RGL e-Book Cover
Based on an image created with Microsoft Bing software
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.
RGL e-Book Cover
Based on an image created with Microsoft Bing software
At a remote moorland hotel, young insurance clerk Bill Derry is enjoying the happiest days of his life, hopelessly in love with the charming Nancy Stafford. But when a forged banknote suddenly leaves him penniless and seemingly ruins his chances, Bill suspects someone has played a dirty trick....
SPEAN ROYAL is one of those big friendly-looking houses built of red brick which has been mellowed delightfully by the passage of years. The sort of house that ought to be inhabited by a wealthy squire and a continual round of house parties. And so it has been for generations, but now hard times and heavy taxes have forced the old family to sell, and the place has been turned into a hydro.
Yet the house still retains its pleasant atmosphere and people go there at all times of the year, and fish and shoot and wander over the big moors behind.
One of these people, by name William Derry, and by profession clerk in an insurance office, sat on a certain autumn morning in the small smoking room, a snug little apartment, the chief virtue of which, from Bill Derry's point, was that the window commanded a view of the front door and of the drive. Bill was a tall, rather lanky yet active-looking young fellow of twenty three, with a pleasantly ugly face and a pair of humorous grey eyes.
He was engaged in writing a letter, but as one eye was constantly occupied in surveying the front door and the drive, the letter did not progress as rapidly as it otherwise might have done.
"Dear Dicky," he had written.
"I'm afraid you'll think me an awful brute, but I can't come up to join you at Walsey. I can hear you chuckle and say, 'A girl, of course.' You are right, only it's not a girl, but the girl. Yes, Dick, it's the real thing this time, and now that it's come I realise that nothing else has counted. Her name is Nancy Stafford, and—well, I'm no good at describing people, and even if I tried you wouldn't be any the wiser. Anyhow, she is the one girl in the world for me, the only one I ever have loved or ever shall love. So I shall stay on here as long as I can. The worst of it is that cash is running low. I have only one fiver left and some loose silver. Still, with economy it will last a week, and by that time I shall know my fate. Of course, all the men here are after her, but there's only one who counts. His name is Percy Nixon (wouldn't you hate to be called Percy?) He's one of those chaps with curly hair and fat, pink cheeks. But he seems to have money, heaps of it—and—"
Bill had got so far when the front door opened, and from it emerged a girl who was really charming enough to justify all he had written. Bill's heart started racing, he was out of his seat in an instant, and, thrusting his unfinished letter into the breast pocket of his coat, made for the door; anything to get ahead of Percy, who, he felt dead certain, was watching from some other window.
Sure enough, he bumped into that gentleman in the passage at the foot of the stairs, passed him without an apology, and won the race by a couple of yards.
Percy watched the two go off together down the drive with an unpleasant glitter in his pale blue eyes. Presently he walked back disconsolately into the small smoking room, and took the very chair that Bill had lately vacated. As he dropped into it he caught sight of a sheet of folded paper lying on the floor and, stooping, picked it up. It was Bill's letter. In his hurry Bill had made a bad shot at his pocket, and the letter had dropped unnoticed under the table.
Percy was the sort who has no scruples whatever in reading other people's letters, and he began on Bill's at once. As he read his cheeks grew redder and redder until, when he came to Bill's description of himself, he was perfectly scarlet, and looked as if he was going to explode.
But presently he calmed down, and now his eyes glittered worse than ever. He read the letter through again, and instead of cursing, chuckled softly. "So five pounds is all the blighter's got," he said softly. "Five pounds. Gad, I believe I can queer his pitch." Getting up, he went softly out of the room and prowled silently away upstairs.
Bill meantime was enjoying every moment of his morning. His lady was kind, and when, half shyly, he ventured to suggest that he should take her out that afternoon, she graciously consented. He came back in the seventh heaven of delight and, running up to his room, opened his suit case, took out a pocket book, and hurried away into the village. Blaydon, the grocer, sold chocolates, and Bill demanded a pound of the best, and laid down his five pound note on the counter. "Change this, will you?" he said.
The smiling grocer picked up the note, glancing at it casually as he did so. Then, instead of opening his cash drawer, he held the note up to the light. The smile faded from his face. "This is a bad note, sir," he said.
"A bad note," repeated Bill. "Nonsense! I got it from the bank before I left London."
"Can't help that, sir. It's a forgery. Look at it yourself."
Bill took the note, felt it and held it up to the light. His heart went to his boots, yet still he refused to be convinced. "I had four when I started," he declared. "The other three were all right. How can this one be bad?"
"That's not for me to say," replied Mr. Blaydon. "If you'd got it here I wouldn't wonder. There's been a number of bad notes about the place lately. The police are offering a reward of fifty pounds for anyone who can find out where they come from."
Bill hardly heard. If this note was really a dud, he was done for. The twenty pounds which he had drawn for his holiday had exhausted his balance at the bank, nor had he anyone to whom he could apply for a loan. Mechanically he thrust his hand into his trouser pocket: three half crowns, a sixpence, and four coppers. That was all he had left. True, he had paid his bill at the hydro the previous evening and he had his return ticket back to town. But he hardly thought of that.
The grocer, watching him. saw the look of grey despair on Bill's face and pitied him. "I'd go to the police, if I was you, sir," he said. "Someone has played a dirty trick on you, and it wouldn't be the bank."
Bill thanked him vaguely, and walked blindly out of the shop. All he could realise was that every hope he had cherished was knocked on the head. Then, as he slowly walked back towards the hydro, came a sudden revulsion. "I'm darned if I'll slink home like a whipped puppy," he said. "Not before I've had my afternoon with Nancy, anyhow. My wrist watch will fetch enough to settle my bill for one more day at the hydro. I'll chance it, anyhow."
He did chance it, and at half-past two Percy Nixon, watching from the smoke room window, saw Bill proudly escorting Nancy down the drive. Nixon grinned unpleasantly. "He'll go to-morrow," he said. "He'll go, and then I shall have a free hand."
It was a soft gray afternoon without a breath of wind, and the clouds seemed almost to rest upon the rugged summits of the crag-crowned Tors to the North.
"Where shall we go?" asked Nancy.
"What do you say to the Druid's Den?" asked Bill. "It's jolly pretty up there on the moor."
"Yes, I should like to see the Den," agreed Nancy, and Bill's heart leaped joyfully. It was a long way to the Den, and he was going to have Nancy all to himself for the whole afternoon.
Side by side they tramped away over the big bills, and as they went they talked and talked, and every minute Bill fell deeper in love. As he watched her swinging up the steep slopes and noted how light and active she was, and at the same time how sweet and dainty, he ached to throw his arms round her and tell her she was the one girl in the world for him.
Yet he had known her only three days, and his stout commonsense warned him that she was not the sort to be taken by storm. Then like a stab came the memory that this was his last day and that, for all he knew, he might never see her again. He bit his lip, fell silent and tramped on mechanically.
Nancy spoke. "Mr. Derry, it is getting very foggy."
Bill looked round, and sure enough the outlines of the hills were blurred with gray haze. "I am afraid it is," he answered heavily.
"I think it would be wise to return, said Nancy.
"Couldn't we go as far as Monk's Cross," begged Bill. "Then we could come down by the Lidstone Brook. The path is quite good."
Nancy agreed, and they walked on again. But somehow the spell was broken, and try as he might Bill could not get back to the close confidential talk of the first hour.
The fog thickened rapidly, and by the time they reached the old Cross it was impossible to see fifty yards. "Are you sure you know the way, Mr. Derry?" asked Nancy a little anxiously.
"I think so," said Bill. "The path turns to the left here, and we ought to find the Lidstone Brook pretty soon."
They found a path, but after following it for a mile or more there was no sign of the brook. Instead, they found themselves in a narrow ravine with rugged sides which ran up steeply and was hidden in the grey mist.
Nancy stopped. "Mr. Derry," she said, "I believe we are lost."
"I—I'm half afraid we are," confessed Bill. "But this seems to be a sort of ground mist, and if I can get above it I can soon see where we are. If you don't mind being left alone for a few minutes I'll climb the hill."
"I don't mind a bit," Nancy told him, "I will sit here on this boulder."
So Bill left her and climbed. The side of the gorge was very steep, and at first it was a tough scramble. Then Bill struck a sort of sheep path which made it easier, and following this soon got into clearer air.
Presently the path curved around a great buttress of rock, and to his surprise Bill found himself on a broad ledge. To his left was a dark recess opening into the hillside.
"A cave, by jove," said Bill, and was stepping forward to inspect it when, to his utter amazement, a man rushed out of the cave-mouth, and came straight at him. For a moment Bill was almost paralysed at this sudden attack, but a man who has played three-quarters in a good club team may be trusted to have his wits about him. Bill ducked, collared low, and the fellow simply sailed into the air, landing face foremost on the ledge with a force that stunned him.
Bill had not time to regain his balance before a second man was upon him. This one got both arms round Bill's body and almost threw him. Almost, but not quite, for Bill was like a cat on his feet. Next moment the two were wrestling fiercely. Bill's adversary was a thick-set man at least ten years older than he, and a stone or more heavier. He was unshaven, long-haired, and abominably frowsy. His superior weight forced Bill back, and presently Bill realised that he was perilously near the edge of the cliff. Also that the man's grip was so tremendous that the very breath was being squeezed out of his body.
For an instant Bill was very nearly afraid, then Nancy Stafford's face rose in his mind's eye, and nerved him afresh. Putting out his last ounce, he wrenched one arm free, and drove his elbow up under his enemy's chin. To save his neck from being broken, the other was forced to release his hold.
That was all Bill asked. In a flash he had jumped clear, and, as the other came at him again, he hit him in the face with all his force. His fist landed precisely on the point of the fellow's chin, and with a queer choking sound the man went down flat on his back, and lay as still as the other.
Bill, dripping with sweat and hardly able to breathe, dropped on a rock and sat doubled up, for the moment completely done.
"Bill—oh, Bill, what is the matter? Are you hurt?" The voice was Nancy's, and Bill staggered to his feet.
"I—I'm all right," he declared, then falsified his words by nearly falling. Next moment Nancy's strong young arm was around him.
"Sit down on this rock. Oh, Bill, you foolish boy, what have you been doing?" came her voice in his ear, while her soft hair brushed his forehead.
Bill might be exhausted and half sick, but he was still man enough not to waste a chance of this kind. "My dear!" he whispered as he kissed her. "My brave darling."
Nancy laughed softly. "I think the bravery is mostly on your side, Bill. But who are these dreadful men, and why did they attack you?"
"I haven't any more notion than you, Nancy. Unless there's something in the cave that they don't want us to see. But that fuzzy-faced fellow is coming round, and I think I'd better tie him before he can start scrapping again."
With a handkerchief Bill was in the act of tying the wrist of his late adversary when he heard Nancy give a sharp cry, and saw her bending over the other man.
It's Mr. Nixon," she gasped.
"Nixon!" exclaimed Bill incredulously, as he stepped across. "Well, I'm hanged," he muttered, as he stared down on the face of his insensible rival. "But what in sense is he doing here?"
"I think the cave will tell us," replied Nancy, and Bill, having made Nixon as safe as the other, followed her into the cave.
It was a good-sized place, and contained a small stove, a bed, and various other furniture. But what took Bill's eyes at once was a small printing press which stood against the wall, backed by shelves covered with bottles containing inks and various other fluids.
He stepped forward and began to examine it.
"What is it?" asked Nancy, puzzled.
Bill opened a drawer and pulled out a number of sheets of thin stiff paper. Instead of replying he gave a sudden shout of triumph.
"Fifty pounds! Fifty pounds reward!" he cried, then began to laugh.
Nancy caught him by the arm. "Stop it, Bill," she ordered. "Stop it—and tell me, or I shall be really cross."
"It's the press they make the notes on, Nancy. And the police are offering fifty pounds reward to anyone who can tell where the notes come from."
"You mean that these men are forgers?"
"Counterfeiters. It's all the same thing. But fifty pounds, Nancy. Now I can stay another week."
Nancy looked at him doubtfully, and Bill laughed again. "I forgot. Of course, you don't know anything about it. Wait and I'll tell you."
Which he did without delay, while Nancy listened with parted lips and glowing eyes. Then, like the girl she was, she went straight to the heart of the matter.
"Then the note you found in your pocket book this morning was a forged one?"
"Yes. And I've been wondering ever since how it got there."
"I can tell you. It was Mr. Nixon who put it there."
Bill whistled softly. "I suppose he did," he answered. "But what a rotten thing to do!"
"And he will be punished for it," said Nancy almost vindictively.
"He is punished already," said Bill jubilantly.
"How, Bill?"
"Because he has lost you, dearest."
"He never had a chance of getting me," replied Nancy, with a toss of her head.
"And now, Mr. William Derry, if you want to claim your fifty pounds, I think the sooner we get home the better! The fog was beginning to clear even before I climbed up here."
Bill caught her by both hands. "It isn't the fifty pounds I want, Nancy. It's you."
Nancy smiled at him, a tender little smile.
"Well, you've got me, haven't you?" she answered softly.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.