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Updated: May 2, 2025
Beecot thereupon retired to bed, and lectured his wife on the enormity of having brought a parricide into the world. Having been countered for once in his life with common-sense, he felt that he could not put the matter too strongly to a woman, who was too weak to resent his bullying.
If Beecot senior, said Paul, would permit the marriage, and allow the couple a small income until the husband could earn enough to keep the pot boiling, the writer would be grateful. If not, Paul declared firmly that he would work like a slave to make a home for his darling. But nothing in the world would make him give up Sylvia.
Beecot in her scratchy handwriting. "All I know is that your father bought it out of a pawnbroker's shop in Stowley, which is some town in the Midlands. Your father was travelling there and saw the brooch by chance. As I always thought opals unlucky he was anxious to make me see the folly of such a superstition, so he bought the brooch and took it away with him.
And, by Jove!" added Beecot, with an after-thought, "Mrs. Krill doubled the reward. Were she concerned in the matter she would not risk sharpening the wits of so clever a man as Hurd. No, Sylvia, whosoever strangled your father it was not Mrs. Krill." "It was this Indian," insisted Sylvia, "and he's a Thug." Paul laughed although he was far from thinking she might be wrong.
On one side of the tiny fireplace was a horse-hair sofa, rendered less slippery by an expensive fur rug thrown over its bareness; on the other was a cupboard, whence Beecot rapidly produced crockery, knives, forks, a cruet, napkins and other table accessories, all of the cheapest description.
"You have not got the money yet, madam," he said defiantly. Not at all disturbed, Mrs. Krill smiled her eternal smile. "I am here to get it. There is a will, you say," she added, turning to Pash. "And I understand from this gentleman," she indicated Beecot slightly, "that the money is left to Mr. Krill's daughter. Does he name Maud or Sylvia?" Pash slapped down the certificate irritably.
"I wish you joy," said Lord George, draining his glass and filling another, "and, by Jove! for your sake, I hope she's got money." "Oh, yes, she's well off," said Hay, calmly, "and you, Paul?" "I congratulate you, of course," stammered Beecot, dazed; "but it's so sudden. You haven't known her above a month."
To gain this, he mentioned that his promised wife had five thousand a year. Bully and tyrant as Beecot senior was, he loved money, and although well off, was always on the alert to have more brought into the family. With the bribe of a wealthy wife, Paul had little doubt but what the breach would be healed, and Sylvia welcomed as the sweetest and most desirable daughter-in-law in the world.
So Beecot wrote to Grexon Hay at his Camden Hill chamber and told him he intended to go to Gwynne Street on a certain day at a certain time. To this Grexon responded by saying that he was at Paul's service and would come especially as he wanted to see Dulcinea of Gwynne Street. Paul laughed at the phrase.
Beecot said as he 'ad the brooch in 'is pocket " "Yes, I certainly did," said Paul, remembering the conversation. "Well, when the smash come, I dodged in and prigged it. T'wos easy 'nough," grinned Tray, "for I felt it in 'is bres' poket and collared it. I wanted to guv it t' th' ole man, thinkin' he'd pay fur it, as he said he would.
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