"No," said Durham, returning to his seat. "If Gore wishes to make a will, I suppose I am the man to draw it up. I must go down and receive his instructions."
"I have them with me," said Julius, bringing out a sealed letter.
Durham, inwardly boiling at this rascality, but outwardly calm, opened the letter, while Julius kept a sharp look-out on him. He found a long letter, written in the same style as Bernard Gore usually wrote, setting forth directions for the will. These included an income of five hundred a year to Alice Malleson, and the extra allowance of four hundred to Mrs. Gilroy, making her income five hundred in all. The rest of the estate, real and personal, went to Julius Beryl. Durham smiled inwardly as he read this document. It was exactly the kind of will Julius wanted. Michael was simply his instrument, and Durham shrewdly suspected that from some knowledge of the forged check Beryl had obtained this extraordinary influence.
"Well, it seems clear enough," said the lawyer, laying down the letter, "but I think Miss Malleson, seeing what she loses, should have more."
"I think she has quite enough," said Julius, tartly.
"Then Mrs. Gilroy," said Durham, pretending ignorance. "Why should Bernard leave her this extra money?"
"I can't say. Bernard will probably tell you himself. Will you please draw out the will, Mr. Durham, and bring it down to the Bower for Gore to sign?"
For the sake of appearances Durham went on making objections. All these were met by Julius with infernal cleverness, until the lawyer—on the face of it—had not a leg to stand on, as the saying goes. Finally he consented to draw up the will as instructed by the letter, and agreed to meet Julius next day at Liverpool Street Station to go down with him to the Hall. Julius drew a long breath of relief when the lawyer so agreed, and apparently had no idea that he was being tricked all the time.
"I am much obliged to you, Mr. Durham," said he, holding out his hand, "and when I come into possession of the estate you will find me a good client."
Durham, for the sake of keeping up the deception, had to shake hands, although he loathed himself for doing so. When the door closed on the arch plotter the solicitor went at once to wash his hands.