Joseph Fletcher - The Herapath Property стр 12.

Well open this safe now, he said. You know which is the key, I suppose, he went on, glaring at Peggie, who had retreated to the hearthrug and was evidently considerably put out by her cousins behaviour. I suppose you never heard my uncle mention a will? Weve searched his private safe at the office and theres nothing there. Personally, I dont believe he ever made a willI never heard of it. And I think hed have told me if

Mr. Tertius broke in upon Barthorpes opinions with a dry cough.

It may save some unnecessary trouble if I speak at this juncture, he said. There is a will.

Barthorpes ruddy cheeks paled in spite of his determined effort to appear unconcerned. He twisted round on Mr. Tertius with a startled eye and twitching lips.

Youyou say there is a will! he exclaimed. You saywhat do you know about it?

When it was made, where it was made, where it now is, answered Mr. Tertius.

Where it now is! repeated Barthorpe. Where it nowis! And where is it, I should like to know?

Mr. Tertius, who had gone up to Peggie, laid his hand reassuringly on her arm.

Dont be afraid, my dear, he whispered. Perhaps, he continued, glancing at Barthorpe, I had better tell you when and where it was made. About six months agoin this room. One day Mr. Herapath called me in here. He had his then secretary, Mr. Burchill, with him. He took a document out of a drawer, told us that it was his will, signed it in our joint presence, and we witnessed his signature in each others presence. He then placed the will in an envelope, which he sealed. I do not know the terms of the willbut I know where the will is.

Barthorpes voice sounded strangely husky as he got out one word:

Where?

Mr. Tertius took Peggie by the elbow and led her across the room to a recess in which stood an ancient oak bureau.

This old desk, he said, belonged, so he always told me, to Jacobs great-grandfather. There is a secret drawer in it. Here it isconcealed behind another drawer. You put this drawer outsoand here is the secret one. And herewhere I saw Jacob Herapath put itis the will.

Barthorpe, who had followed these proceedings with almost irrepressible eagerness, thrust forward a shaking hand. But Mr. Tertius quietly handed the sealed envelope to Peggie.

This envelope, he remarked, is addressed to Miss Wynne.

Barthorpe made an effort and controlled himself.

Open it! he said hoarsely. Open it!

Peggie fumbled with the seal of the envelope and then, with a sudden impulse, passed it to Selwood.

Mr. Selwood! she exclaimed imploringly. YouI cant. You open it, and

And let him read it, added Mr. Tertius.

Selwood, whose nerves had been strung to a high pitch of excitement by this scene, hastily slit open the envelope, and drew out a folded sheet of foolscap paper. He saw at a glance that there was very little to read. His voice trembled slightly as he began a recital of the contents.

This is the last will of me, Jacob Herapath, of 500, Portman Square, London, in the County of Middlesex. 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.

Selwood paused there, and a sudden silence fellto 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. Its 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.

As Selwood finished, he handed the will to Peggie, who in her turn hastily gave it to Mr. Tertius. For a moment nobody spoke. Then Barthorpe made a step forward.

Let me see that! he said, in a strangely quiet voice. I dont want to handle ithold it up!

For another moment he stood gazing steadily, intently, at the signatures at the foot of the document. 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 goingbut 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 Streets busy crowds. A passer-by into whom he jostled in his absent-mindedness snarled angrily, bidding him look where he was goingthat 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 Herapaths 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. Umbut not Upper Seymour Street any longer, I think. Now lets see what it all iswhat it all means Ive 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 penmanship as that of his uncles 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 Herapathwritten, 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 dont 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 mastiffs heels. I am very well aware (having had the benefit of a years 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 letterwhich I will underline.