“I suppose I’ve said either too much or too little already,” he began. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t tell you about the affair. It’s nearly common talk as it is, and you’re sure to hear something about it sooner or later. You may as well get it firsthand and be done with it.”
Sir Clinton, having solicited no confidence, contented himself with merely listening, without offering any vocal encouragement.
“You knew my father well,” Cecil went on, after a short pause in which he seemed to be arranging his ideas in some definite order. “He was one of the best, if you like. No one would say a word against him—it’s the last thing I’d think of doing myself, at any rate.”
Sir Clinton nodded approvingly.
“The bother was,” Cecil continued, “that he judged everyone by himself. He couldn’t understand that anyone might not be as straight as he always was. He never made an allowance for some kinds of human nature, if you see what I mean. And, another thing, he had a great notion of the duties of the head of the family. He took them pretty seriously and he looked after a lot of people who had no claim on him, really, except that they belonged to the clan.”
“He was always generous, I know,” Sir Clinton confirmed. “And he always trusted people. Sometimes, perhaps, he overdid it.”
Cecil made a gesture of agreement and continued:
“He overdid it when he drew up his will. Maurice, of course, was bound to be the next head of the family, once my father had gone; so my father took it for granted that things would go on just the same. The head of the family would run the show with an eye to the interests of the rest of us, and all would be right on the night. That was the theory of the business, as my father saw it; and he drafted his will on that basis.”
Cecil sat up suddenly and flung away his cigarette with a vehemence which betrayed the heat of his feelings.
“That was the theory of the business, as I said. But the practice wasn’t quite so satisfactory. My father left every penny he had to Maurice; he left him absolutely every asset; and, of course, Ravensthorpe’s entailed, so Maurice got that in the normal course. Joan, my mother, and myself, were left without a farthing to bless ourselves with. But there was a suggestion in the will—not a legally binding thing, but merely a sort of informal direction—that Maurice was to look after us all and give us some sort of income each. I suppose my father hardly thought it worth while to do more than that. Being the sort of man he was, he would rely implicitly on Maurice playing the game, just as he’d have played the game himself—had played it all his life, you know.”
Sir Clinton showed no desire to offer any comment; and in a moment or two Cecil went on once more:
“Last year, there was nothing to complain about. Maurice footed our bills quite decently. He never grumbled over our expenses. Everything seemed quite sound. It never crossed my mind to get things put on a business footing. In fact, you know, I’d hardly have had the nerve to suggest anything of the sort. It would have looked a bit grasping, wouldn’t it?”
Cecil glanced inquiringly at Sir Clinton, but the Chief Constable seemed averse from making any comment at this stage. Cecil took his case from his pocket and lit a fresh cigarette before continuing his story.
“You don’t remember Una Rainhill, I suppose?”
Sir Clinton shook his head.
“She’s a sort of second cousin of ours,” Cecil explained. “Probably you never came across her. Besides, she’d hardly be out of the nursery when you went off to South Africa. Well, she’s grown up now—just about a year or two younger than Joan. You’ll see her for yourself. She’s staying with us just now for this coming-of-age of Joan’s.”
Sir Clinton had no great difficulty in guessing, behind Cecil’s restraint, his actual feelings about the girl. His voice gave him away if the words did not.
“No use making a long story of it, is there?” Cecil continued. “Both Maurice and I wanted Una. So did a good many others. But she didn’t want Maurice. She was quite nice about it. He’d nothing to complain of in that way. He got no encouragement from her at all. But he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. He was really extra keen, and I think he overdid it instead of making the best of a bad business. And finally he realized that it was me that he was up against. Una and I aren’t officially engaged, or anything like that—you’ll see why in a moment—but it’s a case of two’s company and three’s none; and Maurice knows he’s Number Three.”
There was more than a tinge of rancour in Cecil’s voice when he came to this last sentence. Sir Clinton raised his eyebrows slightly. He did not quite admire this malevolence on the part of the successful lover against his defeated rival. Cecil apparently noticed the slight change in the Chief Constable’s expression.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “You haven’t heard it all yet. Before I go on, just bear in mind that there was plenty of money for all of us in the family. My father always took it for granted that I’d have enough to keep me. He’d never thought of my going into business. I’ve got some sort of turn for writing; and I think he hoped that I’d make some kind of name as an author. And, of course, with what I supposed was an assured income behind me, I haven’t hurried much in the way of publishing my stuff. I could afford to let it lie—or so I thought.”
A slight gesture of Sir Clinton showed his approval of this outlook on authorship. It seemed to him that Cecil at
