Patience shivered slightly under the steely glitter of his eyes, and then resumed her cold impassive manner.
"Brag's a good dog," she said mockingly, "but he does not bite--go on, I'm all attention."
The artist glanced at the door to make sure that it was closed, then drawing his chair closer to that of Patience Allerby, began to talk rapidly, in a low tone of voice.
"Of course you know the squire is mad--quite mad--he has an idea that his soul will be re-incarnated in another body, and as he is afraid he may be born poor, he has invented a silly scheme by which to become repossessed of his present wealth. I have discovered this scheme--how it does not matter--all I need tell you is, that I have found out all about it--his idea is to pass himself off as his own son."
"But he has no son."
"Of course not, you fool," said "Beaumont impatiently, "he couldn't "carry out his idea if he had; it's this way, he has made his will, leaving the property to his natural son, who will at some future time--date not fixed, as he cannot tell when he'll be re-incarnated--go to the lawyers who hold the will and produce, as a proof of his claim to the estate, a letter written to him by his supposed father, also the squire's seal ring--when he does so, under the terms of the will, he inherits the Garsworth estate."
"I understand, so far; but how does the squire, in a new body, expect to get these papers?"
"Oh! he thinks he'll remember about the affair when he is born again, so he has hidden the papers where he'll be able to find them--in his new body he'll simply go and look them up, produce them to the lawyers, and there you are."
"What a foolish idea."
"What a foolish remark, you mean," said Beaumont; "of course it's foolish, the man is mad. When he dies the papers will remain undisturbed till doomsday--if I choose."