“I’m explaining as fast as I can, Sir! When I first entered upon the deal I’m now carrying through I thought I had plenty of money for it. But the unexpected happened again and again, and last month I began to turn things into cash. Since then I’ve needed more and more money, needed it so badly I dare not ask for it, needed it cruelly, horribly. I’ve borrowed in every place where it would not ruin me to negotiate a loan—I’m at the end of my rope and I must have more money by Tuesday next.”
“By Tuesday next?” I queried.
“Yes. Do you know how much life insurance I carry and where?”
“A hundred thousand in the Equitable and a hundred thousand in the Mutual,” I replied.
“Quite so—” he answered. “Well then—I’ve got to have that money.”
I looked at the stern, haggard face before me. Anxiety and sleeplessness had wrought great havoc with the man.—What if it had touched his brain? He interpreted my thought instantly.
“Leave your revolver alone, Mr. Wainwright! I’m quite as sane as you are and a good bit smarter if you don’t yet see my scheme.”
“I think I prefer not to see it or hear it either,” I answered.
“Nonsense, you’ve got to do both, and in the shortest possible time too, for I’ve had to waste a week already. I observe you were about to open my old Will. Well, it’s no good. I’ve made another and here it is, signed, sealed, published, declared, witnessed and all the rest of the rot. This you will probate to-morrow morning. It appoints you my sole executor, gives you absolute power for five years to continue and conduct my business just as it is, leaves the bulk of my property to clerks and charities (for I haven’t got as much as a second cousin living in the world), and it provides that my executor have one hundred thousand dollars in lieu of his fees.”