Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 25, No. 2, August 13, 1927

“Six years ago.” he explained, “at Renée’s request, I gave her cousin Laurence Drumont a berth in McKellars, Limited. He embezzled two thousand pounds, but was allowed to leave the country unprosecuted on condition that he never returned. He has broken that condition, and no doubt he thinks it very inconsiderate of me to return from the grave in this tactless fashion. I do not think we shall hear any more of him.”

He turned to Renée.

“If you feel a little aggrieved, Renée,” he said mildly, “you will hardly see your way to reproach me in view of the uncomfortable position — now happily cleared up — in which you have placed Tommy. Fortunately he loses nothing, and he becomes incontestably McKellar of Dunkillin. The withdrawal of that lawsuit of yours, which once looked so promising, saves you expense and worry, besides the humiliation of defeat.

“You know my rule. Family scandals ought to be prevented or avoided; one gains nothing but humiliation by ventilating them publicly. So I am not going to reproach you. What I do require is your silence. Your absolute silence. I can now enforce it — a thing I’ve never been able to do before. In return I shall keep silence, and keep faith with you.”

He glanced at Tommy.

“My dear boy, will you go out and leave us together now?” he said. “You and Delia — and the inspector?”

“Certainly, sir,” said Tommy, and opened the door. Delia passed out. Maffet lingered for a moment, hesitating. Then he followed the others. John McKellar was left alone with his wife.

He placed a chair for her, and Renée, who was breathing rather hard, seated herself not ungracefully. Mr. McKellar remained standing.

“I have a piece of good news for you. Renée,” he said quietly. “It’s exclusive to yourself — I have not told Tom. A little while ago I learned from the doctors that I cannot live for more than a year, if so long. I don’t regret this at all.

“As far as the medical prophets can assure me, I am not likely to suffer much. My end, I hope, will be a peaceful one. I shall know, at any rate, a period of happiness with my son — and his perfectly charming young wife.

“In a year or less, then, you will be entirely free. I require only that you go into retirement and live quietly and decorously — as to which I shall inform myself. Meanwhile you will enjoy the legacy that has come to you under my will — a little prematurely. You will have also the satisfaction that your period of mourning will be already over by the time you actually acquire your freedom.

“You have nothing to fear, Renée. I think you will allow that I’m not being vindictive — a quality for which I have an intense dislike, especially toward a woman. I do not forget that you have been my wife for fifteen years.

“Within another year you will be my widow. You have only to keep silence on everything that’s passed. So long as you do that you’ll be perfectly safe — just as safe as if I were lying in the Dunkillin vault. Where, officially, I intend to remain.

“Any other course will be very troublesome to me and my son, but completely disastrous to you. That’s what enables me to rely on your absolute discretion for the time that remains to me.”

Renée, very white, stared up at him.

“John!” she said, “you don’t — you can’t mean this?”

“Of course I mean it.”

“I don’t understand it. Can’t you see — it’s impossible?”

“On the contrary, it is quite simple. There may be one slight difficulty, but I am confident I shall overcome it. And now we are at the parting of the ways, Renée; you will find Drumcleugh below. Tell him you are to have the car and chauffeur from the garage: they will take you wherever you wish to go.”

He moved to the inner door of the library, which gave upon the landing to the side staircase, and stood waiting.

For a few moments Renée sat where she was. Then she rose and walked across to him. Her eyes dwelled on his face for awhile appealingly, as if she would still find in him the signs of that influence under which he had lived so long.

But John McKellar seemed to have merged again into Gillespie, the butler. He looked at her steadily, and very quietly, very respectfully, opened the door for her. Renée passed out.

Chapter LIII An Old Man’s Happiness

“There’s only one thing certain, sir.” said Inspector Maffet. “You’re in such a mess that the devil himself couldn’t get you out of it. Mrs. McKellar has gone?”

“Yes,” said McKellar. “I expect you saw her go, didn’t you?”

“That doesn’t trouble me,” replied Maffet. “I can find her at any time I want to.”

“Of course you can. The way you have handled this case already shows me that. You have been right about the two principal parties from the start; you tracked them up, you caught them out at the correct time, and I must say the way you brought them both here was masterly,” said McKellar warmly.