The Copper House A detective story

"The devil take the room, and Jenin too! I came straight here, and nobody was about, except a man who was sitting by the staircase, reading the paper. I opened the door, and saw Jenin walking towards the window, and I saw nothing more, for somebody seized me by the arms from behind, threw me on the floor, and had muffled me up before I had the chance to get a sight of him. I am no weakling, but he must have been twice as strong. When he had bound and gagged me, he suddenly threw a cloth over my face, and immediately after I heard him whispering to Jenin. This lasted about a minute, then they left the room together, shutting the door after them." "And Tarraschin's document?" Rastakov made an expressive gesture, and the baron seemed to see the most important paper in Europe fluttering away into space, so near, and yet so far. The facts seemed to confirm Tassler's warning: "There are things which make me suspect that we have an antagonist," and as this dawned on him, he dragged Rastakov roughly up from the floor. "Who is Maurice Wallion?" he demanded sharply. The other made no reply, and the baron rushed out of the room and along to the staircase. The mysterious newspaper reader was no longer there, but on the table lay an envelope similar to that which he had recently taken from Rastakov's pocket. The baron tore it open, and read: "P.S.--I waited to see you in actual communication with room 23. I am indeed _persistent_ when I have to deal with those who traffic in criminal mysteries, and _inquisitive_ about abuses which I intend to expose. Maurice Wallion." Baron Fayerling was no coward, but for a second even his blood ran cold, and he felt the first gusts of possible defeat moaning round him. But the blast subsided: he was himself again. Rastakov now joined him and he said to him: "Take the next train to the Copper House. I will telephone further orders this afternoon." With these words, he too went his way. CHAPTER II _A young man arrives from California, and hears some unexpected news_ Mr. Burchardt the lawyer sat as stolidly as a grandfather clock beside his writing-table, and stared over his spectacles at Leonard Grath. It was an odd sort of reception for a lively young fellow who had just arrived from the other side of the globe, and Leonard Grath burst out laughing. "What's wrong?" he inquired. There was no harm in Leo, but he was young: to be quite accurate, twenty-six years of age. He was of medium height, well-made, with an honest, sunburnt face, merry blue eyes, brown hair, worn rather long as a tribute to his artistic propensities, and a large but sensitive mouth; to complete the description, he had the restless, flexible hands of an artist, a clear, confident voice, and just the least touch of foppishness in his appearance. The youth was no paragon; he was a happy-go-lucky fellow, not only in his artistic fancies, but in every detail of his daily life. "Wrong?" echoed the lawyer, and a look of something like emotion flitted over his stolid features. "Things are no worse than they have been all along, but they are quite bad enough, Leo." "Now for a homily!" muttered the young man, "and the title is: 'On the danger of getting into debt.'" Mr. Burchardt looked pained. "My dear Leo," said he, gravely, "you have not been much troubled with advice from me for some time: it must be quite six years since I last saw you. I suppose you remember that I have been the adviser of your family for the last thirty years. To all intents and purposes I have stood to you _in loco parentis_. Your only belongings are your Aunt Fernanda, her children and grandchildren in California, where you have stayed for so long that we began to wonder if you ever intended to come home...." "Well, what of that? The Copper House couldn't run away from me." "The Copper House _has_ run away from you!" retorted the lawyer sharply. Leonard looked serious, and settled himself more firmly in his chair. "That's impossible," he faltered. "My letter concerned the Copper House," continued Mr. Burchardt. "I posted it to your address in Los Angeles, but you had already left. You have got home in the nick of time--for some things," he added, rather bitterly. "I arrived in Sweden yesterday," said Leo. "I had a fancy to take a peep at the Copper House, and so I came over." "And so you came over," echoed the lawyer, with a wry face. "It is a pity that the fancy did not seize you sooner. I fear that the Copper House is no longer yours, Leo, and that's the truth." The young man colored up like a schoolboy, and said huskily: "Was that what your letter was about?" "Yes, I wrote to request your consent to the sale of the Copper House." "The Copper House for sale?" "You may regard it as sold, my lad." "What the devil do you mean?" cried Leo, springing up from his chair. "What else can you expect, when a property has been neglected for three generations? Your grandfather spent the whole of his life abroad, and married in California, where he settled. When he died, Karka was mortgaged for half its value, although his sister worked herself to skin and bone in her efforts to reduce expenses. Your father certainly remained at home, but he entertained very lavishly, and his tobacco-growing hobby, which started very hopefully, proved a very costly failure. You inherited your grandfather's love of travel, and your idea of managing an estate apparently consists in telegraphing incessantly for money from the four quarters of the earth. During the last thirty years, I have warned first your father and then you how things were going. Then the War broke out, and now matters have come to a crisis. I can assure you, I have done my utmost to stave off the debts...." Leo had been drumming on the window-pane, and now he turned round and said: "I know you have; I'm not trying to excuse myself." The lawyer nodded, and continued in a slightly mollified tone: "I had not put up the property for sale, but at the end of March a purchaser appeared unexpectedly, and made a good--an uncommonly good offer, which we have no choice but to accept. I have drawn up the contract already, and was only awaiting your consent to my signature, but since you are back, you can sign it yourself." "My signature!" repeated the young man. He was filled with a sullen, boyish despair at the thought that, by a stroke of the pen, he must sign away the property which had been in his family for eight generations, and lose the old home which was the shrine of his childish memories. "It can't be true, it's impossible!" he burst out. The lawyer looked at him as though he were taking a careful inventory of the young man's weakness and lack of resource in this unforeseen emergency. "Unfortunately it is only too possible," he said gently. The official atmosphere of Mr. Burchardt's private room began to irritate Leo like the touch of a hair shirt on a sensitive skin, and as the lawyer turned suggestively towards his deed-box, the young man said hastily, almost incoherently, as if attempting to stave off inevitable doom: "No, not yet! Give me a little time to get accustomed to the idea. I must have one more look at the Copper House whilst it is still mine...." Burchardt looked thoughtful. Inwardly, he was deeply touched, but his severe expression remained unaltered, and he said to himself: "What a pity the scatter-brained fellow did not make a rich marriage, while there was time." Aloud he remarked: "As you wish. But I have not told you everything yet. As you know, the Copper House, that is, the house itself, was let in the summer of 1915 to a person named Andrei Bernin. He is a Russian author, though I believe he has naturalized himself as a Swede, and he is living in the Copper House with his sister and his daughter. As regards the rest of the estate, and the woods, Suneson the bailiff continued to look after them, at any rate until last year; perhaps you remember him--a decent, trustworthy fellow. But he left the place very suddenly last autumn without giving notice. Andrei Bernin now rents the whole property, but the land is lying fallow. He's a strange sort of man--shuts himself up altogether in the Copper House; he seems to have plenty of money, and, not content with paying rent for the place, he has now made a very generous offer to buy it. I have never met him personally, as he is elderly and an invalid, and blind into the bargain; but I carry on negotiations with his friend and solicitor Marcus Tassler, who is managing the business with the most amazing energy...." "Tassler," said Leo, with a slight grimace, "is he a German?" "I should say he is of a sort of German-Russian-Jewish extraction, but all the same, he is a Swedish citizen," replied the pedantically-accurate Burchardt. "He is one of those financial experts who have come to the front during this War, and he is the Manager of the Finno-Russian Import and Export Company. Personally, I don't find him particularly congenial, but he certainly looks after his friend Bernin's interests with exemplary zeal. They have not allowed us much time to turn round; I have been obliged to give way a little here and there. A considerable sum of caution-money has been paid down already: if the sale does not go through, the lease holds good, and we are bound to undertake expensive repairs, whilst, over and above all that, we shall be held legally responsible for allowing the land to go out of cultivation...." Leo turned quickly to the window; the truth seemed to dawn upon him for the first time, and he said: "I suppose the Copper House is filled with these people?" "Yes, and all the old servants have left. We are absolutely powerless, Leo; the sale _must_ take place!" "Must it?" murmured Leo, still unconvinced. "Have you anything more to tell me?" "Yes. Bernin, or, more correctly, Tassler acting for him, has bought up all the mortgages, and the largest outstanding debts on the property, and is bringing pressure to bear on us in that way." Leo felt as though a net was closing round him: he was furious, and exclaimed: "The cheek of the fellow! So he threatens me, does he? I'll have something to say to him!" "It is his way, I don't blame him. At any rate, we can't quarrel with the price he offers: it will cover all your family liabilities." "Will there be any surplus?" "About twelve thousand kroner, I should think." "That isn't much," remarked Leo thoughtfully. His anger had evaporated, and he was smiling. "After all, I have always been hard-up, so there won't be a great difference. At any rate, the Copper House still belongs to me--nominally." Burchardt came up to the young man and laid a hand on his shoulder. He had laid aside his official manner, and said kindly: "Take my advice, Leo. Life is hard on those who make no attempt to take it seriously, and we are living in an age when individuals as well as nations are being tested to the fullest extent of their capabilities. You are young, mentally and physically: that is one asset. You have had a good education: that is another. Face the future boldly, and win yourself a place in the sun: you _can_ do it." Leo looked at him: "Yes," said he, "that doesn't sound bad. But how am I to do it?" "By working." "Painting, do you mean?" "I mean, by hard work." "Chopping wood, perhaps?" "By all means, if you are fit for nothing better." The young man stretched his arms over his head, and laughed softly; then he began to walk up and down the room. "I may be a ne'er-do-well, but I am not an invertebrate," said he. "I expected all this in a way, but I don't know how it is.... I feel somehow relieved. At any rate, I know now just how I stand. But," he