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Updated: June 21, 2025
That "no" in the letter was not the work of its writer. "I put it in its invellop, Daverill, and not a soul see inside that letter from me till you...." "How do you know that?" He paused, reflecting. "It wasn't Juliar. She'd got no ink." This man was clever enough to outwit Scotland Yard, with an offer of fifty pounds for his capture, but fell easily to the cunning of a woman, roused by jealousy.
Prichard upstairs, she's Ralph Daverill's mother, and he's the man who got out of prison in the Mornin' Star and killed the gaoler. And he's the same man came down the Court that Sunday and Dave see in the Park. That's Ralph Thornton Daverill, and he's my husband!" Uncle Mo gave up the idea of answering. The oppression of his bewilderment was too great.
In this case it seemed that nothing short of Daverill, crisp and well defined, would satisfy the conditions. The stranger shook his head with as much decision as reciprocal civility permitted rather as though he regretted his inability to accept Burr and replied that the name had "got to be" Daverill and no other.
Half of what she had come to know had slipped away from her already; and, though she was accepting her sister as a living reality, the forged letter, the cause of all, was forgotten. Granny Marrable, on the contrary, kept in all her bewilderment a firm hold on the wickedness of Daverill the father. It was he that had done it all, and no other.
He looked at it apathetically, reading it, but not offering to take it from her. "'Taint reg'lar!" said he. "Name spelt wrong, for one thing. My name." "Oh, Daverill, how can you say that? It's spelt right." "Let's have a look!" He stretched out his hand for it in the same idle way.
She was a little devil we had some words about. She'll remember her, and she'll know me by her. Then you can tell her, just to top up only she won't want any more that her name ain't Prichard at all, but Daverill.... What! Well, of course I meant making allowance for marrying again. Right you are, missus! How the Hell should I have known, out there?"
He had been already moved to heartfelt anger that day against this very Daverill, having heard from his friend the Police-Inspector the story of his arrest at The Pigeons, at Hammersmith; and, of course, of the atrocious crime which had been his latest success with the opposite sex.
It left to "my third son Ralph Thornton Daverill," on coming of age, all his property after "my wife Maisie, née Runciman," had received the share she was "legally entitled to." But she was unable to produce proof of her marriage when called on to do so, and was, of course, legally entitled to nothing.
"You'll excuse my naming to you all my reasons, but I'll just mention this one, not to be misunderstood. This here old lady's a sort of old friend of mine, and when I came back from abroad I says to myself I'd like to look up old Mrs. Daverill. So I make inquiry, you see, and my man he tells me he was an old mate of mine, you see she's gone to live at Sevenoaks do you see? at Sevenoaks...."
You or I might have done the same." And then, as the eyes of the daughter turned unsuspicious to her mother's name forged by her father, to imitate the handwriting of her grandfather Gwen sat and waited as he who has fired a train that leads to a mine awaits the crash of the rifted rock and its pillar of dust and smoke against the heavens. "But my name was Daverill Ruth Daverill!"
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