“She was twenty-one at the time of the murder. That would make her twenty-five or six now.”
“So young, indeed? Have you a photograph of her?”
“A photograph? No. I don’t know that she ever sat for one. But I have these.”
Peixada produced a couple of rough wood-engravings, apparently cuttings from illustrated papers, and submitted them for examination.
“They don’t look any thing like each other,” said Arthur. “Does either of them look like her?”
“Not much,” Peixada answered. “In fact, the resemblance is so slight that they wouldn’t assist at all in identifying her. On the contrary, I think they’d lead you quite astray.”
Said Mr. Rimo, “Bah! They give you no more idea of her than they do of Queen Victoria. They’d answer for any other woman just as well.”
Arthur said, “That’s too bad. But I suppose you have brought a copy of the will?”
“Oh, yes, here’s the original. It is in my brother’s handwriting, dated a month before his death, and witnessed by two gentlemen of high standing. I have spoken to each of them. They acknowledge their signatures, and remember the circumstances. I made a search for a will right after Bernard died, but could find none. This I unearthed most unexpectedly. I was turning over the leaves of my poor brother’s prayer-book, when, there it was, lying between the pages.”
The will was brief and vigorous. In the name of God, amen, (on a half-sheet of legal-cap), it devised and bequeathed all the property, real or personal, of which testator should die seized or possessed, to his dearly beloved brother, Benjamin Peixada, and his dearly beloved nephew, Maurice Rimo, for them to hold and enjoy the same, in fee simple, share and share alike, absolutely and forever, provided that they should pay annually to testator’s widow, (until such time as she should re-marry, or depart this life), the sum of three hundred dollars. It was attested by a well-known Jewish physician and by a well-known Jewish banker.