THE TOCSIN'S STORY
LaSalle! The old French name! That old French inscription on the ring: "SONNEZ LE TOCSIN!" Yes; he began to understand now.She was Marie LaSalle! He began to remember more clearly.
Marie LaSalle! They had said she was one of the most beautiful girls who had ever made her entree into New York society.But he had never met her--as Marie LaSalle; never met her--until now, as the Tocsin, in this bare, destitute, squalid hovel, here at bay, both of them, for their lives.
He had been away when she had come with her father to New York; and on his return there had only been the father's brother in the father's place--and she was gone.He remembered the furor her disappearance had caused; the enormous rewards her uncle had offered in an effort to trace her; the thousand and one speculations as to what had become of her; and that then, gradually, as even the most startling and mystifying of events and happenings always do, the affair had dropped into oblivion and had been forgotten by the public at least.He began to count back.Yes, it must have been nearly five years ago; two years before she, as the Tocsin, and he, as the Gray Seal, had formed their amazing and singular partnership, that--he started suddenly, as she spoke.
"I want to tell you in as few words as I can," she said abruptly, breaking the silence."Listen, then, Jimmie.My mother died ten years ago.I was little more than a child then.Shortly after her death, father made a business trip to New York, and, on the advice of some supposed friends, he had a new will drawn up by a lawyer whom they recommended, and to whom they introduced him.I do not know who those men were.The lawyer's name was Travers, Hilton Travers." She glanced curiously at Jimmie Dale, and added quickly:
"He was the chauffeur--the man who was killed last night.""You mean," Jimmie Dale burst out, "you mean that he was--but, first, the will! What was in the will?""It was a very ****** will," she answered."And from the nature of it, it was not at all strange that my father should have been willing to have had it drawn by a comparative stranger, if that is what you are thinking.Summarised in a few words, the will left everything to me, and appointed my Uncle Henry as my guardian and the sole executor of the estate until I should have reached my twenty-fifth birthday.It provided for a certain sum each year to be paid to my uncle for his services as executor; and at the expiration of the trust period--that is, when I was twenty-five--bequeathed to him the sum of one hundred thousand dollars."Jimmie Dale nodded."Go on!" he prompted.
"It is hard to tell it in logical sequence," she said, hesitating a moment."So many things seem to overlap each other.You must understand a little more about Hilton Travers.During the five years following the signing of the will father came frequently to New York, and became, not only intimate with Travers, but so much impressed with the other's cleverness and ability that he kept putting more and more of his business into Travers' hands.At the end of that five years, we moved to New York, and father, who was then quite an old man, retired from all active business, and turned over a great many of his personal affairs to Travers to look after for him, giving Travers power of attorney in a number of instances.
So much for Travers.Now about my uncle.He was my father's only brother; in fact, they were the only surviving members of their family, apart from very distant connections in France, from where, generations back, the family originally came." Her hand touched Jimmie Dale's for an instant."That ring, Jimmie, with its crest and inscription, is the old family coat of arms.""Yes," he said briefly; "I surmised as much.""Strange as it may seem, in view of the fact that they had not seen each other for twenty years," she went on hurriedly "my father and my uncle were more than ordinarily attached to each other.Letters passed regularly between them, and there was constant talk of one paying the other a visit--but the visit never materialised.My uncle was somewhere in Australia, my father was here, and consequently I never saw my uncle.He was quite a different type of man from father--more restless, less settled, more rough and ready, preferring the outdoor life of the Australian bush to the restrictions of any so-called civilisation, I imagine.Financially, I do not think he ever succeeded very well, for twice, in one way or another, he lost every sheep on his ranch and father set him up again; and I do not think he could ever have had much of a ranch, for I remember once, in one of the letters he wrote, that he said he had not seen a white man in weeks, so he must have lived a very lonely life.Indeed, at about the time father drew the new will, my uncle wrote, saying that he had decided to give up sheep running on his own account as it did not pay, and to accept a very favourable offer that had been made to him to manage a ranch in New Zealand;and his next letter was from the latter country, stating that he had carried out his intentions, and was well satisfied with the change he had made.The long-proposed visit still continued to occupy my father's thoughts, and on his retirement from business he definitely made up his mind to go out to New Zealand, taking me with him.In fact, the plans were all arranged, my uncle expressed unbounded delight in his letters, and we were practically on the eve of sailing, when a cable came from my uncle, telling us to postpone the visit for a few months, as he was obliged to make a buying trip for his new employer that would keep him away that length of time--and then"--her fingers, that had been abstractedly picking out the lines formed by the grain of the wood in the table top, closed suddenly into tight-clenched fists--"and then--my father died."Jimmie Dale turned away his head.There were tears in her eyes.
