Part 37 (2/2)

But at last here was something out of the ordinary, a refres.h.i.+ng and unique human comedy that would not only electrify the public but whose chief actors balked all speculation. He could not help owning that Ellen Webster's bequest, heartily as he disapproved of it, lent a welcome bit of color to the grayness of his days. Ever since he had drawn up the fantastic doc.u.ment it had furnished him with riddles so interesting and unsolvable that they rendered tales of Peter Featherstone and Martin Chuzzlewit tame reading. These worthies were only creations of paper and ink; but here was a living, breathing enigma,--the enigma of Martin Howe!

What would this hero of the present situation do? For undoubtedly it was Martin who was to be the chief actor of the coming drama.

The lawyer knocked the ashes from his pipe, thrust it into his pocket and, putting on his hat and coat, stepped into the hall, where he lingered only long enough to post on his office door the hastily scrawled announcement: ”Will return to-morrow.” Then he hurried across the town green to the shed behind the church where he always. .h.i.tched his horse. Backing the wagon out with care, he jumped into it and proceeded to drive off down the high road.

Martin Howe was in the field when Mr. Benton arrived. Under ordinary conditions the man would have joined him there, but to-day such a course seemed too informal, and instead he drew up his horse at the front door and sent Jane to summon her brother.

Fortunately Martin was no great distance away and soon entered, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

The lawyer began with a leisurely introduction.

”I imagine, Howe, you are a trifle surprised to have a call from me,” he said.

”Yes, I am a bit.”

”I drove over on business,” announced Mr. Benton.

Nevertheless, although he prefaced his revelation with this remark, he did not immediately enlighten his listener as to what the business was. In truth, now that the great moment for breaking silence had arrived, Mr.

Benton found himself obsessed with a desire to prolong its flavor of mystery. It was like rolling the honied tang of a cordial beneath his tongue. A few words and the secret would lay bare in the light of common day, its glamor rent to atoms.

Martin waited patiently.

”On business,” repeated Mr. Benton at last, as if there had been no break in the conversation.

”I'm ready to hear it,” Martin said, smiling.

”I came, in fact, to acquaint you with the contents of a will.”

Yet again the lawyer's tongue, sphinxlike from habit, refused to utter the tidings it guarded.

”The will,” he presently resumed, ”of my client, Miss Ellen Webster.”

He was rewarded by seeing a shock of surprise run through Martin's frame.

”I don't see how Miss Webster's will can be any concern of mine,” Martin replied stiffly.

The attorney ignored the observation. Continuing with serenity, he observed:

”As I understand it, you and Miss Webster were not----” he coughed hesitatingly behind his hand.

”No, we weren't,” cut in Martin. ”She was a meddling, aggravating old harridan. I hated her, and I'm glad she's gone.”

”That is an unfortunate sentiment,” remarked Mr. Benton, ”unfortunate and disconcerting, because, you see, Miss Ellen Webster has left you all her property.”

”_Me_! Left _me_ her property!”

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