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Updated: June 25, 2025
As Paul opened the white gate a cattle-bell attached to it jangled warningly, and out into the porch Mrs. Duveen came to meet them. She was a tiny woman, having a complexion like a shrivelled pippin, and the general appearance of a Zingari, for she wore huge ear-rings and possessed shrewd eyes of Oriental shape and colour.
He got badly bored, and it was a relief when one afternoon the gentleman he had met at the construction camp arrived with his daughter. For all that, Lister was surprised. Duveen was a man of some importance, Miss Duveen was a fashionable young lady, and Lister had imagined they had forgotten him.
"Then this girl with the siren hair is she of whom you spoke?" "Evidently none other. I told you, Paul, that I bore a message from her father, given to me under pledge of secrecy as he lay dying, to her mother. Paul, the man's life was a romance a tragic romance. I cannot divulge his secrets, but his name was not Duveen; he was a cadet of one of the oldest families in Ireland."
When he asked if she was well Duveen said she had gone to Quebec, and gave Lister a cigar. "It looks as if you had left the railroad," he remarked. "I have not left yet," said Lister cautiously. "Then, you won't go unless you get a better job? Did you know I had joined the Irrigation Board?" Lister said he did not know, and got embarrassed when Duveen gave him a thoughtful glance.
"On the contrary, Fawkes, I take an interest in Flamby Duveen, and I wish to hear exactly what she said." "Well, sir, if you please, sir, she hollers: 'Call your blasted dogs out of my garden, John Darbey! "'The fox is a-hiding somewhere here, says John.
I fear we may have come at an awkward hour, but Captain Courtier's time is unfortunately limited." Mrs. Duveen repeated the curtsey. "Will it please you to step in, sirs," she said, her eyes fixed upon Don's face in a sort of eager scrutiny. "It is surely kind of you to come, sir" to Don.
"Michael loved the ground you walked on, and he'd have been a happy man to-day to have seen you here in his own house." Don made no reply, continuing to stare out of the window, and Mrs. Duveen cried, silently now. Presently Paul caught his friend's eye and mutely conveying warning of his intention, rose. "Your grief does you honour, Mrs. Duveen," he said.
I have placed in her hands a certain locket which Duveen wore attached to a chain about his neck; I believe that it contains evidence of his real identity, but he clearly intended his wife to remain in perpetual ignorance of this, for the locket is never to be opened except by Flamby, and only by Flamby on the day of her wedding.
For a moment or two Lister pondered. He did want a post; anyhow, he ought to try for it. On the whole he liked Duveen, and thought he might have liked Ruth better had she not been rich. All the same, Duveen was a shrewd manipulator of new industries and to take a post by his favor would be to own a debt, for which payment might be demanded. Yet Duveen had been kind and Lister hesitated.
"I will consult Mrs. Chumley, my aunt, and arrange, if possible, for Miss Duveen to live at The Hostel. I have already written to her upon the subject. If it can be managed I shall 'phone you later to-day, and perhaps you would be good enough to wire to Miss Duveen requesting her to come to London immediately. Don't mention my name, you understand?
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