Sam put a drink into his attorney's hand. "Here, take this. Calm down."
Carter Hagen gulped the drink and allowed his feathers to smooth down. As he set down his glass, Sam leaned back and said, "Now that that's over, let's get on with it. Tell me—what did you think of my will?"
The attorney flushed. It was no use trying to fool Chipfellow. He was a master at that damned thought business. "I—I did look at it. I couldn't resist the temptation. The envelope was so easily opened."
Sam was regarding him keenly but without anger. "I know you're a crook, Hagen, but no more so than most people. So don't sit there cringing."
"This will is—well, amazing, and getting an advance look didn't help me a bit unless—" Hagen looked up hopefully. "—unless you're willing to give me a slight clue—"
"I'll give you nothing. You take your chances along with the rest."
Hagen sighed. "As to the will itself, all I can say is that it's bound to cause a sensation."
"I think so too," Sam said, his eyes turning a trifle sad. "It's too bad a man has to die just at the most interesting point of his life."
"You'll live for years, Mr. Chipfellow. You're in fine condition."
"Cut it out. You're itching for me to shuffle off so you can get a crack at what I'm leaving behind."