The old man looked at the paper. He could not read the written lines that he had inscribed beneath the opening paragraph, for his hands were in darkness.
Grant Chadwick's penchant for economy had restrained him from the extravagance of a reading table beside his bed. The lamp on the antiquated dictionary served the purpose of a reading light, but it stood too low for convenience. The ring of illumination about the chair was scarcely on a level with the bed. The old man began to stoop forward to hold the paper in the light; then he leaned back on the pillow and chuckled once more. Evidently, he knew the contents of the document. An actual perusal was unnecessary.
"It's his own doing," he said, aloud. "He's to blame. He's waiting, and he can continue to wait — after this. I, Ulysses Grant Chadwick" — he was repeating the opening paragraph of the will
— "I, Ulysses Grant Chadwick, considering the uncertainty of this mortal life — "
He paused and leered vacantly. He seemed to enjoy those words, for after a moment, the old man repeated them as though reciting to an imaginary audience.
"Considering the uncertainty of this mortal life. Ha — ha — ha — ha" — the laugh was convulsive — "the uncertainty of this mortal life! He'll consider it! More than I. Yes, more than — "
The old man stopped, a guttural sound emerging from his lips. Something had attracted his attention. He turned suddenly toward the lamp on the chair beside him. His gaze was turned downward. There, in the brightness, was a hand, its outstretched fingers reaching for the old revolver!
With a snarl, Grant Chadwick clutched for the weapon. His clawing action was too late.
The hand was ahead of him. The revolver was drawn in the other direction. The old man was weaponless. Fuming, he raised himself in the bed and stared into the gloom beyond the light. His shrewd eyes flashed with recognition of the pallid face he saw there.
A scream of rage came from the parched lips of Grant Chadwick. He leaned forward in a frenzy, babbling incoherently. He did not glance toward the metallic flash of the revolver as it gleamed in the light.