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 Thief's Pride

Jenn Allen

Night Star Books

 Copyright © 2023 Jenn Allen

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not
intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover design by: Dana Parsons

Printed in the United States of America
This book is for every Kit I know in real life. You may not be perfect, but you inspire me.
 Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Thief's Pride
Introduction
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
Books By This Author
About The Author
Thief's Pride
Thief's Pride
 Introduction
Over a thousand years in the future, mankind has made massive progress in space exploration and
colonization. Several galaxies and solar systems have been mapped, terraformed, and now colonized.
Human population has expanded to fill those planets and moons.

As people will always do, no matter how much space is between them, they find reasons to fight
with each other. Planets eventually formed confederations with other, like-minded planets, giving
birth to the Alliance Confederation and the Conglomeration Confederation. They are the two dominant
powers in the universe, and for now they are at peace, tenuous though it may be.

In an effort to solidify peace and friendly relations, the Intergalactic Police Force (IPF) was
created to maintain law and order throughout the universe. Both confederations, as well as some
neutral planets, signed the Intergalactic Police Force Agreement, which gives the IPF power to
conduct lawful investigations on any planet that has signed the agreement, as well as anywhere in
open space, regardless of jurisdiction. The IPF is tasked with being a nonpartisan entity responsible
for upholding joint laws that all parties agreed to.

Mercenaries and privateers have flourished in the open environment of space. Mercenary crews
hire themselves out to whoever has the most money, and will do any job, whether legal or illegal.
Privateers prey on spaceships, capturing them and then stripping them of anything valuable. Many of
these people call Esmuna home because it is one of the planets that refused to sign the IPF Agreement,
and therefore falls outside of IPF jurisdiction.

Regardless of confederation, planetary citizenship, or profession, most people are just trying to
make the best out of their circumstances. Some are seeking to change their lives for the better, while
others are merely trying to survive. Some are looking for love, and some are running from it.
Whatever their life circumstances, most people are just trying to follow their hearts.
 CHAPTER ONE
Kit

I drummed my fingers against the tabletop and took another sip from my glass. The bar echoed with
noise, and it grated on my last nerve. My patience had long ago deserted me. Parker was fifteen
minutes late. I didn’t like it when people made me wait, especially when there was money involved.
A server appeared and gave me a hard look. “That…thing is in the way.”
I lifted my eyebrow at her and set my glass down slowly. I looked at Ajax, who sat next to me,
panting in the stuffy air. His large body was a rather obnoxious obstacle, but he wasn’t causing
trouble and he was very well behaved.
“He’s fine.” I gave the server an even harder look. I wasn’t someone to be messed with, and the
sooner she realized that the better.
When the woman didn’t leave, I dropped my hand onto Ajax’s head. I suppose it was more like I
lifted my arm up instead of down, since he was essentially my height while sitting, but the effect was
the same. Ajax went completely still, and I scratched him behind the ears.
“It would be a shame if he suddenly felt threatened. I’ve seen him tear a man in half with two
bites.” I leaned forward. “It wasn’t a pretty sight.”
The woman eyed Ajax and thought better of making a reply. She simply heaved a sigh and turned
away. I gave Ajax a couple extra pats before setting my hand back onto the table. One of the benefits
of having a massive dog was how intimidating his size could be. Ajax could be nasty if he sensed
danger, but otherwise he was just a big marshmallow covered in black fur.
I took another sweeping look around the bar. Luna Arcanus was a hotspot for illegal activities, and
this bar was a prime example. Everyone knew if you came around here, you’d better be prepared to
fight. I could see several mercenaries, one forger, and an arms dealer, and those were just the faces I
recognized immediately. Several other tables were occupied with serious faces, probably discussing
business like I should have been doing with Parker. If he ever showed up.
Sometimes, the mercenary liked to be a little late just to mess with me, but it wasn’t like him to be
this late when he was anxious for his merchandise. He had been especially eager for my newest
acquisition. He should have been here by now. I pulled out my tablet to check the time. Twenty
minutes late. I wasn’t going to wait much longer.
“Hey, pretty girl.”
I looked up to see a mercenary, obviously drunk, leaning on the chair opposite me. He was
probably a good decade older than me, with a few teeth missing and a beard that hadn’t been cut in
days. I sniffed and rolled my eyes. “Beat it, bud.”
He laughed and stepped closer, waving a hand in the air as if he could wave away my warning.
“I’m just talking.” He glanced at Ajax, and his resolve faltered for an instant before the alcohol took
hold again. He grinned. “Is that a dog?”
“Not your business.” I gave him my flintiest look. “So beat it.”
 Again, he stepped closer. I watched his hands, knowing it wouldn’t be long before he tried to touch
me. “Aw, come on now. You won’t even have a conversation with me?”
Sure enough, his hand descended towards my arm. I was on my feet in a flash. I grabbed his wrist,
flipped him around, and pinned the mercenary’s face to the table. Ajax stood and let out a throaty
growl but didn’t attack; he just watched and waited for a signal from me.
“Let me make myself clear.” I twisted the mercenary’s wrist again and applied pressure so he half-
screamed. I leaned down to his ear and spoke quietly. “I am not interested, so take your drunk self
somewhere else before I beat you senseless and let my pet chew on your carcass. Got it?”
He garbled something as an answer. I pulled him off the table and shoved him towards the bar. He
hit a stool and tripped, falling to the floor. He staggered to his feet and stumbled away from me,
sending me a rude gesture. I rolled my eyes and sat back down.
“Ajax, sit.”
Ajax obediently sat back down and resumed panting. I checked the messages on my tablet, but there
was nothing. My impatience ratcheted up another notch. I knew I had the time and the place right. It
wasn’t like Parker not to show up. I wondered if he had run into trouble, or if something else was
going on.
The last two weeks hadn’t been easy. Getting onto an Alliance military base had been difficult;
locating the merchandise and getting my hands on it had been even harder. Not impossible, just hard. I
liked a challenge, but Eremus was a hot, ugly wasteland. I had been more than happy to put that planet
behind me. I had other jobs to get moving on.
Finally, I sighed and stood up. I wasn’t waiting any longer. If he wasn’t here by now, then he
probably wasn’t going to show. I had no intentions of hanging around any longer than I needed to. Not
for him. Even if that meant all my hard work was wasted.
“Let’s go, Ajax.” He stood up and pressed against my side. I took a step towards the door. It swung
open and Parker stepped in, flanked by two of his regular musclemen. I narrowed my eyes as he
approached swiftly and shot me a placating smile.
“Kit, oh good, you’re still here. Sit, please.”
“You’re late.” I scowled at him and slowly retook my seat while he dropped promptly into the
chair across from me.
“I know, I know.” He waved his hand in the air, as though dismissing my concerns was so easy.
“Ran into some trouble with an old enemy of mine. It’s all good. Do you have it?”
Straight to business, I guess. I scrutinized his face and body language, looking for any signs that
something was wrong. He played it cool, leaning back, looking relaxed, but I could see the tight lines
around his mouth and the way his fingers kept clenching. I had been doing business with Parker for
almost five years. Normally, he was a straight shooter, but right now it seemed like he was hiding
something, and I doubted very seriously that it was going to be good for me. My instincts were telling
me to get out of there, but I told myself I was overreacting and to be patient. I wanted the money he
owed me. I sighed and decided to play along. For now.
I reached into my black leather jacket and pulled out a container. “Of course, I have it.” I set it on
the table in front of me but didn’t take my hand off it. “I held up my end.”
Parker grinned, staring greedily at the container. “Let me see it.”
I lifted an eyebrow at him. “You don’t trust me?”
He snorted. “I don’t trust anyone. I want to make sure it’s pure.”
After a long moment, I slid the container across the table to him. It was always a gamble letting a
buyer physically inspect the merchandise. Once it was in their hands, they could bolt with it. Parker
never had before, which was the only reason I was letting him hold it now.
He popped the lid and squinted inside. “Looks pretty good.”
“It is. Pure quarim, industrial grade refinement, as I promised.”
“Excellent.” He replaced the lid but held tightly to the container. I eyed both mercenaries on either
side of him, wondering if this was going to come down to a fight. My gut was saying this was not
going to end pleasantly.
“My payment?” I prompted, impatience bleeding into my tone.
Parker handed the container to the mercenary on his left, who took it and made a beeline for the
door. I scowled. This wasn’t like him. He leaned his elbows on the table and gave me an almost
condescending look.
“Listen, Kit, we’ve been in business for a long time. I like to think we have a pretty good working
relationship. A little bit of trust, if you will.”
My scowl deepened, and I snorted at his contradictory words. “Cut the crap, Parker. Are you going
to hold up your end or not? It was three pounds of pure quarim for five thousand credits, plus costs.
Do you have any idea how hard it was to get my hands on that stuff? The Alliance has total control of
it, and they don’t give it out to just anyone. I want my money.”
Parker sighed. “I’m not going back on our deal; I’m just…changing the terms a little.”
My face turned red as my blood pressure rose. “Changing the terms? You don’t get to screw with
me, Parker. Transfer the credits. Now.”
Ajax must have sensed the change in my mood because he inched a little closer, and Parker eyed
him warily. Good to know he was still leery of Ajax. I wanted to let Ajax teach him a lesson, but that
wouldn’t get me my money.
He waved his hands at me in a pacifying motion. “I’m not going to do that. I’m going to exchange
goods for goods this time. I’ve left something worth more than five thousand on your ship. I would
pay you credits, but I’m in a bit of a bind right now. I know you understand.” He gave me a smile he
only used when he was trying to swindle his way out of something.
My hand closed around my laser. “I think not. A deal is a deal. Pay me my credits and take your
merchandise back.” I hesitated and frowned. That’s worrisome. “How did you find my ship? How did
you get on my ship?”
Parker shook his head. “I know better than to go on your ship, Kit. I simply beamed the
merchandise aboard and came here. I knew you’d be a little put out—”
“A little put out?” My voice went up an octave, and a patron at the bar turned to look at me. I
ground my teeth together to curb my agitation. “I don’t do this kind of business, Parker.”
The remaining mercenary leaned down and whispered something into Parker’s ear. He nodded and
heaved another sigh. “Sorry Kit, but I need to get out of here. I appreciate your ability to get me
exactly what I need, as always.” He pushed his chair back and stood up.
I palmed my laser into my lap, moving it just enough so he could see it. His eyes narrowed, and he
stilled. “Now, Kit, let’s not be hasty.”
“Transfer the money.” I tapped a finger against the trigger. “I’m not a patient woman, and I don’t
change the terms of a deal. You don’t get to stiff me.”
Parker glanced at his buddy, who was watching me with his hand resting against his own laser. “I
promise you, the merchandise on your ship is worth more than five thousand credits.”
“I don’t want ‘merchandise’. I want the credits you promised me.”
“Sir,” the mercenary gave me a hard look as he spoke to Parker. “We’re out of time. They’re here.”
Parker rubbed his forehead. “I don’t have time for this. Because I like you, I’m going to give you a
helpful tip to get out of town as soon as possible. Just put some distance between you and Luna
Arcanus. Okay?” He gave me an almost nervous look. “I’ve got business to attend to.”
I growled and opened my mouth to say something when the door burst open, and six men spilled
into the room. It only took me a moment to recognize them. I couldn’t remember the leader’s name, but
I knew of him. Mercenaries. This is not good. Not good at all.
The leader stepped forward, his bald head shining in the dim light. Three scars ran down the side
of his face, which made his scowl seem even more vicious. “I’m going to kill you, Parker! Did you
really think you could steal from me?”
With that, Parker and his buddy launched themselves behind the bar. I cursed as lasers were drawn.
I threw myself to the ground just as the firing erupted. I pulled Ajax down beside me, more worried
about him getting shot than about me. Other patrons screamed and dove for cover. A few drew their
own lasers, ready to jump into the fray. I quickly engaged the personal shield I always wore. It looked
like a bracelet, but when activated it produced a force field that was maybe three feet in diameter. It
wasn’t much, but it would stop lasers.
I scooted far away from Parker, pulling Ajax along with me, trying to keep his body behind the
shield as well. I eyed the backdoor, having no interest in getting in a firefight, especially not one for
Parker’s sake. It was a dangerous move to try for the door, but I didn’t like any of my other options.
Cursing under my breath, I finally jumped to my feet and bolted for the backdoor, calling for Ajax
to follow. A laser buzzed and hit my shield. The impact jerked my arm, and I growled. At least it
landed on the shield and not on my legs or any other unprotected body part. I shoved the door open as
fast as humanly possible and ran out into the alleyway. Ajax stayed right beside me as several other
patrons poured out behind me.
Shots continued to fire inside the bar, so I didn’t bother hanging around. I turned for the direction of
my ship, which was across town. I whistled to Ajax and then took off running. I didn’t know what
Parker had gotten himself into, but I wasn’t going to stick around to find out. I was a thief, not a
mercenary. I had no interest in fighting.
Annoyed with how my day was turning out, I decided Parker was probably right about one thing: I
should get off Luna Arcanus. Now. I had been there for almost two days, and there was too much
trouble around. And I’m sure whatever he had dragged me into would be more trouble than I wanted.
Stupid mercenary.
At least nobody seemed to be following me. I kept my senses alert, just in case. Desoto, the planet
this moon revolved around, was creeping towards the sun, meaning it would be dark soon. I wanted
to get off this moon before then.
The air was dusty due to the dry soil, and a slight wind had kicked up enough to coat my throat. I
coughed and lifted my shirt up to cover my face. It seemed like all the places I went to conduct
business were grimy and gritty. Why couldn’t I meet a buyer on a nice, tropical planet? Stupid, barren
moon.
Other people littered the streets and gave me curious glances while I jogged past, but I simply
glared at them. Most averted their eyes at that look, but the few who didn’t took one look at Ajax and
stepped away from us. Benefits of having a super huge dog around.
Before too long we were in sight of Merope, my ship. I gave the Caravel, Zeta class 285 a quick
once over. Everything looked in order from the outside. I couldn’t believe Parker had found my ship
and then transported something on board. I hated the idea of anyone else getting on my ship. I was
paranoid about it. That ship was my home. I had security in place to prevent that kind of thing from
happening, but obviously Parker had gotten around that. Looks like I need to invest in some new
shields.
As I climbed the steps up to the door, I noticed two low-flying ships just outside of town. I paused
for a moment to study them. Rockford wasn’t the biggest town around, but there was plenty of air
traffic still. However, it was unusual to have ships hovering around without going anywhere. They
had to be running scans and looking for something.
My instincts bristled. I’d bet those ships belonged to whoever it was that wanted Parker dead. If
Parker had stolen something from him, then obviously he was going to want it back. I’d just bet Parker
had foisted whatever it was onto me. It would be just like him to stir up trouble and then pawn it off
on someone else.
If that was the case, then I needed to get off this rock even more. I didn’t know what this
merchandise was, but if they were able to track it then I was screwed. Best to get away now, before
they figured out Parker didn’t have whatever it was.
Sighing, I disengaged my shield, slapped my hand to the biometric lock, and peered into the retinal
scanner. The door popped open, and I stepped inside, palming my laser as I entered. I doubted Parker
would have put anything on my ship that would harm me, but it always paid to be cautious. If I was
wrong about why he had broken our deal, then it was quite possible he had beamed someone aboard
to eliminate me so that I wouldn’t come after him for breaking our agreement.
Slowly, I stepped inside the door. There was nothing out of place in the entranceway, so I signaled
for Ajax to come inside. Against my better judgment, I shut the door and disengaged the stairs.
Urgency was overruling my cautiousness. I doubted those mercenaries would stop and ask questions
before killing me or blowing my ship out of the sky.
I pointed my laser down the narrow hallway to the left that led to the two bedrooms and bathroom.
I doubted Parker would have left the merchandise there. It was probably in the cargo hold on the
lower level. The only other things on the lower level were the barracks. The ship’s original purpose
was to be a transport vessel, and everything was set up for moving cargo and people.
With that in mind, I peered straight across at the stairwell. I couldn’t hear any movement or see
anything, so I slowly moved to the right and into the galley-style kitchen. Nothing was amiss there.
Everything was where I left it. I always kept the kitchen clean and tidy. My bedroom might be a mess,
but I always kept the kitchen spotless.
I moved through to the seating area. Seats lined three walls, so passengers could strap in for day
trips or use if there was an emergency. The ship was small, but it was all I needed. Beyond the seats
was the cockpit. My instinct was to just run for it and get off Luna Arcanus.
Even as I stepped into the room to do just that, my eyes dropped to a lump on the floor, and curse
words slipped out of my mouth. I cannot believe this! What were you thinking, Parker?
I trained my laser on the lump and stepped into the room, circling it until I could get a better look.
Slowly, I reached out and poked it with my foot. No movement.
Anger raced through my veins, and I took a moment to calm myself before taking a closer look. I
reached down, grabbed the bare shoulder, and turned the body over, hoping whoever it was wasn’t
dead.
It was a man. His hands were bound behind his back with no shirt and tattered pants that had seen
better days. As I turned him over, I could see cuts and bruises all over his body. Whoever he was, he
had been through some beatings.
Ajax approached and sniffed at the man, but he didn’t growl. I glanced between them and sighed.
“Great. Just great. This is so not what I wanted to happen today.” Ajax licked the man’s neck and
looked up at me with big eyes that almost seemed reproachful.
 I scowled and studied the man’s face, which was covered in at least two weeks’ worth of beard.
Probably more than that. Brown hair was matted against his head, greasy, and sticking up in places.
He smelled, and I wagered he hadn’t showered in a long while. Obviously, he was some sort of
prisoner or slave. He didn’t look much older than me, maybe thirty-two or so. It was hard to guess
with the state he was in.
Sighing, I stepped past him and into the cockpit. I waited for Ajax to follow, but he just sat down
next to the body and proceeded to lick him.
“So that’s how it’s going to be? You’re going to abandon me for the new guy already?”
When Ajax just kept licking, I closed the door, trying not to feel betrayed. After a moment, I also
locked the door. Just because the guy was unconscious didn’t mean he would stay that way. I decided
I would deal with him after I got off Luna Arcanus. Not that I had any clue as to what I was going to
do with him.
Dropping into the pilot’s chair, I quickly turned on the engines and fired up the thrusters. I had
parked the ship on the outskirts of town to go unnoticed. The terrain was rocky and uneven, so I had
stuck my ship between two boulders to provide a little cover.
I lifted off as quickly as possible, stowed the landing gear, and glided low across the ground,
angling away from town. I pulled up the sensors to check the other ships’ locations. One of the ships
was wandering dangerously close. I tensed up and fought back my irritation while I practiced my
maneuvering skills to stay out of sight.
Engaging the sensory camouflage, I focused on keeping things between me and the other ships. Just
because they wouldn’t be able to pick me up on their sensors didn’t mean they wouldn’t be able to
spot me visually. I wasn’t sure if they would know who I was, or if they would come after me if they
saw me, but I wasn’t about to chance it. I learned well that being overly cautious usually paid off.
The Caravel wasn’t made to glide close to the ground. It was meant to travel through space, not to
make tight turns, and there were plenty of tight spaces to maneuver through on this terrain. I turned the
ship around a rocky hill and hissed as the hull scraped against the rocks. It wasn’t major damage, but
it annoyed me all the same.
Several minutes in, my back started to hurt from the tension. I sighed and made for a clear patch of
ground. I was far enough away from the other ships I figured I would be able to shoot straight up and,
with any luck, exit the atmosphere before being spotted. It was darkening quickly, which would
hopefully lend some cover if they were looking with their eyes and not just their computers.
One of the other ships was still too close for my comfort, but I took the gamble, fired thrusters to
full capacity, and tilted the nose of the Caravel up. She shot up into the air, and I engaged the artificial
gravity to keep from throwing everything around the ship. I held the thrusters at maximum for a few
minutes as the ground got smaller and smaller.
Before long, we left the atmosphere behind and, from what I could tell, the ships hadn’t followed
us. Throwing Merope into hyperdrive, I quickly plotted out a course for Votera. I wasn’t sure what I
would be doing next, exactly, since I had apparently acquired a passenger. Or prisoner. Or whatever
the unconscious man was going to be. For now, I was just going to keep on schedule. I was on a
deadline, and the faster I finished the next job, the better.
After a few minutes of making sure we hadn’t been followed, I relaxed. There were no signs of
pursuit. Everything seemed normal, and since there didn’t seem to be any problems with the autopilot
or the ship, I stood up and opened the door slowly. Both the man and Ajax were still lying on the floor
where I had left them.
Ajax stood up and moved to my side, as if he knew I was annoyed. I slipped out from the cockpit
and circled my new passenger, keeping my laser pointed at him. I didn’t know what to do with him. I
was a thief, not a mercenary. Not a slaver or a kidnapper or anything that remotely dealt with people
or prisoners. I avoided anything to do with human trafficking whenever possible.
I didn’t like the fact that the Conglomeration approved of slavery. I didn’t deal in that kind of trade,
and Parker knew it. He had just chosen to ignore it. Or else, he had assumed I would make an
exception. Or maybe he knew I would probably shove this guy out the door as soon as I could. Hmm.
It would be rather callous to shove him out the door in the middle of a flight.
Just look at all those bruises. Someone really roughed him up good.
I peered closely at the marks on his chest. There were bruises and cuts and what looked like a
couple burns. There were more on his back. I wondered what had happened. Maybe he was a
mercenary too. Or maybe he was just some unlucky fool who got kidnapped for no good reason.
“Crap.” I rubbed the back of my neck. If he was an innocent guy, then there was no way I could do
anything other than untie him and drop him off on the nearest planet. I might be a thief, but I still had a
conscience.
I kicked his foot. “Hey! Wake up!” Might as well figure out who he is before making plans.
Nothing. I bent down and pressed my fingers against his throat. He had a strong pulse, so that was
good. Parker had probably kept him drugged. I sighed and shoved his chest. He twitched and groaned.
“Well at least you’re alive.” I put my laser away and shoved him until he was on his side. I looked
over the wounds on his back and winced. A few of the cuts were still oozing blood.
He groaned again, and I felt the irritation build. Just what I needed. Now I was stuck with a
wounded prisoner, and I had no idea what to do with him. I looked over at Ajax, who just watched me
with interest. I doubted he would give me any useful advice.
After a moment of internal debate, I pulled out my knife and cut the ropes that bound his wrists
together. I put the knife away and frowned as I pulled the bits of rope from his hands. A slim, silver
shackle encircled one wrist. He was a slave, then.
“Well,” I leaned over to check his face again. Still out. “Guess I have to figure out what to do with
you.”
I carefully laid him on his back again. What to do now? Should I wake him up? Let him sleep? I
could move him, but that might aggravate his injuries. I don’t want to hurt him.
“This is stupid,” I muttered and shook my head. “Why do I care? It’s not like I know him or
anything.”
Sighing yet again, I leaned down, wrapped my hands under his arms, and tugged him towards one
of the chairs. He wasn’t huge or anything, but the weight was still enough for me to have to put effort
into it. He had a fair bit of muscle, so even though he was slim he was still heavy. By the looks of it,
he had been underfed. Not surprising if he was a prisoner or a slave.
I grunted and yanked, finally getting him over to a chair. My nose wrinkled against the smell
emanating from him. Little beads of sweat broke out across my scalp, and I scowled. I wedged my
arms beneath him, and after a few attempts, I managed to lift him into one of the chairs. He groaned
again, and this time his eyes opened.
Baby blue eyes rolled around, blinking but not focusing. I leaned over him, waving my hand in front
of his face. “Hey. You in there?”
His eyes rolled some more before finally settling on my face. Obviously, he had been drugged. His
eyes stared at me, or rather, through me, for several unnerving moments. I would have killed for eyes
as pretty as his. Not that I would give up my purple ones, especially since I paid a lot of credits for
them, but if I couldn’t have purple eyes, then I would definitely go for that striking blue color.
 “Hey? Can you hear me?” I frowned at him, tapping his cheek with my fingers. I was impatient, as
usual.
His head jerked as I touched him, and this time when he looked at my face, I could see some flicker
of clarity. He grunted and shook his head.
“You’ve been drugged. Give it a few more minutes before the effects wear off.”
His head snapped back up, and suddenly he had his hands around my throat. Surprised, I tried to
jerk back from him, but his grip was far stronger than it had any right to be. His thumbs dug into my
throat, and he squeezed.
I grabbed his arms and tried to pull them off me. He leaned forward as I leaned back. He tumbled
out of the chair, his body crashing into me and pinning me to the floor. I hit my head against the ground
and my vision blurred. My mind went numb for several seconds.
The pain brought me back to reality, and then the panic started. I tried to talk, tried to breathe, but
couldn’t do either. I looked up into his face, but he wasn’t there. His eyes were staring but weren’t
seeing. Have the drugs not worn off?
Ajax whined and walked over, nudging the man in the face, trying to push him off me. I had never
seen Ajax act like that when I was in danger. Usually, he would be on this guy in a second, chewing
on his neck. Of course, he would take a liking to the one trying to kill me.
But right now, he wasn’t helping me at all. My lungs screamed for air, and black dots blocked my
vision. A curse word bounced around in my head, and finally I shoved a hand into his face and
pressed one of my rings.
Knockout gas sprayed in his face. He blinked and shook his head as he inhaled the gas. Slowly, his
grip loosened, and his eyes rolled back into his head. He slumped forward, his head dropping to my
shoulder. I gasped in several breaths, taking a few moments just to breathe and work some air back
into my burning lungs.
He almost killed me.
Ajax whined again and licked my cheek. I flinched and pushed him away. “Knock it off.” My throat
felt raw, and I coughed. I glared at Ajax, and he just looked at me, completely unconcerned. “Some
guard dog you are.”
I closed my eyes and shoved the remaining tendrils of panic away. I wiggled and pushed until I
could jerk myself out from under his body. I coughed again and winced at the pain. I groaned and
hauled myself to my feet, which were working, but not quite properly. I went to the kitchen and got
some water, swallowing with care.
Leaning against the counter, I closed my eyes again. My hands were shaking, and I tried to focus
and let the adrenaline bleed out of my system. I was okay. He hadn’t hurt me. Well, he hurt me, but he
hadn’t killed me. I was okay.
Pulling in another deep breath, I pushed the hair from my face and walked back to him. He was still
lying face down on the ground. I grunted and grabbed him again, shoving him back into a chair. This
time I got zip ties and secured him to the arms and legs of the chair. The chair itself was bolted into
the ship, so he wouldn’t be going anywhere.
I stepped back and looked him over, just to be sure he couldn’t get free somehow. Ajax ambled
over and flopped down on his feet. I gave him an incredulous look. “Traitor,” I muttered.
My original thoughts of this guy being a victim had evaporated. What had I been thinking? No one
just got kidnapped by a team of mercenaries for no reason. At least, not someone who was being
pursued like it seemed he was. There was no telling what they wanted with him.
After securing him to the chair, I sat down opposite him and just stared at him for a while. I had no
idea who he was, and I had no idea what I was going to do with him. I could sell him, as I suspected
Parker thought I would. Get the money he owed me.
But my conscience pricked when I thought about doing that. I normally wasn’t a stickler for morals.
I was a thief, after all, and I had no qualms about taking things from people. But selling another human
being? That just didn’t sit right with me. It seemed wrong on a whole other level.
Yet, what was the alternative? Setting him free on the next planet? I didn’t even know who he was
or what he had done. He could be a criminal. He probably was a criminal. Maybe I should turn him
into the authorities? Though I doubted I would be able to go near any enforcers without being arrested
myself.
So, I was kind of stuck. I wasn’t sure if those mercenaries would catch up to us or not, but I really
didn’t want to be around if they did. I was just one person, and I did not want to take on a whole band
of mercenaries, especially when this wasn’t my fight to begin with.
I rubbed my forehead. So many questions. Maybe the best thing to do would be to wait until he
woke up, figure out who he was, and then just be rid of him. I could always kill him, but that didn’t sit
right with me either. I didn’t kill people unless they were trying to kill me. Which, technically, I guess
he had done that. I could understand him lashing out if he thought I was inflicting more pain on him,
but I wasn’t the enemy here. I didn’t want to kill him.
While I waited for him to wake up, I got up and retrieved some medical supplies and set them on
the counter. There was a computer terminal mounted into the wall opposite his chair, and I got onto it
and sent a message off to Parker. A very irate message.
Then an idea hit me. I grabbed my tablet, went over to him, and pressed his palm against the
screen, trying to pull up his record and maybe find a name. The tablet beeped at me, and I sighed. Of
course, his record would be restricted.
Aggravated, I tossed the tablet onto an empty chair and went back to the computer. Forget it. I was
going to go to Votera, work my next job, and if this guy had a good explanation for who he was and
why he was kidnapped by mercenaries, then I would let him go on that planet. If he couldn’t give me a
satisfactory answer, then I would sell him and be done with it. Ignore my conscience. If he was a bad
guy, I wasn’t going to just set him free. That would be worse than selling him. So there. My
conscience could be satisfied.
Now, I just had to wait until he woke up. I hated waiting. I had no patience. Part of me wanted to
just wake him up again, but considering how well that went the first time, I decided I could just be
impatient for a while.
Parker, I’m going to kill you if I ever see you again.
 CHAPTER TWO
Ben

I woke up slowly. Pulling myself out of the darkness felt like trying to fight through a heavy fog. My
mind was scattered, but something important kept nagging at me. I needed to wake up, but I couldn’t
remember why. Eventually, I became conscious of noises around me. I could feel my body again, and
it hurt. Everything hurt.
The pain brought me back to reality, pulling together the scattered pieces of my mind. The events of
the last few weeks came flooding back, and I tensed. I was a prisoner. Santiago, a sadistic mercenary,
had kidnapped me from Venetus with frightening ease. Security should have been better; he shouldn’t
have known details about my movements. But he had.
My head throbbed and I winced. The last few weeks had been only pain. Santiago and his men had
made sure I spent the days in agony. They tortured me for fun because it amused them. I stopped
counting how many times they electrocuted me or cut me or hit me. They had starved me. I couldn’t
remember the last time I had eaten anything.
Remember, Ben, you aren’t with Santiago anymore.
The memory was hazy, but I could vaguely recall someone new coming in and drugging me. I woke
up on a different ship, in a different cell. Any hope of being rescued was dashed as soon as I realized
this was another mercenary, an enemy of Santiago. I don’t know what his goal was in taking me, other
than to enrage Santiago.
It didn’t seem as though they knew what to do with me, though. Their leader had come in and
questioned me, wanting to know who I was and why Santiago had me. Was I a slave? A prisoner? I
didn’t answer any of his questions, which only seemed to annoy him. And then he drugged me again.
That was the last thing I remembered.
Slowly, even though I would have rather remained unconscious, I lifted my head and forced my
eyes open. The light made my head hurt even more, and I groaned.
“Finally awake, are we?”
That was a female voice. It was slightly gravelly and mildly amused. I wracked my brain but
couldn’t remember seeing any female mercenaries on board either ship. I squinted against the pain in
my head and tried to focus on my surroundings. I was in a plain room with chairs lining three walls. I
could see part of a kitchen to my left, and I could just barely see a cockpit to the right.
I was aboard a ship, but this one seemed smaller from what I could immediately see. It wasn’t
Santiago’s, and not the other mercenary…Parker, I think his name was. Not his ship either.
I tried to move but none of my limbs cooperated. I looked down to see I was tied to a chair. I held
back a discouraged sigh. I had hoped maybe a female meant I had been rescued, but my hopes were
misplaced. Again. Just someone else looking to use me for their own ends.
I pushed that disheartening thought away and focused on my surroundings. My feet felt heavy, and I
looked down at what had to be the biggest dog I’d ever seen lying on them. Was it even a dog? I
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mystery at
Lynden Sands
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Mystery at Lynden Sands

Author: J. J. Connington

Release date: March 9, 2024 [eBook #73126]

Language: English

Original publication: New York, NY: Grosset & Dunlap, 1928

Credits: Brian Raiter

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MYSTERY

AT LYNDEN SANDS ***
MYSTERY AT LYNDEN SANDS

by

J. J. CONNINGTON
 Contents
I The Death at Foxhills
II A Bus-Driver's Holiday
III The Police at the Caretaker's
IV What Happened in the Night
V The Diary
VI The Beach Tragedy
VII The Letter
VIII The Colt Automatic
IX The Second Cartridge-Case
X The Attack on the Australian
XI Mme. Laurent-Desrousseaux's Evidence
XII The Fordingbridge Mystery
XIII Cressida's Narrative
XIV The Telegram
XV The Method of Coercion
XVI The Man-Hunt on the Beach
XVII The Threads in the Case
 Chapter I.
The Death at Foxhills
Paul Fordingbridge, with a faintly reproachful glance at his sister,
interrupted his study of the financial page of The Times and put the
paper down on his knee. Deliberately he removed his reading-
glasses; replaced them by his ordinary spectacles; and then turned
to the restless figure at the window of the private sitting-room.
“Well, Jay, you seem to have something on your mind. Would it
be too much to ask you to say it—whatever it is—and then let me
read my paper comfortably? One can't give one's mind to a thing
when there's a person at one's elbow obviously ready to break out
into conversation at any moment.”
Miss Fordingbridge had spent the best part of half a century in
regretting her father's admiration for Herrick. “I can't see myself as
Julia of the Night-piece,” she complained with a faint parade of
modesty; and it was at her own wish that the hated name had been
abbreviated to an initial in family talk.
At the sound of her brother's voice she turned away from the sea-
view.
“I can't imagine why you insisted on coming to this hotel,” she
said, rather fretfully. “I can't stand the place. Of course, as it's just
been opened, it's useless to expect everything to go like clockwork;
but there seems a lot of mismanagement about it. I almost burned
my hand with the hot water in my bedroom this morning—ridiculous,
having tap-water as hot as that! And my letters got into the wrong
pigeon-hole or something; I had to wait ever so long for them. Of
course the clerk said he was sorry—but what good does that do? I
don't want his sorrow. I want my letters when I ask for them.”
“No doubt.”
 “And there was a wasp in my room when I went up there a few
minutes ago. If I'd wanted a double-bedded room with a wasp as a
room-mate, I would have asked for it when we booked, wouldn't I?
And when I rang the bell and told them to put the thing out, the
chambermaid—so it seems—was afraid of wasps. So she had to go
and get hold of someone else to tackle it. And meanwhile, of course,
I had to wait about until my room was made habitable. That's a nice
kind of hotel!”
“Oh, it has its points,” Paul Fordingbridge advanced soothingly.
“One can get quite decent wine; and this chair's not uncomfortable.”
“I don't sit in a chair and drink wine all day,” his sister retorted,
querulously. “And that jazz band downstairs is simply appalling—I
can feel my ear-drums quiver whenever it starts playing.”
“It amuses the children, at least. I haven't heard Stanley or
Cressida complaining about it yet; and they seem to dance most of
the time in the evenings.”
“So like the younger generation! They get married—and they
dance. And that's almost all you can say about them.”
“Oh, no. Let's be fair,” her brother corrected her mildly. “They both
play bridge a good deal; and Cressida's not bad at golf. I can't say,
taking her over all, that I'm ashamed of her as a niece. And Stanley's
a great improvement on her first husband—that fellow Staveley.”
Miss Fordingbridge made a gesture of irritation.
“Oh, of course, everything's simply splendid, by your way of it. A
fascinating niece, a nice-looking nephew-in-law, and a wonderful
hotel to live in for a month or so; what more could one want? The
only thing I can't understand is what this family party is doing in an
hotel just now, when we've got Foxhills standing empty almost within
a stone's-throw. You know how I hate hotels; and yet you won't
reopen Foxhills and let us live there. What's the use in coming to
Lynden Sands at all, if we don't stay at our own house and get
privacy at least?”
Her brother's brows contracted slightly.
“Foxhills isn't going to be reopened. You know quite well the size
of staff you'd need to run it properly; and I don't propose to pay on
that scale merely in order to stay at Foxhills for a month or so and
then shut it up again. Besides, Jay, this new golf-course has
changed things a bit. I'm trying to let Foxhills; and if I got a tenant,
we might have to clear out of the place before we'd got well settled
down in it. This hotel and the new course between them are going to
make Lynden Sands more popular before long. There's a fair chance
of getting Foxhills leased.”
Miss Fordingbridge was manifestly taken aback by this
information.
“You're trying to let Foxhills—our old house? Why, it isn't yours to
let! It belongs to Derek.”
Paul Fordingbridge seemed to be flicked on the raw. There was a
certain asperity in his tone as he replied.
“Whether it belongs to Derek or merely belonged to Derek is an
open question. He hasn't turned up to let us decide the point one
way or the other.”
He glanced at his sister's face and apparently read something in
her expression, for he continued with a faint rasp in his tone.
“I thought I'd made the position clear enough to you already, but,
as you don't seem to grasp it even yet, I'll go over it once more. But
this must be the last time, Jay. I'm really tired of making the thing
clear to you when you evidently won't take the trouble to understand
how I'm placed.”
He paused for a moment, as though to put his facts in order
before stating his case.
“Since this is the last time I'm going to discuss the thing with you,
I'll go right back to the beginning; and you'll be good enough to give
me your attention, Jay. I'm tired of the subject; and specially tired of
explaining it to you, as you never listen.
“Under our father's will, the major part of the family property—
including the Foxhills estate—went to his eldest son, brother John,
on a life-tenancy. After John died, it was all to go without restrictions
to the next eldest—brother Rufus, out in Australia—or to his son,
Derek. Failing Derek, it was to go to the next eldest—Cressida's
father; or, if he died first, then to Cressida. If she didn't live to come
into it, then it fell to my share; and, finally, if we all died off, then you
were to get it. Of course, he'd left each of us enough to keep us
going comfortably in any case. Foxhills and the investments that
went along with it were extras, over and above that. You see that
part clearly enough, I suppose?”
Miss Fordingbridge nodded; but it seemed doubtful if she had
given the narrative much attention. She appeared to be treasuring up
some thought which made her brother's statement of little real
interest to her. Paul glanced again at her face and seemed to
hesitate slightly. He decided to continue.
“None of us had seen Derek until just before the war. Then he
came to Foxhills for a while with us. You took to him more than I did.
He seemed to me a very ordinary young fellow. Meanwhile, John
came into his life-rent of the estate and the rest of the property, after
our father died.
“Then came the war. Derek had a commission in some Australian
regiment. We saw little of him, naturally. I wish we'd seen less. He
brought home that friend of his, Nick Staveley, on leave; and he got
round Cressida and married her—the worst day's work our family's
done for a good while. Lucky for her that he got wiped out, that day
when Derek was captured.”
Miss Fordingbridge winced at the name of her niece's first
husband. Even after all these years, the very thought of Staveley
had its sting for the family. Apart from this, however, she showed no
interest in her brother's narrative, which was obviously an old tale to
her, and important only as it concerned her brother's motives of
action.
“Meanwhile, Rufus had a paralytic stroke out in Australia and
died. Then, a little later, John got killed in that motor accident. Under
the will, that left Derek in possession of the estate. I can't claim that I
foresaw that exact state of affairs; but I'd been afraid of something of
the sort happening. During the war, things needed a careful eye on
them; and I didn't care to see Foxhills in the hands of lawyers. So
before Derek went off to the Front, I got him to give me a power of
attorney to deal with all his affairs. Are you listening, Jay?”
Miss Fordingbridge nodded absently. She still had the air of
reserving a surprise for her brother.
“You know what happened next,” Paul Fordingbridge went on.
“Derek was captured and sent to Clausthal. Almost immediately, he
got away from there, and nearly scraped over the Dutch frontier. The
Germans caught him there; and as a result he was sent on to Fort 9,
at Ingolstadt. We know he got away from there—it must have been
almost immediately, as we got no letters from him—and after that all
trace of him was lost. Whether he got shot in trying to get over the
frontier, or whether he lost his memory, or what happened to him, no
one can tell. He's vanished, so far as we're concerned.”
Miss Fordingbridge repressed a faint smile, evidently with some
difficulty; but her brother failed to notice the fleeting expression on
her face.
“Now I want you to see the position that I'm left in, with all this
muddle,” he went on. “Derek may be alive, or he may be dead, for all
we know. If he's alive, then Foxhills belongs to him; and, until we
have evidence of his death, that's the state of affairs. Meanwhile,
with his power of attorney, I have to manage things, fix up the
investments, get the best return I can on his money, and look after
the up-keep of Foxhills. I daresay we could go to the Courts and ask
leave to presume his death; but I think it's fairer to wait a while yet,
before doing anything in that direction. He might turn up, in spite of
everything.”
It was evident from his tone that he thought this contingency a
most unlikely one, though not altogether impossible.
“In any case, I've got to do the best I can for his interests. That's
why I propose to let Foxhills if I can find someone to take it on a
short lease. We can't afford to let Derek's property stand idle—if it is
his property. Besides, a place of that size is far better occupied. It's
more or less all right just now, with old Peter Hay looking after it and
living in the cottage; but it would be far better if we had someone
living there permanently and keeping it heated. I'm afraid of dry-rot
setting in sometime or other. Now, do you understand the state of
affairs, Jay? Can't you see that's the best course to take?”
Miss Fordingbridge paid no attention to either query.
“I've listened to you,” she said, perhaps with a slight lapse from
strict accuracy, “and now it's your turn to listen to me, Paul. It's no
use your trying to persuade me that there's any doubt about Derek at
all. I know perfectly well he's alive.”
Paul Fordingbridge made no effort to restrain his involuntary
gesture of annoyance. Quite evidently he saw what was coming.
 “Now, Julia, it's no use bringing up this stuff of yours again. I've
told you fifty times already that I don't believe it in the slightest. Since
you went in for this table-turning, and spirit-rapping, and planchette,
and all the rest of the wretched business, you've hardly been sane
on the subject. I daresay you adored Derek when he was here. No
doubt you think you're justified in all this séance business, trying to
get in touch with him, and the rest of it. But frankly, it leaves me as it
leaves every other sensible person—completely sceptical.”
Miss Fordingbridge was evidently well-accustomed to this kind of
reception when she broached the topic. She ignored her brother's
protest and continued as though he had not interrupted her.
“I remember quite well how you laughed at me when I came back
from that wonderful séance and told you how I had been assured
that Derek was still alive. That was five years ago, but I can recall it
perfectly. And I know it was true. And if you had been there yourself,
and had heard it with your own ears, you'd have believed it too. You
couldn't have disbelieved. It was far too convincing. After the
medium went into a trance, the control spoke to me. And it told me
all about Derek—what regiment he'd been in; when he was
captured; how he'd disappeared; how anxious I'd been about him;
and how we'd lost all trace of him. You'd have been quite convinced
yourself, if you'd been there and heard it all.”
“I am quite convinced,” her brother replied drily. “That's to say I'm
quite convinced that they'd looked up Derek's name in the casualty
lists and got together all the data they could gather beforehand. I
expect you gave away a good deal yourself by your questions, too.
You're about the easiest person to pump, if one goes about it in the
right way.”
Miss Fordingbridge smiled in a superior fashion, as though she
knew that she held a trump card still.
“Would it convince you if I said that I'd seen Derek?”
“Some more of their confounded mummery? No, it wouldn't
convince me. A child could deceive you, Jay. You want to be
deceived. You can't bear the idea that Derek's dead—that's what
vitiates this stuff that you dignify by the name of evidence.”
“Vulgar abuse never hurts a spiritualist. We're used to it,” Miss
Fordingbridge replied with simple dignity. “But you're wrong as usual,
Paul. It wasn't at a séance that I saw Derek. It was here, at Lynden
Sands. And it was last night.”
From the expression on her brother's face it was clear that he
hardly knew how to take this news.
“You saw him here, last night? In a dream, I suppose?”
“No, not in a dream. I met him by appointment down at that rock
on the beach—the one we used to call Neptune's Seat. And I saw
him close enough to make no mistake—as close as I am to you this
moment. And I talked to him, too. It's Derek; there's no doubt about
it.”
Paul Fordingbridge was evidently taken aback. This latest tale of
his sister's seemed to have something more solid behind it than her
earlier ventures.
“You said nothing to me about this. Why was that?”
Miss Fordingbridge recognised that she had scored a point and
had startled her brother out of his usual scepticism. She had her
answer ready.
“Naturally you'd hardly expect me to discuss a thing like that over
the breakfast-table, with half-a-hundred total strangers sitting round
and craning their necks so as to hear better? If you will insist on
staying at hotels, you must put up with the results. This is the first
time I've been alone with you since I met him.”
Paul Fordingbridge acknowledged the justice of her view with a
nod.
“Quite so,” he admitted. “And you had a talk with this fellow, had
you?”
Miss Fordingbridge's temper showed unmistakably in her tone as
she replied.
“Kindly don't call Derek ‘this fellow,’ if you please. It's Derek
himself. He talked to me for quite a long time—all about things that
had happened at Foxhills when he was here before the War, and
other things that happened at the times he was home on leave. And
part of the time he told me about Clausthal and Fort 9, too.”
Her brother's scepticism again made itself evident.
“Plenty of people were in Fort 9 and at Clausthal besides Derek.
That proves nothing.”
 “Well, then, he mentioned a whole lot of little things as well. He
reminded me of how Cressida dropped her bouquet when she was
signing the register after her wedding. And he remembered which
wedding march they played then.”
“Almost anyone in Lynden Sands could have told him that.”
Miss Fordingbridge reflected for a moment or two, evidently
searching her memory for some crucial piece of evidence.
“He remembered that we used to bring up some of the old port
from Bin 73 every time he went off to the Front. He said often he
wished he could have had some of it just before zero hour.”
Paul Fordingbridge shook his head.
“One of the servants might have mentioned that in the village and
he could have got hold of it. If you've nothing better than this sort of
tittle-tattle to prove it's Derek, it won't go far.”
He reflected for a moment, then he asked:
“You recognised his face, of course?”
A flicker of repulsion crossed his sister's features.
“I saw his face,” she said. “Paul, he's horribly disfigured, poor
boy. A shell-burst, or something. It's dreadful. If I hadn't known it was
Derek, I'd hardly have recognised him. And he was so good-looking,
in the old days. But I know it's Derek. I'm quite sure of it. That
medium's control never makes a mistake. If Derek had passed over,
she'd have found him and made him speak to me at that séance. But
she couldn't. And now he's come back in the flesh, it shows there is
something in spiritualism, in spite of all your sneers. You'll have to
admit it, Paul.”
Her words had evidently started a fresh train of thought in her
brother's mind.
“Did you recognise his voice?” he demanded.
Miss Fordingbridge seemed to make an effort to recall the tones
she had heard:
“It was Derek's voice, of course,” she said, with a faint hesitation
in her manner. “Of course, it wasn't quite the voice I'd been
expecting. His mouth was hurt in those awful wounds he got. And his
tongue was damaged, too; so his voice isn't the same as it used to
be. It's husky instead of clear; and he has difficulty in saying some
words, I noticed. But at times I could quite well imagine it was Derek
speaking just as he used to do, with that Australian twang of his that
we used to tease him about.”
“Ah, he has the twang, has he?”
“Of course he has. Derek couldn't help having it, could he, when
he was brought up in Australia until he was quite grown-up? Last
night he laughed over the way we used to chaff him about his
accent.”
“Anything more about him that you can remember?”
“He's been dreadfully hurt. Two of his fingers were blown off his
right hand. It gave me such a start when he shook hands with me.”
Paul Fordingbridge seemed to reflect for a moment or two on the
information he had acquired.
“H'm!” he said at last, “It'll be difficult to establish his identity;
that's clear. Face unrecognisable owing to wounds; voice altered,
ditto; two fingers gone on right hand, so his writing won't be
identifiable. If only we had taken Derek's fingerprints, we'd have had
some sort of proof. As it is, there's very little to go on.”
Miss Fordingbridge listened scornfully to this catalogue.
“So that's all the thanks you give Derek for suffering so horribly
for us all in the war?”
“Always assuming that this friend of yours is Derek. Don't you
understand that I can't take a thing of this sort on trust? I'm in charge
of Derek's property—assuming that he's still alive, I can't hand it over
to the first claimant who comes along, and then, if Derek himself
turns up, excuse myself by saying that the first fellow had a plausible
yarn to tell. I must have real proof. That's simply plain honesty, in my
position. And real proof's going to be mighty hard to get, if you ask
me, Jay. You must see that, surely.”
“It is Derek,” Miss Fordingbridge repeated, obstinately. “Do you
think I can't recognise my own nephew, when he's able to tell me all
sorts of things that only we in the family could know?”
Her brother regarded her rather ruefully.
“I believe you'd go into the witness-box and take your oath that
it's Derek,” he said, gloomily. “You'd made up your mind that Derek
was coming back sooner or later; and now you're prepared to
recognise anything down to a chimpanzee as your long-lost nephew,
rather than admit you're wrong. Damn this spiritualism of yours! It's
at the root of all the trouble. It's led you to expect Derek; and you
mean to have a Derek of some sort.”
He paused for a moment, as though following out a train of
thought; then he added:
“And it's quite on the cards that if it ever came before a jury, some
chuckleheads would take your word for it. ‘Sure to know her
nephew,’ and all that sort of stuff. They don't know your little fads.”
Miss Fordingbridge glanced up at the note of trouble in her
brother's voice.
“I can't see why you're trying to throw doubt on the thing, Paul.
You haven't seen Derek; I have. And yet you don't wait to see him
yourself. You come straight out with a denial that it is Derek. And you
say I've got a preconceived idea about the affair. It seems to me that
you're the one with a preconceived notion. One would think you'd
made up your mind already on the subject.”
Paul Fordingbridge acknowledged the counter-thrust.
“There's something in what you say, perhaps, Jay. But you must
admit the whole business is a trifle unexpected. It's hardly taking the
line one might expect, if everything were square and above-board.
Let's assume that it is Derek, and then you'll see what a lot's left
unexplained so far. First of all, it's years since the war. Why hasn't he
turned up before now? That's a strange affair, surely. Then, when he
does reappear, why doesn't he come to me first of all? I'm the person
he left in charge of his affairs, and I should think his first step would
be to communicate with me. But no, he comes down here
unannounced; and he fixes up some sort of clandestine meeting with
you. That's a rum go, to my mind. And there's more than that in it. He
meets you last night and has a talk with you; but he doesn't suggest
coming to see me. Or did he give you any message for me?”
“He didn't, as it happens. But you seem to think we were talking
as if it was all a matter of business, Paul. It was a shock to me to
have him back again. And I daresay I did most of the talking, and he
hadn't time to give me any message for you. I was very shaken up
by it all, and he was so kind to me.”
Her brother seemed to find little pleasure in the picture which she
drew.
 “Yes, I expect you did most of the talking, Jay. He wouldn't
interrupt you much. But, aside from all that, it's getting near lunch-
time now. He's had the whole morning to break into the family circle;
and yet he hasn't come near. From what I remember of him, shyness
wasn't one of his defects. Whatever you may think about it, that
seems to me a bit fishy. Damned strange in fact. I'm not taking up
any definite stand in the matter; but there are things that need a bit
of explaining.”
Miss Fordingbridge seemed for a moment to be staggered by her
brother's analysis; but she recovered herself almost at once and
fastened upon his last point.
“Didn't I tell you that he was horribly disfigured? Even in the
moonlight he was a dreadful sight. Do you expect him to come
marching into this hotel in broad daylight this morning, so that
everyone can stare at him? You really have very little common
sense, Paul. I think it shows that he wants to spare us all the tittle-
tattle he can. You know what hotels are, and how the people in them
are simply on the look-out for something to chatter about. And when
they got a chance like this—missing heir returns, and so forth—you
can guess for yourself what it would be like. We'd have no life of it,
with people staring at us and whispering behind our backs as we
passed. And I think Derek has shown a great deal of tact and
common sense in behaving as he has done. Naturally he asked to
see me first. He knows how fond of him I was.”
Her brother seemed to consider this fresh view of the affair for a
longer time than he had devoted to any of her other statements. At
last he shook his head doubtfully.
“It might be as you say, of course,” he conceded grudgingly. “We
must wait and see what turns up. But you can take it from me, Jay,
that I shan't be satisfied unless I get something a good deal better in
the way of evidence. It looks very like a parcel from a shop in Queer
Street, so far as it's gone.”
Miss Fordingbridge seemed content to drop that side of the
matter, at least for the time. But she had something further to say.
“Of course you'll drop this absurd idea of letting Foxhills now,
Paul?”
 Her brother seemed irritated by this fresh turn given to their
conversation.
“Why should I? I've told you often enough that it's my business to
do the best I can for Derek; and the rent of Foxhills would be worth
having, even if Derek did come back. You're not suggesting that he
should stay there, are you? It's far too big a place for a single man,
even if he wanted to live down here at Lynden Sands.”
Miss Fordingbridge was plainly put out by this suggestion.
“Of course he would stay there. When he went away, didn't I keep
his rooms in order, just as he left them? He could go back to-morrow
and find his study exactly as it was when he left us. Everything's
there just as it used to be: his books, his pipes, his old diary, his ash-
trays—everything. When we shut up Foxhills, I wanted to have
everything ready so that when he came back from the war he'd find
everything in its usual place. He could walk straight in and feel that
things were just the same and that we hadn't forgotten him. And now
you want to let Foxhills just at the moment when he comes back
again—rob the poor boy of the only place on this side of the world
that he can call a home. I won't have it, Paul!”
“Whether you have it or haven't it, Jay, is a matter of total
indifference. Until the power of attorney is revoked, I shall do exactly
as seems best to me; and letting Foxhills is one of the things I shall
certainly do.”
“But I know Derek doesn't want it,” cried Miss Fordingbridge.
“Last night I told him all about how I'd kept his things for him so
carefully; and if you'd seen how touched the poor boy was! He said it
was the thing that had touched him most. And he was ever so
grateful to me. And now you propose to spoil it all, after those years!”
She switched off on to another subject.
“And what do you propose to do about poor old Peter Hay? If you
let Foxhills, it won't need a caretaker; and I suppose you'll turn poor
Peter adrift? And, if you remember, Peter was one of the people that
Derek liked best when he was here before. He was always going
about with Peter, and he said he found him companionable. And he's
learned a lot from Peter about beasts and so on—all new to him—
since he came from Australia. But I suppose Peter's to go at a
week's notice? That's a nice way to serve people.”
 Her brother seemed to consider things before replying.
“I'll try to find something for Peter. You're quite right, Jay. I didn't
mean to turn Peter adrift, though. If I have to sack him from the
caretaker business, I'll pay him out of my own pocket till something
else turns up. Peter's too decent a man to let down, especially after
he's been at Foxhills all his life. If it had been that last valet we had—
that fellow Aird—I'd never have thought twice about throwing him out
at a day's notice. But you can trust me to look after Peter.”
Miss Fordingbridge seemed slightly mollified by this concession
on her brother's part; but she stuck to her main point.
“Well, you can't let Foxhills in any case. I won't have it!”
But apparently her brother had wearied of argument, for he made
no reply.
“I shall be going up to Foxhills some time to-day. I always go up
to dust Derek's rooms, you know,” she continued.
“What on earth do you do that for?” her brother demanded in an
exasperated tone. “Are you training for a housemaid's place? I hear
there's a shortage in that line, but you hardly seem to be a useful
kind of recruit, Jay.”
“I've always looked after Derek's rooms. When he was here at
Foxhills in the old days, I never allowed anyone to lay a finger on his
study. I knew just how he liked his things kept, and I wouldn't have
maids fussing round, displacing everything.”
“Oh, of course you doted on the boy,” her brother retorted. “But it
seems a bit unnecessary at this time of day.”
“Unnecessary? Just when Derek has come back?”
Paul Fordingbridge made no attempt to conceal his gesture of
annoyance; but he refrained from reopening the sore subject.
“Well, if you come across Peter, you can send him down to me. I
haven't seen him since we came here, and I may as well have a talk
about things. Probably there are one or two repairs that need
considering. Perhaps you could go round by his cottage and make
sure of getting hold of him.”
Miss Fordingbridge nodded her assent.
“I'll be quite glad to have a talk with Peter. He'll be so delighted to
know that Derek's back at last. It was only the other day that we
were talking about Derek together. Peter thinks there's no one like
him.”
“All the more reason for saying nothing, then. If it turns out that it
isn't Derek, it would disappoint Peter badly if you'd raised his hopes.”
Then, seeing that his scepticism had again roused his sister's
temper, he added hastily:
“By the way, how's Peter keeping? Has he had any more of these
turns of his—apoplexy, wasn't it?”
“He seemed to be quite well when I saw him the other day. Of
course, he's got to be careful and not excite himself; but he seemed
to me as if he'd quite got over the slight attack he'd had in the
spring.”
“Still got his old squirrel?”
“It's still there. And the rest of the menagerie too. He insisted on
showing me them all, and of course I had to pretend to be frightfully
interested. Poor old man, they're all he has now, since his wife died.
It would be very lonely for him up there, with no one within a mile of
him. His birds and things are great company for him, he says.”
Paul Fordingbridge seemed relieved that the conversation was
edging away from the dangerous subject. He led it still further out of
the zone.
“Have you see Cressida and Stanley this morning? They'd
finished breakfast and gone out before I came on the scene.”
“I think they were going to play golf. They ought to be back
presently.”
She went to the window and gazed out for a moment or two
without speaking. Her brother took up The Times and resumed his
study of the share market, with evident relief.
“This hotel spoils Lynden Sands,” Miss Fordingbridge broke out
after a short silence. “It comes right into the view from the front of
Foxhills—great staring building! And, wherever you go along the bay,
you see this monstrosity glaring in the middle of the view. It'll ruin the
place. And it'll give the villagers all sorts of notions, too. Visitors
always spoil a small village.”
Her brother made no reply, and when she halted in her
complaints he rustled his newspaper clumsily in an obvious effort to