"Quite certain. I found it entered in the old office books. It was the last of a lot of such documents executed between Mason and Martock after the old man gave up the business. You see she was always with him, and knew all about it."
"About the partnership deed?"
"Of course she did. She's a clever woman, Mr. Mason; very clever, and it's almost a pity that she should come to grief. She has carried it on so well; hasn't she?"
Mr. Mason's face now became very black. "Why," said he, "if what you seem to allege be true, she must be a—a—a—. What do you mean, sir, by pity?"
Mr. Dockwrath shrugged his shoulders. "It is very blue," said he, "uncommon blue."
"She must be a swindler; a common swindler. Nay, worse than that."
"Oh, yes, a deal worse than that, Mr. Mason. And as for common;—according to my way of thinking there's nothing at all common about it. I look upon it as about the best got-up plant I ever remember to have heard of. I do, indeed, Mr. Mason." The attorney during the last ten minutes of the conversation had quite altered his tone, understanding that he had already achieved a great part of his object; but Mr. Mason in his intense anxiety did not observe this. Had Mr. Dockwrath, in commencing the conversation, talked about "plants" and "blue," Mr. Mason would probably have rung his bell for the servant. "If it's anything, it's forgery," said Mr. Dockwrath, looking his companion full in the face.
"I always felt sure that my father never intended to sign such a codicil as that."
"He never did sign it, Mr. Mason."
"And,—and the witnesses!" said Mr. Mason, still not enlightened as to the true extent of the attorney's suspicion.