Of course, his chief aim was to find the will, which Leigh had so positively asserted existed. But, although the young man turned over every paper and parchment, hunted through various boxes, and even examined many of the books, on the chance that it might have been slipped into one of them, he was unable to find what he wanted. At the end of three or four hours, and when the afternoon was waning, Hendle began to think that the will was a myth. It probably had never existed save in Leigh's dreamy imagination. On the other hand, it might have existed, and the assassin might have taken it. But this was too fantastical an idea for Hendle to accept for one moment. Seeing that only himself and Carrington knew about the will, whether it was real or fictitious, it was impossible to believe that the crime had been committed for its sake.
By the time five o'clock came, Rupert, working, for the sake of coolness, in his shirt sleeves, was hot and dusty and weary. Looking for a needle in a bundle of hay did not appeal to him as an amusing task, and he was about to abandon the search for the day, when a quick, firm step was heard, and Mallien, looking like a thunder cloud, entered to scowl a greeting.
"Well?" he asked disagreeably, "have you found John Hendle's will?"
[CHAPTER IX]
A SERIOUS POSITION
Sitting on the floor in a grimy snowdrift of scattered papers, and surrounded by piles of dingy books, Rupert stared at his cousin, scarcely taking in the purport of his words. Mallien appeared to be pleased with the expression of genuine bewilderment on the other man's face, but did not improve the occasion by speaking immediately. Since the afternoon was oppressively hot, he wore a suit of cool white flannel, which made him seem blacker in his hairy looks than ever. In the heavy yellow sunshine streaming through the dusty room, his many jewels twinkled and shot fire; scarf-pin and studs, sleeve links and rings. Near the door, which he had closed, the newcomer leaned, against the many volumes filling the book shelf, with folded arms and crossed legs; an odd, and, as it impressed Hendle, a sinister figure. It was the Squire who spoke next, as he was not entirely sure if he had heard Mallien's astounding question.
"What do you say?" he asked, almost mechanically.
"You heard me right enough," sneered the other.
"John Hendle's will?"
"Ah, I thought so. None so deaf as those who won't hear. Well, have you found it, Rupert?"