|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 54
At this moment the door behind my father and Lewis was thrown
violently open, and a man entered. He was a person with the
manner of a barrister, precise and dapper; he had a long, pink
face, pale eyes, and a close-cropped beard that brought out the
hard lines of his mouth. He bustled to the table, put down a
sort of portfolio that held an inkpot, a writing-pad and pens,
and drew up a chair like one about to take the minutes of a
meeting. And all the while he apologized for his delay. He had
important letters to get off in the post, and to make sure, had
carried them to the tavern himself.
"And now, sirs, let us get about this business," he finished,
like one who calls his assistants to a labor:
My father turned about and looked at the man.
"Is your name Gosford?" he said in his cold, level voice.
"It is, sir," replied the Englishman, " - Anthony Gosford."
"Well, Mr. Anthony Gosford," replied my father, "kindly close the
door that you have opened."
Lewis plucked out his snuffbox and trumpeted in his many-colored
handkerchief to hide his laughter.
The Englishman, thrown off his patronizing manner, hesitated,
closed the door as he was bidden - and could not regain his fine
air.
"Now, Mr. Gosford," my father went on, "why was this room
violated as we see it?"
"It was searched for Peyton Marshall's will, sir," replied the
man.
"How did you know that Marshall had a will?" said my father.
"I saw him write it," returned the Englishman, "here in this very
room, on the eighteenth day of October, 1854."
"That was two years ago," said my father. "Was the will here at
Marshall's death?"
"It was. He told me on his deathbed."
"And it is gone now?"
"It is," replied the Englishman.
"And now, Mr. Gosford," said my father, "how do you know this
will is gone unless you also know precisely where it was?"
"I do know precisely where it was, sir," returned the man. "It
was in the row of drawers on the right of the window where you
stand - the second drawer from the top. Mr. Marshall put it
there when he wrote it, and he told me on his deathbed that it
remained there. You can see, sir, that the drawer has been
rifled."
My father looked casually at the row of mahogany drawers rising
along the end of the bookcase. The second one and the one above
were open; the others below were closed.
"Mr. Gosford," he said, "you would have some interest in this
will, to know about it so precisely."
"And so I have," replied the man, "it left me a sum of money."
"A large sum?"
"A very large sum, sir."
"Mr. Anthony Gosford," said my father, "for what purpose did
Peyton Marshall bequeath you a large sum of money? You are no
kin; nor was he in your debt."
The Englishman sat down and put his fingers together with a
judicial air.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|