"What will you do then?"
"I can't say. One thing at a time. When the will is executed we will watch Beryl's attitude. Something will happen," added Durham, thinking of the incriminating handkerchief in his possession.
"Yes," said Miss Berengaria, climbing the stairs with a briskness surprising in a woman of her years, "something will happen. This poor foresworn wretch upstairs will die."
"But I thought you said——"
"I know I did. I could help him back to life with careful nursing, and I wish to do so, since I think there is good in the rascal. But Beryl, having had the will made, will—kill him. Yes," added she, nodding, "there will be a repetition of the crime. I believe Beryl himself killed Simon—the old—no, he is dead. Let us be just."
"What makes you think Julius Beryl killed Sir Simon?"
"Nothing," snapped Miss Berengaria; "he looks like a murderer." Durham smiled to himself as he went up the stairs and wondered at her acuteness in thus hitting the nail on the head. When the will was executed Julius certainly might attempt to get rid of the instrument he had used, as he had rid himself of Sir Simon, but in the house of Miss Berengaria this would be a more difficult matter. "And if he tries anything of that sort on," thought Durham, "I'll have him arrested at once for the first murder. Meantime, let us see how far he will proceed with the plot."
The young man lying in bed was very weak. His face was thin and pale and his scrubby beard was now longer. He looked haggard and anxious, and started up when the door opened. "It is only Mr. Durham and I, Bernard," said Miss Berengaria in a soft voice. "We have come about the will."
Michael raised himself on his elbow. "Have you got it?" he asked.
"Yes," said Durham, producing the document. "Miss Plantagenet, will you please call up your maid to witness it?"