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Updated: May 26, 2025
Sharpman began the proceedings by offering in evidence the files of the Register's court, showing the date of Robert Burnham's death, the issuing of letters of administration to his widow, and the inventory and appraisement of his personal estate. Then he called Simon Craft to the witness-stand.
"How long did you stay there?" "Oh! I shouldn't wonder if it was two or three hours." "Did you see Mrs. Burnham alone?" "Yes, sir." "Have a long talk together?" "Yes, sir, a very nice long talk." Sharpman thought that if he could only lead the jury, by inference, to the presumption that what had taken place to-day was understood between Ralph and Mrs.
That matter being thoroughly understood, they went on to talk of what they should do in the future. "It will be necessary, eventually," said Sharpman, "to bring a formal suit against Mrs. Burnham, as administrator, to recover your interest in the estate; but, judging from what she has intimated to me, I don't anticipate any serious opposition on her part."
"Good-morning, sir," he said. "Will you step into my office, sir?" He ushered the old man into an inner room, and gave him an easy, cushioned chair to sit in. Sharpman was nothing, if not gracious. Rich and poor, alike, were met by him with the utmost cordiality. He had a pleasant word for every one.
Sharpman had not seen Ralph's expression and did not know what the noise was all about. He looked around at the audience uneasily, whispered to Craft for a moment, and then announced that he was done with the witness. He was really afraid to carry the examination further; there were too many pit-falls along the way. Goodlaw, too, was wise enough to ask no additional questions.
Simon Craft and Lawyer Sharpman were sitting together in the rear room of the latter's law office. The window-shades were closely drawn, shutting out the mellow light of the full moon, which rested brightly and beautifully on all objects out of doors. The gas jet, shaded by a powerful reflector, threw a disk of light on the round table beneath it, but the corners of the room were in shadow.
But his reputation for shrewdness, for sharp practice, for concocting brilliant financial schemes, was general. It was this latter reputation that had brought Simon Graft to him. This morning Sharpman was especially courteous. He regretted that his visitor had been obliged to wait so long. He spoke of the beautiful weather.
"Where did this conversation take place?" "In the back room." "Was the door open?" "Just a little." "Who were in the back room?" "Mr. Sharpman an' Rhymin' Joe." "Who is Rhyming Joe?" "He's a man I used to know in Philadelphy." "When you lived with Craft?" "Yes, sir." "What was his business?" "I don't know as anything. He used to bring things to the house sometimes, watches an' things."
He began to feel that it would be almost better to go back at once to the not unpleasant home with Bachelor Billy, than to try to grasp something which, it now seemed, was lying beyond his reach. He was just considering the advisability of crossing over to Sharpman and suggesting to him that he was willing to drop the proceedings, when that person called another witness to the stand.
The people in the audience bent forward eagerly to look into the bar, those in the rear of the room rising to their feet. The noise seemed to startle her, and she sank back into her chair and sat there white and motionless during the remainder of the session. Sharpman arose. "I believe that is our case," he said. "Then you rest here?" asked the judge. "We rest."
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