"God forbid," he said, "that I should say any word which might reflect in your mind, no matter how remotely, on the blessed defunct. Still the truth remains—that your aunt, during the latter days of her life, developed instincts only too common in age, though none the less painful for that. A certain distrust, almost bordering upon suspicion, prompted her to withdraw from my keeping the divers documents, certificates, and so forth that represented the bulk of her property, and which, I need hardly observe, were as safe in my fire-proof iron strong-room as in the Bank of England. Have them she would, however, and I confess to you, dear sir, that the knowledge of so much wealth hidden in this comparatively lonely and ill-guarded old house has caused me no slight uneasiness. But all is well that ends well, we may now say, and the danger being past, need not revert to it. True, this mass of money must stay here for the present, but, I assume, you will not leave this establishment again until the last rites have been performed. One more word and I have done. I find upon looking into the estate that your aunt has been realizing considerable quantities of stock quite recently upon her own judgment without any reference to me. The wisdom of such negotiations we need not now discuss. Nothing but good of the blessed dead. However, the money is here; indeed, no less a sum than thirteen thousand pounds, in fifty-pound notes, lies upon yonder table. Now your aunt—"
"Please understand, sir," I explained testily, "that, once and for all, the deceased lady was no relation to me whatever."
I felt in one of those highly-strung, sensitive moods which men occasionally chance upon, and in which the reiteration of some trivial error or expression blinds them to proper reflection on the business in hand, no matter how momentous. Moreover, the suggestion that I should stop in the lonely house of death to guard my wealth that night, was abominable. Without my wife or some equally capable person I would not have undertaken such a vigil for the universe.
"I apologize," said Mr. Plenderleath, in answer to my rebuke. "I was about to remark when you interrupted me, that Miss Beakbane-Minifie's principal source of increment was a very considerable number of shares in the London and North-Western Railway. The certificates for these are also here. Now, to conclude, dear sir. Upon Mr. Joshua Beakbane's arrival, which should not be long delayed, you and he can appoint a day for the funeral, after which event I will, of course, read the will in the presence of yourself and such few others as may be interested therein. Your aunt passed calmly away, I understand, about four o'clock this morning. Her end was peace. For myself, I need only say that I should not be here to-night in the usual order of events. But the good Prescotts, ignorant of your address, telegraphed to me in their sad desolation, and, as a Christian man, I deemed it my duty to respond to their call without loss of time."
Mr. Plenderleath sighed, bowed, and resumed his seat after drinking a glass of wine. Candles were brought in, and I then explained to the solicitor something of my relations with Joshua Beakbane, also the danger that a possible meeting between us might mean for me. The legal brain was deeply interested by those many questions this statement of mine gave rise to. He saw the trial that any sojourn in Oak Lodge must be to me, and was, moreover, made fully alive to the fact that I had not the slightest intention of stopping there beyond another hour or so. I own I was in a terribly nervous condition; and a man can no more help the weakness of his nerves than the colour of his hair.
It then transpired that the third person of our party was Mr. Plenderleath's junior clerk, a taciturn, powerful young fellow, with a face I liked the honest look of. He offered, if we approved the suggestion, to keep watch and ward at Petersham during the coming night. Mr. Plenderleath pooh-poohed the idea as being ridiculous beyond the power of words to express; but finding I was not of his opinion, declared that, for his part, if I really desired such an arrangement he would allow the young man to remain in the house until after the will was read and the property legally my own.
"Personally I would trust Mr. Sorrell with anything," declared the solicitor; "but whether you, a stranger to him, are right in doing the same, I will not presume to say." The plan struck me as being excellent, however, and was accordingly determined upon.
And now there lay before me a duty which, in my present frame of mind, I confess I had no stomach for. Propriety demanded that I should look my last on the good friend who was gone, and I prepared to do so. Slowly I ascended the stairs and hesitated at the bed-chamber door before going into the presence of death. At this moment I felt no sorrow at hearing a soft foot-fall in the apartment. Martha Prescott was evidently within, and I entered, somewhat relieved at not having to undergo the ordeal alone. My horror, as may be supposed, was very great then to find the room empty. All I saw of life set my heart thumping at my ribs, and fastened me to the spot upon which I stood. There was another door at the further end of this room, and through it I just caught one glimpse of Joshua Beakbane's broad back as he vanished, closing the door after him. There could be no mistake. Two shallow steps led up to the said door, and it only gave access to a narrow apartment scarce bigger than a cupboard. The dead lady, with two wax candles burning at her feet, lay an insignificant atom in the great canopied bed. The room was tidy, and everything decent and well ordered, save that the white cerement which was wrapped about the corpse had been moved from off her face. But death so calm and peaceful as this paled before the terror of what I had witnessed. I dare not convince myself by rushing to the door through which my enemy had disappeared. My hair stood upon end. A vile sensation, as of ants creeping on my flesh, came over me. I turned, shuddering, and somehow found myself once more with the men I had left. I told my adventure, only to be politely laughed at by both. The young clerk, whose name was Sorrell, offered to make careful search of the premises, and calling the Prescotts, we went up with haste to seek the cause of my alarm. The door through which, as I believed, Joshua Beakbane had made his exit from the death-chamber yielded to us without resistance, and the small receptacle into which it opened was empty. Some of the dead lady's dresses were hung upon the walls, and these, with an old oaken trunk containing linen, which had rosemary and camphor in it to keep out the moths, were all we could find. The window was fastened, and the wooden shutters outside in their place. Young Sorrell had some ado to keep from laughing at my discomfiture, but we silently returned past where the two candles were burning and rejoined Mr. Plenderleath. That gentleman at my request consented to stay and dine, after which meal he and I would return to town together. He urged me to drink something more generous than claret, which, being quite unstrung, I did do, and was gradually regaining my mental balance when a circumstance occurred that threw me into a greater fit of prostration than before. A telegram arrived for Mr. Plenderleath, and was read aloud by him. It ran as follows:—
"Joshua Beakbane died third November. Caught chill on Cambridgeshire day of Newmarket Houghton Meeting. Body unclaimed, buried by parish."
"Now this communication—" began Mr. Plenderleath in his pleasing manner, but broke off upon seeing the effect of the telegram on me.