A Duel Part 17

"Now are you ready? Shall we get to business? Is the will still underneath your pillow? Shall I get it out?" She took from its resting-place the paper which he supposed himself to be about to sign. With the aid of some pillows she raised him to a more upright position. Then she spread the paper out in front of him.

"You see, there's the will. Is that just as you want it to be?"

He read it through.

"That's all right."

"Then I'll call up Martha and Jane to act as witnesses, and then you'll be able to sign it in their presence." She called up the two girls, who came up rubbing their hands on their ap.r.o.ns. She said to him, "Hadn't you better explain to them what it is you want them to do?"

He explained.

"I'm going to make a new will. Mrs. Grahame,"--he paused; one almost suspected him of a desire to give the name satiric emphasis--"has been drawing up a will at my dictation. I'm going to sign it. I want you to act as witnesses of my signature.

Stand close to the bed so that you can see what I am doing. My dear"--this was to Isabel; again there was the hint of an ironical intention--"if you will bring me the will which you have been so good as to draft for me I won't keep these young women a moment longer than I can help."

She brought him the will--or, rather, a will. It was spread out on a slope, and covered with a sheet of blotting-paper on which she kept her fingers to prevent it slipping. Only the last four lines were visible--"it is my wish shall be paid to her, free of legacy duty, within seven days of my being buried". What went before was hidden; the familiar conclusion seemed to be all that he cared to see. Leaning over him, raising his right arm, as gingerly as if it had been a piece of delicate porcelain, she placed his dreadful, helpless fingers somehow about a pen. He spoke to the two girls.

"As you know, I can do nothing by myself, so Mrs. Grahame, at my request, is going to guide my hand so as to enable me to sign my will. You understand, it is I who am signing it, not she."

It was a strange signature--"Cuthbert Grahame," in big, sprawling letters; some of them unattached to each other, all slanting in different directions. The owner of the name, however, seemed to view the result with undiluted satisfaction.

"That's my signature--clear enough for any one to read. Now I want you two girls to attach your names as witnesses to the fact that I have signed my will in your presence."

Isabel removed the slope to the writing-table against the wall.

Then each of the girls wrote her name in turn. When they had done so they left the room. So soon as they had gone Cuthbert Grahame spoke to Isabel.

"Now let me have a look at that will of mine in its finished condition. Thank goodness it is done. It's a weight off my mind--a relief for which I have to thank you."

Isabel stood at the writing-table, looking down, with a smile on her face, at the paper he had signed.

"Do you say that you want to see your will now that it's all signed, sealed and finished?"

"Yes; didn't you hear what I said? Then I want you to put it under my pillow. I'll show it Twelves when he comes. He'll laugh when he sees it."

"I expect he will laugh. Is Dr. Twelves coming to-day?"

"He said something about it. If not, then he'll be here to-morrow. It will keep till then."

"Oh yes; it will keep till then."

"What are you waiting for? Why don't you bring the will? Don't I tell you I want to read it again?"

She went to the bed, the sheet of paper extended between her two hands.

"Here's your will, Mr. Grahame; by all means read it again."

He read it, once, twice, then again. Then he tried to speak. It seemed that his voice failed him. It was not pleasant to notice the stammer which seemed to mark his struggles for breath.

"What--what folly's this? That's not the will I signed."

Her eyes were dancing with laughter. There was a merry ring in her voice, as if she was in the enjoyment of an excellent joke.

"Oh yes, it is."

"It's not the one you drafted."

"Oh yes, it is."

"It isn't the one you showed me just now."

"Isn't it? Are you quite, quite sure?"

"Of course I'm sure! It's a trick!--a fraud! This is not my will!"

"But, dear Mr. Grahame--I noticed how you called me your dear!--it is your will. Here's your signature, attested by two witnesses. After all, there's only a slight difference between the one you saw and this."

"A slight difference, you--you----!"

In his efforts to find an expletive to fit the occasion, his struggles for breath became greater. She went gaily on.

"The only difference is that I get everything instead of Margaret Wallace, and that instead of my five thousand pounds she gets five farthings. Surely the trifling subst.i.tution of a few words won't matter to you in the least, Mr. Grahame."

It seemed that it mattered a good deal. After a tremendous effort he regained some portion of his voice, enough to enable him to burst into a string of expletives.

"You--you----! You----! It's a fraud! a----fraud! It's a swindle! Don't you flatter yourself that it will stand! Don't you think I'll let it stand! Wait till Twelves comes, then I'll show you!"

"Wait till Dr. Twelves comes? Suppose he never comes?"

"What do you mean? What are you doing with that pillow?"

"Suppose Dr. Twelves never comes, what is to prevent this will from standing?"

"What are you doing with that pillow, you----!"

"I'm going to stop your saying such dreadful things. It pains me to have to listen to such language."

She s.n.a.t.c.hed away one pillow from beneath his head, and then a second. She had propped him in such a way that when he was deprived of their support his head fell back, and there recurred the scene of the previous afternoon. He began to choke; his unwieldy frame was shaken by convulsive efforts to breathe; stertorous gasps proceeded from the region of his chest. He presented a dreadful spectacle.

The sight did not seem to in any way affect the woman who was standing by his bed, with the pillows still in her hand. She pressed the bolster farther up his back so that his head declined at an acute angle; applying her palm to the point of his chin she forced it lower still. Then she said--

"I'll place the will as you wished me, Mr. Grahame, under your pillow".

She placed it there, under the single pillow which remained; then she left the room.

CHAPTER XIII

THE ENCOUNTER IN THE WOOD