The girl had seemingly grown almost lighthearted. Her speech was punctuated by little smiles, and her half sad, half gay demeanor bewitched me. I felt sure that what little suggestion of lightheartedness had come into her mood had come because she had at last confessed the falsehood she had told, and her freed conscience gave her a little buoyancy of heart.
But there were still important questions to be asked, so, though unwillingly, I returned to the old subject.
“Did you see your uncle's will while you were there?”
“No; he talked about it, but did not show it to me.”
“Did he talk about it as if it were still in his possession?”
“Why, yes; I think so. That is, he said he would make a new one unless I gave up Gregory. That implied that the old one was still in existence, though he didn't exactly say so.”
“Miss Lloyd, this is important evidence. I must tell you that I shall be obliged to repeat much of it to the district attorney. It seems to me to prove that your uncle did not himself destroy the will.”
“He might have done so after I left him.”
“I can't think it, for it is not in scraps in the waste-basket, nor are there any paper-ashes in the grate.”
“Well, then,” she rejoined, “if he didn't destroy it, it may yet be found.”