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The first was that as Triffitt was going down the stairs that afternoon, on his way to the office, at which he kept looking in now and then, although he was relieved from regular attendance and duty, he met Barthorpe Herapath coming up. Triffitt thanked his lucky stars that the staircase was badly lighted, and that this was an unusually gloomy November day.
But I have a proposal to make to you. It is this will you meet your cousin at my office, with all the persons witnesses to the will, I mean and state your objections to the will? In short, let us have what we may call a family discussion about it it may prevent much litigation." Barthorpe considered this suggestion for a while.
"You see, I I, of course, don't know exactly where I am, now. I suppose I must take my orders from your cousin." Peggie gave him another look, more enigmatic than the other. "That's nonsense!" she said sharply. "Of course, you'll come. Do whatever it is that Barthorpe wants just now, but come on to Portman Square as soon as you've done it I want you.
Burchill had witnessed a will of Jacob Herapath's, which, if good and valid and the only will in existence, would leave him, Barthorpe, a ruined man. Burchill had written a letter to Jacob Herapath asking for some favour, reward, compensation, as the price of his silence about a secret. What secret?
The result of his cogitations was that after giving certain instructions in his office as to the next steps to be taken towards duly establishing Jacob Herapath's will, he went round to Barthorpe Herapath's office and asked to see him. Barthorpe himself came out of his private room and showed some politeness in ushering his caller within. His manner seemed to be genuinely frank and unaffected: Mr.
So Triffitt quickly pulled the flap of the Trilby hat about his nose, and sank his chin lower into the turned-up collar of his overcoat, and hurried past the tall figure. And Barthorpe on his part never looked at the reporter or if he did, took no more heed of him than of the balustrade at his side. "That's one thing established, anyway!" mused Triffitt as he went his way.
"I'm asking all this for good reasons it's necessary, if you're to understand what I'm going to tell you." "Oh, as long as you're going to tell me something I don't mind telling you anything you like to ask," replied Barthorpe. "That's what I want to be getting at. No he didn't take me into the house.
"Mr. Barthorpe Herapath wants both of you," he said curtly. "I suppose he will ask for you presently." Kitteridge let out an anxious inquiry. "The master, sir?" he exclaimed. "Is " "Good heavens!" muttered Selwood. "I of course, you don't know. Mr. Herapath is dead." The two servants started and stared at each other.
"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.
Wallburn; they were all well-known members of Parliament. Also, he knew Mr. Barthorpe Herapath, walking at the head of the procession of mourners. Very soon he had quite a lengthy list of names; some others, if necessary, he could get from Selwood, whom he recognized as the cortège passed him by.
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