
"Where did you get that definition of dreams, Polly?" asked the oldman.
"From my story," said Pauline, proudly.
Both men at once remembered that she had gone to find the magazine andshow them her first story. They eagerly demanded to see it.
Pauline picked up the Cosmopolitan from the floor. She had dropped itin her agitation at finding her foster father had fainted. Sure enough,there it was:
FIRE ON AN OCEAN LINER
By Pauline Marvin.
It was not the biggest feature by any means, but it was quite a littlestory, and there were several large stirring illustrations. Both menbegged her to read it to them, but she modestly declined.
Mr. Marvin adjusted his spectacles and read it through from start tofinish, frequently looking up to compliment the authoress on some pointthat pleased him. Harry looked over his father's shoulder, and therecould be no doubt they were both held and even thrilled by the story.
Mr. Marvin clapped his hands and stated in a loud voice that he wasproud of her. Harry expressed his appreciation by a bear-like hug anda kiss, all of which she accepted with blushes and protests.
"And--er--did they actually pay you something for this?" asked theold gentleman.
"Oh, yes," Pauline assured him. "They sent me a check at once. Itpaid for that frock you told me was too extravagant."
"A hundred dollars?" ventured Harry from the depths of his ignorance ofthings feminine.
Both Pauline and his father cast pit
ying glances at him.
"Look here, young man," said the elder Marvin, "whoever led you tobelieve that you could buy dresses for a girl like Polly at a hundreddollars? If you contemplate matrimony on any such deluded basis asthat you had better back out now before it's too late. Isn't that so,Polly?"
"Why, father," protested the youth, "what do I care what her dressescost? Polly knows everything I have or ever make is hers, and I can'tthink of a more satisfactory way of spending it than on her."
"That's fine, Harry," laughed the father, "you have just the idealframe of mind and the proper sentiments for a modern husband. You willfind, too, that women are very reasonable. If a man gives his wife allhe makes, plus the vote, and lets her do just as she pleases--she'llusually let him live in the same house with her, and even get up earlyenough to see him at breakfast once in a while."
"I agree to everything," declared Harry, with the reckless abandon ofyouth in love. "But I want to know how soon Polly is going to marryme."
Pauline, who had said nothing in answer to the preliminary skirmishes,now recognized the main attack and opened up in reply.
"I told you I would marry Harry some time, but not for a year or two.You admitted that a writer ought to see life in order to write well.So there you are. I must have a year or two of adventure. There are athousand things I want to do and see before I settle down as Mrs. HarryMarvin. Suppose we say two years."
Harry staggered back as if from a blow. Two years! How preposterous!He couldn't live that long without Pauline. In vain he hurled hisprotests and objections. She stood, sweet, unruffled, sympathetic, butas firm as the Rocky Mountains. The old man listened to the debate forsome time without comment. Then he pressed a button on his desk.
In answer came Raymond Owen, the secretary. He had shown the goodtaste to retire from the library as soon as the conversation becamepersonal. From the vantage point of a room across the hall he had beenquietly listening, and decided it a rather unfruitful piece ofeavesdropping. He appeared the faithful, deferent employee in everyline as he entered.
"Come here, Raymond," directed the old man, as sharply as a commandingofficer, "and you, Harry, and you, Pauline."
They obeyed and quickly lined up before his chair with rather surprisedfaces, for Mr. Marvin only called them Pauline and Harry when he wasvery serious.
"Raymond, this is the situation: My son loves Pauline and wants tomarry her at once. I have no objection; in fact, I would like to seethem united at once, but Pauline demurs. She loves Harry, but feelsshe ought to have two years to see life before settling down. Twoyears is too much."
"I should say so," growled Harry.
"But, as my old grandfather, who has been gone these forty years now,used to say: 'When a woman will, she will, and when she won't, shewon't--and there's an end on't.' I don't blame her for wanting tohave her own way. It's the only plan I've found to get along in thisworld, but you can't have all your own way. You have to compromise.So Polly is going to have one year--that's enough.
"During that year, Raymond, I'm going to put her in your care. You areolder and more prudent than either Polly or Harry and will see that shecomes to no harm. Take her anywhere she wants to go--around theworld if she likes, to do anything within reason. Do you agree?"
Mr. Marvin looked at Owen, who accepted the duty as calmly as if itwere an order to post a letter. Polly also consented after a moment'shesitation. Harry alone protested and argued. It was a hopeless caseand he yielded to overwhelming odds.
This matter settled, Mr. Marvin's mind returned to the mummy and hiscurious delusion that it had come to life. While Owen perusedPauline's story and that willful young woman herself tried to cheer upher disconsolate lover, the old man returned to the mummy. He hadsearched for the bracelet on the right wrist, but, after all, perhapsthe Egyptian might have slipped it onto her left wrist in her hurry toget back.
"There it is," he shouted suddenly; "there it is--the bracelet. Shewore it on her wrist and he told her to give it to Polly."
Mr. Marvin held in his hand a bracelet of scarabs linked together. Itlooked to him to the very one the reincarnated mummy had worn. Harryand Pauline in wonder came to him, and it was well they did. Theexcitement and exertion had again overstrained his failing energies.He tottered, and they were just in time to save him from a fall.
It was another of his fainting spells, and they lowered him gently intohis chair. But the old man was not unconscious yet. Feebly herepeated to Pauline, "Wear this bracelet--wear it always--promise."
Pauline promised, and slipped it on her wrist without more thanglancing at it. The old man's eyes closed, and it was clear that thisfaint was more serious than his others. Harry, about to telephone forDr. Stevens again, was greatly relieved to see the physician strideinto the room. There was hardly need of the stethoscope to tell himthe end was near.
Even before the old man was undressed and in bed, Dr. Stevens hadprepared and administered a hypodermic. The patient's eyelidsfluttered and Dr. Stevens listened to the faintly moving lips.
"The will," called the doctor, "what about the will?"
He glanced at every one, but nobody knew.
A shadow of anxiety passed over the features of the dying millionaire.Dr. Stevens could see that something of serious importance was on theold man's mind--something of importance about his vast property.
Once more he listened and then hastily drawing out his prescription padand fountain pen he wrote a few sentences at the dying man's dictation,while the patient rallied and opened his eyes. The physician held theblank before his patient, who read it through and nodded. Dr. Stevensthen placed the pen in the trembling fingers and guided his signature.A moment more and the physician had signed it as a witness and thebutler had done the same.
The old manufacturer died as he had lived.
The will written on Dr. Stevens's prescription pad was given to Owen.He went to his room and examined it. It read:
"Bodley Stevens, M.D. Rx: I bequeath half my estate to my son, Harry,the remainder to my adopted daughter, Pauline, to be held in trust,until her marriage, by my secretary, Raymond Owen."
Then followed the signature of the deceased and that of the twowitnesses. In vain Owen looked for the handsome bequest to "thefaithful secretary." This was a bitter disappointment, and heconsidered for a moment the advisability of destroying the will. Thiswould make valid one of the earlier wills in which he knew he had notbeen forgotten.
The folly of such a course became evident after a few moments thought.Dr. Stevens, the butler, and several others knew the contents of thedocument. It was so simple that its meaning could hardly be confusedor forgotten, and every one knew it was in his keeping. It occurred toOwen that quite likely such a hasty death-bed will written by a doctorunskilled in law might not be accepted by the courts.
Early the next morning Owen suspended his work of answering telegramsof condolence long enough to make a hurried trip to lower Manhattan,where the late Stanford Marvin's lawyers had offices.
In vain the great lawyer cudgeled his brains for some flaw. The willought to be wrong, but it wasn't. The meaning was so clear that even acourt couldn't misunderstand it, and the fortune was left to hisnatural beneficiaries. The lawyer heaved a sigh and said plaintively:
"Too bad, too bad. Why didn't they call me?"
"Then this will is not valid?" asked Owen.
"Oh, no, it will hold; but what a pity that such a great man's lastwill and testament should be such an--well, so--well, thisinstrument is not worthy of conveying such a great estate."
He contemptuously slipped the simple document into an envelope andplaced it in his safe. Owen picked up his hat, but hesitated at thedoor. A question was forming in his mind and with it a hope.
"Mr. Wilmerding," he asked finally, "in case Miss Marvin does not marrywho would have charge of the estate?"
"I should say," replied the lawyer, "in reply to your question that theestate would be held i
n trust by you."
Returning to the house and entering the library Owen was confronted bythe unwelcome spectacle of Montgomery Hicks, generally known as Mug.Hicks, with his gaudy attire, and ugly face, was always an affront tothe eye, but to Owen he was a terror, for he held the power ofblackmail over the secretary. Owen shrank at the sight of his enemy,but immediately took courage. Though Marvin's death had left thesecretary no legacy it had also robbed the blackmailer of his power.
Hicks advanced with what he intended to be a winning smile and extendeda hot, fat hand.
"I see the old man has croaked and I was just dropping in to talkbusiness," Hicks's newsboy voice growled out.
"Hicks," said Owen, keeping his hand in his pocket, "if you came hereto get your money out of the legacy old man Marvin was to leave me.Well, you won't get it and you never will get it. Marvin didn't leaveme a cent, so there is nothing for you to get. He did leave me a jobin his will, a job that will last for a year, and neither you nor anyone else can force me out of that job. You can't blackmail me anymore."
"At the end of the year what becomes of you?" asked Hicks.
"Then I get a position somewhere else; but that is none of yourbusiness."
"You don't want a position, Owen. A position calls for work. Youdon't like hard work any more then I do. You can't stand work muchlonger, either. Look at your eyes and your skin, how many grains doyou take a day, anyway?"
"I haven't touched a grain of morphine in six months," lied Owen. "Butget out of my way--you can't get anything out of me and you can'tblackmail me. If you come to this house again I'll have you thrownout."
"Just a minute," said Hicks, as pleasantly as he could, straining hiscoarse features into the unaccustomed position of a smile. "I didn'tcome to get money out of you. I know all about the will. What I camefor was to help you and give you a tip. You and I can make a lot ofeasy money together. You've got the opportunity and I've got thebrains. Now, to show you I'm your friend, look at this!"
Hicks handed him a paper which Owen read with surprise. It was areceipt in full for all Owen owed. Owen put it in his pocket.
"That's right, keep it. You and I are going to be so rich before longthat a matter of a thousand or two wouldn't be worth talking aboutbetween friends."
Owen had been under the thumb of this man, had feared and hated him andhoped for the day when he might sneer in his face and defy him. Thiswas the time, and yet he felt Hicks had something to offer. He was intemporary charge of millions. There should be, there must be, some wayto make this control permanent or else to delve into these millionswhile they were in his care. As Hicks hinted, this was an opportunityand he needed not brains, but rather experience and advice. Owen hadbeen a rascal on a short time, why not take a partner like this manHicks? He would prevent mistakes, and mistakes are all a criminal needfear.
Owen fingered uneasily the paper Hicks had put in his hand. He drew itout of his pocket--yes, it was a receipt in full for all that Owenowed the scoundrel. What could be Hicks's scheme? Owen turned apuzzled and worried gaze upon his companion.
Hicks observed him closely, read the misgivings in Owen's mind and,drawing close, whispered something in the latter's ear.
But Owen's drug-saturated nerves trembled at the thought. He pushedHicks aside and walked rapidly out of the room, calling over hisshoulder:
"I won't have anything to do with you. I don't want you to come nearme or speak to me again. I'm done with you."
"When you want me you know where to find me," was Hicks's partinganswer.