Quick as lightning Jessop made a dash at the lawyer; but a strong hand was upon his arm, and he was swung aside by Clive.
“Are you mad—and at a time like this!”
“Call it what you like,” cried Jessop, “but don’t you think I am going to be cheated and juggled out of my—of her rights. You have your share and are out of court. I’ll have that will and read it over again.”
“You will do nothing of the kind,” said Clive, “and you will not make a scene in this—in my house.”
“Indeed! Oh, yes, I know it is your house, but you’ve got too strong a man to deal with.”
“Mr Jessop,” said the old lawyer gravely, “you have the remedy in your hands. There is no underhand work possible with a will like that. If you are dissatisfied, go and consult your own legal adviser. The will of course has to be proved, and in a very short time you will find it accurately copied at Somerset House. Under all the circumstances, as my deceased friend’s trusted adviser, I cannot let it pass from my hands into yours. I think, gentlemen, the executors, you agree with my action.”
“Quite!” came in unison, in company with a murmur of approval from the old friends present.
“Then my duties are at an end,” said the solicitor, while Jessop stood panting, speechless, and biting his lips. “Clive Reed, my dear sir, I have made many wills in my time—”
“And you influenced the old man in this,” said Jessop.
The lawyer shook his head and looked at the disappointed man tolerantly.