The Lost Door
By DOROTHY QUICK
[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Weird Tales October1936. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.copyright on this publication was renewed.]
I have often wondered whether I would have urged Wrexler to come with meif I had known what Rougemont would do to him. I think—lookingback—that even if I could have glimpsed the future, I would have actedin the same way, and that I would have brought him to Rougemont tofulfill his destiny.
As the boat cut its swift way through the waters on its journey toFrance, I had no thought of this. Nor had Wrexler. He was happier than Ihad ever seen him. He had never been abroad before, and the boat was asource of wonder and enjoyment to him.
I myself was full of an eager anticipation of happy months to come. Ithardly seemed possible that only a week had elapsed since I received thecable that had made such a change in my fortunes:
Your father died yesterday. You are sole heir, provided youcomply with conditions of his will, the principal one beingthat you spend six months of each year at Rougemont. Ifsatisfactory, come at once.
It was signed by my father's lawyer.
I had no sorrow over my father's passing, except a deep regret that wecould not have known the true relationship of father and son. At thedeath of my mother, my father had grown bitter and refused to see theinnocent cause of her untimely passing. As a baby I had been brought upin the lodge of Rougemont, my father's magnificent château near Vichy.When I reached the age of four, I had been sent away to boarding-school.After that, my life had been a succession of schools; first in France,the adopted land of my father, then England, and finally St. Paul's inAmerica.
In all justice to my parent, I must admit he gave me every advantageexcept the affection I would have cherished. By his own wish, I hadnever seen him in life; nor would I see him in death, for a later cableadvised me that the funeral was over and his body already at rest in thebeautiful Gothic mausoleum he had had built in his lifetime, after themanner of the ancients.
He had left me everything with only two injunctions, that a certain sumof money be set aside to keep the château always in its presentcondition and that I should spend at least half my time in it, and mychildren after me—a condition I was only too pleased to accept. All mylife I had longed for a home.
I cabled at once that I would sail. A return cable brought me the newsthat I had unlimited funds to draw upon. It was then that I urgedWrexler to come with me.
Wrexler and I had been friends since the day when two lonely boys hadbeen put by chance into the same room at school. We were so utterlyunlike, it was perhaps the difference between us that held us togetherthrough the years. At St. Paul's, and later at Princeton, Gordon Wrexlerhad always been at the head of his class, whereas I inevitably taggedalong at the bottom. The contrast between us was expressed not only inthe color of our hair and eyes, but also in our dispositions. Mygreatest gift from fate was a sense of humor, and I suppose it was thisquality of mine that particularly appealed to Wrexler. It seems asthough I was the only one who could lift him out of the despondency intowhich he often plunged. As the years passed, and his tendency todepression