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Updated: May 27, 2025
"What's more," cried Sherwood. "I've seen Ted Strangwyn himself. Nobody could behave better. The old man, he assured me, couldn't last more than a day or two, and he promised quite spontaneously, I didn't say a word to pay his debt in full as soon as ever his father's will was proved, which will be done as quickly as possible. And now, have you thought over what I said the other night?"
He told the stories of Strangwyn and of Milligan with such exuberance of humour that Jane could not but join in his merriment. "No, no; it's no good looking in that direction. The money has gone, there's no help for it. But you can depend on Jollyman's. Of course the affair would have been much more difficult without Allchin. Oh, you must see Allchin some day!"
"Liver got out of order or the spleen, or something I forget. The best medicine was the news I got about old Strangwyn. There, by Jove! I've let the name out. The wonder is I never did it before, when we were talking. It doesn't matter now. Yes, it's Strangwyn, the whisky man. He'll die worth a million or two, and Ted is his only son.
Warburton chuckled. "But that isn't all," went on the other, "Old Strangwyn is dead, really dead at last. I wrote several times to him; no acknowledgment of my letters. Now it's all over. The ten thousand pounds " He made a despairing gesture. Then: "Take that cheque, Warburton. It's all I have; take it, old fellow, and try to forgive me. You won't?
"Where to, sir?" "That's just what I can't tell you," he answered with a laugh. "I want to go to somebody's house, but don't know the address." "Could you find it in the Directory, sir? They've got one at the corner." "Good idea." The cab keeping alongside with him, he walked to the public-house, and there, midway in whisky-and-soda, looked up in the great red volume the name of Strangwyn.
If any doubt were possible on this point, did it not also throw suspicion on the story of Strangwyn, and the ten thousand pounds? Will grew serious at the reflection. He had never conceived a moment's distrust of Sherwood's honesty, nor did his misgiving now take that form; the question which troubled him throughout to-day was whether Godfrey Sherwood might be a victim of delusions.
Five minutes more, and they were in Oakley Crescent. Rosamund paused before reaching the house in which she dwelt, took the camp-stool from her companion, and offered her hand for good-bye. Only then did Warburton become aware that he had said nothing since that remark of hers about poverty; he had walked in a dream. August came, and Strangwyn, the great whisky distiller, was yet alive.
I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the paragraph in the paper yesterday. But, you know," he added earnestly, "I don't absolutely give up hope. According to the latest news, it almost looks as if old Strangwyn might recover; and, if he does, I shall certainly try to get this money out of him. If he has any sense of honour " Will again laughed, but not so spontaneously.
How much longer would old Strangwyn cumber the world? With more of elasticity than usual in his rapid stride, Will passed out of Fulham Road into King's Road, and down to the river at Cheyne Walk, whence his eye perceived a sitting figure on the opposite bank.
"He's dead? Well, isn't that what we've been waiting for?" "Not the old man," groaned Sherwood, "not the old man. It's Ted Strangwyn that's dead. Never was such an extraordinary case of bad luck. And his death the most astounding you ever heard of. He was down in Yorkshire for the grouse.
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