Part 10 (1/2)
”'This is the last will of me, Jacob Herapath, of 500, Portman Square, London, in the County of Middles.e.x. I give, devise, and bequeath everything of which I die possessed, whether in real or personal estate, absolutely to my niece, Margaret Wynne, now resident with me at the above address, and I appoint the said Margaret Wynne the sole executor of this my will. And I revoke all former wills and codicils. Dated this eighteenth day of April, 1912.
”'JACOB HERAPATH.'”
Selwood paused there, and a sudden silence fell--to be as suddenly broken by a sharp question from Barthorpe.
”The Witnesses?” he said. ”The witnesses!”
Selwood glanced at the further paragraph which he had not thought it necessary to read.
”Oh, yes!” he said. ”It's witnessed all right.” And he went on reading.
”'Signed by the testator in the presence of us both present at the same time who in his presence and in the presence of each other have hereunto set our names as witnesses.
”'JOHN CHRISTOPHER TERTIUS, of 500, Portman Square, London: Gentleman.
”'FRANK BURCHILL, of 331, Upper Seymour Street, London: Secretary.'”
As Selwood finished, he handed the will to Peggie, who in her turn hastily gave it to Mr. Tertius. For a moment n.o.body spoke. Then Barthorpe made a step forward.
”Let me see that!” he said, in a strangely quiet voice. ”I don't want to handle it--hold it up!”
For another moment he stood gazing steadily, intently, at the signatures at the foot of the doc.u.ment. Then, without a word or look, he twisted sharply on his heel, and walked swiftly out of the room and the house.
CHAPTER VIII
THE SECOND WITNESS
If any close observer had walked away with Barthorpe Herapath from the house in Portman Square and had watched his face and noted his manner, that observer would have said that his companion looked like a man who was either lost in a profound day-dream or had just received a shock that had temporarily deprived him of all but the mechanical faculties. And in point of strict fact, Barthorpe was both stunned by the news he had just received and plunged into deep speculation by a certain feature of it. He hurried along, scarcely knowing where he was going--but he was thinking all the same. And suddenly he pulled himself up and found that he had turned down Portman Street and was already in the thick of Oxford Street's busy crowds. A pa.s.ser-by into whom he jostled in his absent-mindedness snarled angrily, bidding him look where he was going--that pulled Barthorpe together and he collected his wits, asking himself what he wanted. The first thing that met his gaze on this recovery was a little Italian restaurant and he straightway made for the door.
”This is what I want,” he muttered. ”Some place in which to sit down and think calmly.”
He slipped into a quiet corner as soon as he had entered the restaurant, summoned a waiter with a glance, and for a moment concentrated his attention on the bill of fare which the man put before him. That slight mental exercise restored him; when the waiter had taken his simple order and gone away, Barthorpe was fully himself again. And finding himself in as satisfactory a state of privacy as he could desire, with none to overlook or spy on him, he drew from an inner pocket a letter-case which he had taken from Jacob Herapath's private safe at the estate office and into which he had cast a hurried glance before leaving Kensington for Portman Square.
From this letter-case he now drew a letter, and as he unfolded it he muttered a word or two.
”Frank Burchill, 331, Upper Seymour Street,” he said. ”Um--but not Upper Seymour Street any longer, I think. Now let's see what it all is--what it all means I've got to find out.”
The sheet of paper which he was handling was of the sort used by typists, but the letter itself was written by hand, and Barthorpe recognized the penmans.h.i.+p as that of his uncle's ex-secretary, Burchill, second witness to the will which had just been exhibited to him. Then he read, slowly and carefully, what Burchill had written to Jacob Herapath--written, evidently, only a few days previously. For there was the date, plain enough.
”35c, Calengrove Mansions, ”Maida Vale, W.
”_November 11th_, 19--.
”DEAR SIR,
”I don't know that I am particularly surprised that you have up to now entirely ignored my letters of the 1st and the 5th instant. You probably think that I am not a person about whom any one need take much trouble; a mean cur, perhaps, who can do no more than snap at a mastiff's heels. I am very well aware (having had the benefit of a year's experience of your character and temperament) that you have very little respect for unmoneyed people and are contemptuous of their ability to interfere with the moneyed. But in that matter you are mistaken. And to put matters plainly, it will pay you far better to keep me a friend than to transform me into an enemy. Therefore I ask you to consider well and deeply the next sentence of this letter--which I will underline.
”I am in full possession of the secret which you have taken such vast pains to keep for fifteen years.
”I think you are quite competent to read my meaning, and I now confidently expect to hear that you will take pleasure in obliging me in the way which I indicated to you in my previous letters.