CHAPTER XXIII
the accusation
The old lawyer, who had bent forward across the table in speaking to Burchill, pulled himself up sharply on receiving this answer, and for a second or two stared with a keen, searching gaze at the man he had questioned, who, on his part, returned the stare with calm assurance. A deep silence had fallen on the room; nothing broke it until Professor Cox-Raythwaite suddenly began to tap the table with the ends of his fingers. The sound roused Mr. Halfpenny to speech and action. He bent forward again towards Burchill, once more laying a hand on the will.
“That is not your signature?” he asked quietly.
Burchill shook his head—this time with a gesture of something very like contempt.
“It is not!” he answered.
“Did you see the late Jacob Herapath write—that?”