Page:Weird Tales Volume 02 Number 2 (1937-02).djvu/98
"I'll very likely go there then," Nick said, rising. "Many thanks, Mr. Stevens. I'll let you know what I find out." He tapped his pocket where the letter lay.
"Yes, do," Mr. Stevens said, as though he should very much like to know now. "Such a curious thing—to have no idea what my own client did with his vast personal fortune!"
Nick came out into the clean sharp October day, looked at the bustling streets, then hailed a yellow cab. "Will you take me up to Canobus?" he said. "It's a little way above Irvington."
"Kinda far,” the driver said, "but I'll take you."
Settled against the comfortable leather seat, Nick took out the letter and the small box. Well, in a few minutes he would know whether he was a tremendously rich man, or the duped victim of a practical joke. The cab swayed and dove through the crowded sunlit streets as he unfolded the double sheets of rich heavy paper.
"My dear Son" Nick made a small snorting sound, his jaw muscles bunching angrily, then read on:
You must permit an old and sorrowing man to make amends to you. In the clear light of approaching death, mistakes shine out with a terrible brilliance. I realize now that my behavior toward you has been unspeakably cruel, punishing a youth, a young man, for what an innocent child did in his ignorance. I have been longing to make amends for years, always hoping that we would meet again at the time appointed, but I have been held back and hampered by the natural shame of a father who dares not approach the son he has so irreparably injured.
You are aware by now that I have converted all my fortune into gems, ignorance of the whereabouts of which must have confused and annoyed Stevens greatly!
I hope you will forgive the gruesome and perhaps repugnant enterprise you will have to embark upon in order to enter into your inheritance. It will seem to you so much simpler if I had merely put the stones into a bank where you could have obtained them at the slight cost of your signature upon a slip of paper.
But as death crept closer, I found myself increasingly reluctant to part with my beautiful glittering baubles. You don't know the fascination that gems can have for a man, bewitching him with the play of their glorious fire so much more brilliant than anything upon this earth!
Nick raised his eyes, puzzled. Where was all this leading? He returned again to the letter:
To shorten the story, buried with me in my coffin in the mausoleum on the estate are three million dollars in jewels. Forgive me the queer quirk that made me keep them with me as long as I could—I felt that I could not die were it otherwise.
No one is aware of this except you. The coffin was specially made; the workmen were ignorant of the purpose for which they prepared a wooden case and fitted it into the hollow lid. To the eye, then, nothing but a surface of quilted satin—but underneath, the glories of heaven await you! Access to it is easy—pressure upon the third and fourth buttons from the bottom of the lid on the left hand side will release the catch.
I am apologetic that I have put this disagreeable and oppressive task upon you—but you will find it in your heart to forgive an old man's folly. The gems are all I say they are—you may do with them as you will—convert them into stocks and bonds and houses—or simply fall in love with them as I did.
The small box which Stevens will give you contains the keys to the mausoleum. Do not tell anyone of your errand in the tomb, and remove the gems alone—I do not desire to have any but my son look upon me in death. I trust that enjoyment of your possessions will compensate you for the unhappiness and misery of your early life. I am sorry that our first greeting in thirty years must take place in my tomb. God be with you, my son; I shall meet you there.
Your loving father,
Roger Carruthers.
Nick lighted a cigarette, his fingers slow, eyes unaware of the fantasmagoria of red and green lights, dashing cars, that flashed past the windows. Living alone at Green Oaks with his beautiful gems and wretched memories, Father must have turned slowly crazed. What a gruesome, singular thing to do! What a horrible task he had inherited, along with three million dollars in jewels! Grave robbery—it was no better than that.
Nick reread the letter, a little puzzled. He still could not believe that that wicked and vengeful old man could have forgiven him at last—yet there it was, speak-