A few minutes later, the pair was seated at the dining-room table. The spontaneous meeting had brought a quick bond of unrestrained cordiality. They were talking over boyhood events with real enthusiasm. To Carter Boswick, this get-together had taken an unexpected turn.
“Do you remember that game we used to play so often” — Drew Westling’s voice had assumed a reminiscent tone — “and how exact we were in every detail?”
“You mean the duel between D’Artagnan and De Guise?’ smiled Carter.
“Yes,” nodded Drew. “We used those short billiard cues for swords, and chalked the ends of them so we could count the thrusts.”
“We must have played that battle a hundred times.”
“Right out of the pages of ‘The Three Musketeers’. We used to read the old volume of Dumas for inspiration — then change them into action. We passed that stage of life, though. Funny thing, Carter” — Drew paused wistfully — “I never could think of reading a Dumas story again, after you went away.”
Carter made no reply. His cousin was thoughtful then returned to his reminiscences.
“The old duel,” he recalled. “The one game that Uncle Houston would tolerate about the house. Perhaps that’s why we played it so often. Remember how he used to watch us, Carter? How he used to criticize each thrust?”
Carter Boswick nodded. Drew Westling had brought back the one boyhood memory that was indelibly, impressed upon his mind. Only when he and Drew had fought their duel had Houston Boswick shown the real interest of a proud father and an indulgent uncle.
“Say, Carter” — Drew was on a more immediate subject — “it was pretty small of me not to meet you at the boat today. I knew you were coming in, and I should have called up Farland Tracy about it. But somehow, I’ve been pretty blue since my uncle — since your father — died. I was afraid you wouldn’t know, and I didn’t see just how — just how I could tell you. I thought if Tracy was there alone—”
“That’s all right, Drew,” interrupted Carter quietly. “I understand. I did feel mighty broken up. I’m glad I didn’t see you until now.”
DESPITE a resentful antagonism that he had held earlier in the evening, Carter Boswick now felt a warmth of kindliness toward Drew Westling. He recognized that his cousin was a weakling, but the sentiment in Drew’s nature did much to excuse that fault.
Just as dinner was ending, the doorbell rang. Headley answered it, and returned a few minutes later to announce that Farland Tracy was calling to see Mr. Boswick.
“Finish your dinner, old top,” Carter said to Drew. “I’ll see what Tracy wants. Probably a friendly call. You can join us later.”
Reaching the hall, Carter found Tracy standing with a warning hand uplifted. Carter nodded, and led the lawyer upstairs to the study. The room was lighted; the shade was drawn. Carter closed the door. Tracy motioned for him to turn the key. Carter complied, and the lawyer brought out a bundle of papers.
“We must go through these,” he stated.
The inspection began. Most of the papers were of purely legal nature. But at the bottom lay two envelopes. One was addressed to Carter Boswick; the other to Drew Westling; each envelope bore the statement that it was to be destroyed intact, should the other be the heir.
“These are letters which your father wrote,” explained Tracy. “Their contents are practically identical. He showed them to me before he sealed them. One for you — one for Drew — whichever might inherit the estate.”
Carter nodded and opened his envelope. He drew out the letter, and read it slowly, holding it so that the lawyer could also see the careful handwriting.
The letter read as follows:
My Dear Son Carter:
When you read this letter, I shall be dead. You will be my sole heir. You will be the recipient of a considerable estate. Nevertheless, if you are at all familiar with my reputed wealth, you may be somewhat disappointed.
During the past few years, I have made a constant effort to minimize the extent of my possessions. In this I have been fairly successful. I have had a definite purpose in such action. Men of great wealth are subject to preying enemies.
Their estates often are in jeopardy because the expectant heirs show jealousy or cross purposes.
In accordance with my policy, I have actually minimized my known estate. I have left it ample for your needs. You may be satisfied with its present size. At the same time, I must inform you that I have deposited, in a place of absolute safety, a sum nearly ten times as great as my announced estate.
If you wish that wealth, you may seek it. You can learn, if you will, where I have placed it. If you are a true son — as I feel sure you are — your thoughts of your dead father will prove a helpful guide.
It is my one regret, Carter, that we never understood each other as many fathers and sons have done. That lack of understanding was my fault — not yours.
When you and Drew Westling were boys together, I seldom showed interest in your activities. Only when you played your game of duel did I respond to your natural, boyish yearnings for the fatherly interest of an older man.
Perhaps you will be able to picture those exact scenes when we were together. I trust that you will go over them in detail, recalling all incidents, planning your game, and remembering me as I was then.
Perhaps the long-forgotten thrill of the battle between D’Artagnan and De Guise will enable you to understand your father as he really was — to help you know how much you mean to him to-day.
I possess wealth and I possess memories. To me, those memories are wealth itself. I trust that you will feel the same, Carter. This is the message that I give you. I feel sure that the future will hold in store the wealth that has been established for you by
Carter Boswick studied the written lines. He checked each paragraph as he reviewed it. Finally, he laid the letter on the table, and turned to Farland Tracy.
“Is this the only communication that my father left for me?”
“Yes.”
“He speaks of a great sum of hidden wealth.”
Yes,” declared Tracy. “Something in the neighborhood of ten million dollars, if his statement is correct. But the clew to its hiding place is one that you must find.”’
“Have you any inkling of it?” questioned Carter.
“None at all,” admitted Tracy. “Your father was convinced that you would learn it after his death. How he arranged to lead you to it is beyond my comprehension. This letter is very vague; it turns from business to sentiment at a most unfortunate point. My only theory is that your father may have arranged for some communication to reach you from another source.”
“Perhaps.” agreed Carter.
“Should you learn more,” stated Tracy, “I advise you to be very careful. This letter is a private one. Another communication, if received, should be guarded. I am speaking now as your father’s attorney — also as your attorney pro tem.”
“You will continue to be my lawyer,” said Carter.
“I appreciate that,” responded Tracy. “But now that my mission is completed, I shall leave you. It is most advisable that no one should know of any purpose in this visit.”
“I understand.”
Carter Boswick folded his letter, and placed it in his pocket. He took up the envelope addressed to Drew Westling, and tore it into four pieces, letter and all. He dropped the fragments in the wastebasket.
Farland Tracy was ready to leave. Carter Boswick accompanied him from the study. The door closed, and the room was empty.
That condition did not long exist.