As the men held up a little packet which had at last come to light very near the fireplace, he gave a shriek and stretched out two clutching hands.
"Let me have it!" he cried. "I know what that is; it disappeared from my sister's desk five years ago, and I could never get her to tell where she had put it. Let me have it, and I will open it here before you all. Indeed I will, sirs—though it is all mine, as I have said before."
But Etheridge, quietly taking it, placed it in his pocket, and Huckins sank back with a groan.
The next place to be examined was the room upstairs. Here the poor woman had spent most of her time till she was seized with her last sickness, and here the box had been found by Huckins, and here they expected to find the rest of her treasures. But beyond a small casket of almost worthless jewelry, nothing new was discovered, and they proceeded at Frank's suggestion to inspect the room where she had died, and where the clock still stood towards which she had lifted her dying hand, while saying, "There! there!"
As they approached this place, Huckins was seen to tremble. Catching Frank by the arm, he whispered:
"Can they be trusted? Are they honest men? She had greenbacks, piles of greenbacks; I have caught her counting them. If they find them, will they save them all for me?"
"They will save them all for the heir," retorted Frank, severely. "Why do you say they are for you, when you know you will only get them in default of other heirs being found."
"Why? why? Because I feel that they are mine. Heirs or no heirs, they will come into my grasp yet, and you of the law cannot help it. Do I look like a man who will die poor? No, no; but I don't want to be cheated. I don't want these men to rob me of anything which will rightfully be mine some day."
"You need not fret about that," said Frank. "No one will rob you," and he drew disdainfully aside.
The Appraisers had now surveyed the room awful with hideous memories to the young lawyer. Pointing to the bed, they said: