When Alexander Junior heard the judgment he laughed hysterically, and showed his brilliant teeth. Hamilton Bright said nothing, but he, who generally reddened under emotion, turned white to his neck and under his ears.
“That’s all very well,” said Mr. Allen to Mr. Henry Brett, as they walked away together. “But if he didn’t happen to destroy the will I made for him, there may be trouble yet. I wonder where it is!”
CHAPTER XXV.
It is not very easy to conceive of the disappointment felt by persons to whom a gigantic fortune has been left by a will which is then entirely set aside, so that they receive absolutely nothing. It would be useless to attempt an analysis of the state of mind which prevailed in the households of the Brights and the Crowdies after judgment had been given against them in the court of probate. The blow was sudden and stunning. Though they were all very well-to-do, even rich, in the ordinary acceptation of that word, their joint imagination had of late so completely outrun their present circumstances, that they felt impoverished when the hope of millions was removed beyond their reach. They could not realize that the will was absolutely valueless, and they still felt sure that something might be done.
Unfortunately for them the matter had been finally settled. In the presence of witnesses who denied one another’s identity, and threatened one another reciprocally with actions for perjury, the court could hardly have done otherwise than it had done. To this day it is still doubtful—from a legal point of view—which of the John Simonses signed as a witness, though everything goes to show that the last one produced was the right one, in spite of the fact that the others denied having known him. Persimmons had, from the first, denied having had anything to do with the matter, but he had subsequently sworn to all manner of statements. The confusion was complete. There was no doubt that the respectable John Simons who appeared last was a tenant of one of the Lauderdale houses in MacDougal Street, and he said that he had found himself at Robert Lauderdale’s house, having gone to complain of a leak in his roof to old Robert himself, after having vainly laid his grievance before the agent a number of times. The story was probably true, but the other witnesses remained firm in their assertion that he was not the man. They were, perhaps, telling the truth to the best of their ability. Neither Persimmons nor John Simons were men who had anything unusual about them to impress itself upon their memory. They themselves, somewhat awed by the presence of the great millionaire, had looked at him much more than at their insignificant fellow-witness. The room had not been light, for the signing had taken place late in the afternoon, as all agreed in stating, and they had not remained in one another’s presence more than three minutes altogether. Simons, said the other two, had stayed behind, whereas they had left the room immediately. It was not surprising that their memory of the man’s face should be indistinct.
The Brights, however, threw the whole blame upon the Lauderdales and their legal advisers. The latter had not the right, they said, to make the two witnesses sign an affidavit beforehand to the effect that they recognized the third. The Lauderdales answered that there was no law to hinder them from requesting any individual with whom they had to do, to swear to any statement he made. The two need not have signed unless they pleased. There had been no pressure brought to bear upon them. They had said that they recognized Persimmons. The Lauderdale lawyers wished to make sure that they did, so as to avoid any subsequent trouble, because Persimmons denied that he was the man, and might disappear before the hearing. What was more natural than that, out of pure caution, they should have wished to file an affidavit of the man’s identity? The Brights, amongst themselves, were obliged to admit that they did not really know who had signed, and that the only person who could have settled the dispute was dead, so that they could not blame the court for its decision.
After the judgment John Simons quarrelled with the other two, who turned upon him in defence of their own reputations. They swore out warrants against one another which were not served, and they pottered amongst shysters and legal small fry, until they had spent most of their money, and disappeared from the horizon with their quarrel. The private opinion of the judge who had settled the question was that there had been an unfortunate mistake, and that all three had originally intended to be perfectly honest. But he also thought it far more just that the fortune should go to the next of kin, in spite of Robert Lauderdale’s wishes.
Alexander Lauderdale did his best to conceal his delight in his triumph. It had been a far more easy victory than he had expected, and it was practically complete. The only drawback was that the fortune had come into his old father’s hands instead of into his own, but he anticipated no difficulty in ruling the old gentleman according to his own judgment, nor in getting control of the whole estate. He intended to treat it as he had treated his own comparatively small possessions, and he had hopes of seeing it doubled in his lifetime. He could make it double itself in twenty years at the utmost, and he was but fifty years of age, or thereabouts. He should live as long as that, with his iron constitution and careful habits.
His father received the news with an old man’s chuckle of pleasure, and one heavy hand fell into the other with a loud slap of satisfaction. He had but one idea, which was to extend the scope and efficiency of his charitable institutions, and he saw at last that he had boundless power to do so.