Part 16 (1/2)
”Not particularly. I remember that he came--at first, I took it, as a visitor. Then I found he'd had rooms of his own given him, and that he was there as a permanency.”
”Settled down--just as he has been ever since?”
”Just! Never any difference that I've known of, all these years.”
”Did Jacob ever tell you who he was?”
”Never! I never remember my uncle speaking of him in any particular fas.h.i.+on--to me. He was simply--there. Sometimes, you saw him; sometimes, you didn't see him. At times, I mean, you'd meet him at dinner--other times, you didn't.”
Burchill paused for a while; when he asked his next question he seemed to adopt a more particular and pressing tone.
”Now--have you the least idea who Tertius is?” he asked.
”Not the slightest!” affirmed Barthorpe. ”I never have known who he is.
I never liked him--I didn't like his sneaky way of going about the house--I didn't like anything of him--and he never liked me. I always had a feeling--a sort of intuition--that he resented my presence--in fact, my existence.”
”Very likely,” said Burchill, with a dry laugh. ”Well--has it ever struck you that there was a secret between Tertius and Jacob Herapath?”
Barthorpe started. At last they were coming to something definite.
”Ah!” he exclaimed. ”So--that's the secret you mentioned in that letter?”
”Never mind,” replied Burchill. ”Answer my question.”
”No, then--it never did strike me.”
”Very well,” said Burchill. ”There is a secret.”
”There is?”
”There is! And,” whispered Burchill, rising and coming nearer to his visitor, ”it's a secret that will put you in possession of the whole of the Herapath property! And--I know it.”
Barthorpe had by this time realized the situation. And he was thinking things over at a rapid rate. Burchill had asked Jacob Herapath for ten thousand pounds as the price of his silence; therefore----
”And, of course, you want to make something out of your knowledge?” he said presently.
”Of course,” laughed Burchill. He opened a box of cigars, selected one and carefully trimmed the end before lighting it. ”Of course!” he repeated. ”Who wouldn't? Besides, you'll be in a position to afford me something when you come into all that.”
”The will?” suggested Barthorpe.
Burchill threw the burnt-out match into the fire.
”The will,” he said slowly, ”will be about as valuable as that--when I've fixed things up with you. Valueless!”
”You mean it?” exclaimed Barthorpe incredulously. ”Then--your signature?”
”Look here!” said Burchill. ”The only thing between us is--terms! Fix up terms with me, and I'll tell you the whole truth. And then--you'll see!”