"He is probably the hired tool by means of which this has been brought about. I might have known as much!" replied the elder man, his old hatred and wrath reviving with greater intensity than ever, but before he could proceed further his glance fell on the secretary's companion.
He was a tall, elderly gentleman, with snow-white hair and beard, but with form erect and vigorous, and with piercing eyes which met those of Ralph Mainwaring with a flash, not of recognition alone, but of disdain and defiance that seemed to challenge him to do his utmost.
With a muttered oath, the latter half rose from his chair, but at that instant his attention was arrested by the two men bringing up the rear; one, small and of uncertain age, the other, older even than he appeared, and bearing the unmistakable air of an English servant. As Ralph Mainwaring recognized James Wilson, the last relic of the old Mainwaring household, he suddenly grew pale and sank back into his chair, silent, watchful, and determined; while his son and the attorney, quick to note the change in his appearance, made neither inquiries nor comments, but each drew his own conclusion.
There was one other to whom the white-haired gentleman did not seem an utter stranger. Mrs. LaGrange from her post of observation had watched the entering party with visible signs of excitement. Her lips curled in a mocking smile as she caught sight of the secretary, but glancing from him to his companion, she involuntarily recoiled in terror, yet gazed like one fascinated, unable to remove her eyes from his face. Suddenly the piercing eyes met her own, their look of astonishment quickly changing to scorn. She flushed, then paled, but her eyes never faltered, flashing back mocking defiance to his anger and scorn for scorn.
Meanwhile, the quondam secretary, seated between the attorneys on the one hand and his elderly companion on the other, seemed alike unconscious of the many curious glances cast in his direction and of the dark looks of Ralph Mainwaring now fastened on him. At a little distance was the old servant, his immovable features expressing the utmost indifference to his surroundings, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left.
Not so with the remaining member of the party, the so-called "clerk!" Seated beside the English barrister, his eye seemed to sweep the entire court-room with a glance that omitted no details, not even the cringing form of Hobson, who quailed and seemed to be trying to shrink still further into concealment as he felt himself included in the search-light of that gaze. But no one saw the slip of paper which, a moment later, was handed to Alfred Barton, and by him passed to Mr. Sutherland. There was a hurried filling out of blanks lying among the papers on the table, a messenger was despatched, two or three men edged themselves into the crowd in Hobson's vicinity,—and that was all!
Promptly at the time appointed the case was called. There was perfect silence throughout the court-room as Mr. Sutherland arose, holding in one hand the ancient will, and with breathless attention the crowd listened for the opening words of what was to prove one of the fiercest and most bitter contests on record, and of whose final termination even the participants themselves little dreamed.
After a few preliminaries, Mr. Sutherland said, addressing the court,—
"Before proceeding farther, your honor, I will give orders for the subpoena, as a witness in this case, of one Richard Hobson, alias Dick Carroll."
Then turning towards the crowd in the rear of the courtroom, he added, "Let the papers be served at once."