"I'm not ashamed to say that I am particularly hungry," he remarked. "With your permission, I will discuss this pie before discussing business," and he proceeded to make an excellent luncheon, talking all the while of everything except that which was uppermost in all their minds.
But, luncheon disposed of, his manner changed.
"I have had two copies of Sir Geoffrey's will prepared," he said, "and perhaps you would like to look at them while I read the original. It is not a long document, but the technical phraseology may, perhaps, seem confusing to the lay mind."
He turned to a table in the window, where he had placed a bag containing his papers, and so did not observe the slight start of surprise which Melville could not repress. So there was a will after all! Was fortune about to play him a scurvy trick after he had dared so much? He lighted a cigarette and sat down in a chair where the light would not fall upon his face.
"In its main features," continued Mr. Tracy, who seemed to be taking an unconscionable time fumbling in his bag, "the will, as I have said, is sufficiently simple, but it contains at least one element of surprise. I will read it without further comment, and you can follow from the copies," and, giving a type-written copy of the will to Ralph and another to Melville, he read the original clearly and distinctly.
Beginning with legacies to the servants, ranging from a year's wages to the youngest maid to life provision for Martin Somers, the will ordained that a charge should be made upon the estate sufficient to give an annuity of four hundred pounds a year to the testator's widow, Dame Lavinia Holt, to be paid quarterly to her in person, on application at Mr. Tracy's office, the first instalment to be paid upon her first making such personal application, and not necessarily to accrue from the date of her husband's death; subject only to these legacies and this one charge, everything real and personal was bequeathed to "my dear nephew, Ralph Ashley," for his uncontrolled use and enjoyment. Of Melville's name no mention whatever was made.
Mr. Tracy folded up the document and waited. The silence grew painful. Ralph did not know what to say, and Melville could not trust himself to speak. He was white with mortification and rage, and could have cursed himself for having with his own hand destroyed his last chance for the future. He cleared his throat and tried to speak, but the words would not come. Ralph looked enquiringly at the solicitor.
"I suppose there can be no mistake," he said; "but this lady—who is she? I have never heard until this minute that my uncle ever married."
"I can throw no light upon the mystery," Mr. Tracy said. "Sir Geoffrey was not the man to give confidences. He drafted this will himself, less than a month ago, and all I have done is to engross it and procure his signature. I should like to say that I ventured to ask certain questions and even make certain suggestions, but they were received with unmistakable disapproval, and, of course, I could not pursue the matter."
"It is iniquitous," said Melville hoarsely. He rose abruptly from his chair and faced his brother. "This is your work, you scoundrel! For years you have left nothing undone to estrange Sir Geoffrey from me. You have schemed and plotted for this, and at the last minute, curse you, you have succeeded. Well, you may be hugging yourself now, but I swear you will live to be sorry."