The Herapath Property

by J. S. Fletcher

“Sir!” he exclaimed. “That is an unwarrantable assumption, and——”

“Unwarrantable assumptions, Mr. Burchill, appear to be present in great quantity,” interrupted Mr. Tertius, with an air of defiance which surprised everybody. “Don’t you interrupt me, sir!—I’ll deal with you before long in a way that will astonish you. Now, Mr. Barthorpe Herapath,” he went on, turning to that person with determination, “I will astonish you somewhat, for I honestly believe you really have some belief in what you say. I am not Arthur John Wynne. I am what I have always been—John Christopher Tertius, as a considerable number of people in this town can prove. But I knew Arthur John Wynne. When he left Portland he came to me here in London—at the suggestion of Jacob Herapath. I then lived in Bloomsbury—I had recently lost my wife. I took Wynne to live with me. But he had not long to live. If you had searched into matters more deeply, you would have found that he got his discharge earlier than he would have done in the usual course, because of his health. As a matter of fact, he was very ill when he came to me, and he died six weeks after his arrival at my house. He is buried in the churchyard of the village from which he originally came—in Wales—and you can inspect all the documents relating to his death, and see his grave if you care to. After his death, for reasons into which I need not go, I went to live with Jacob Herapath. It was his great desire—and mine—that Wynne’s daughter, your cousin, should never know her father’s sad history. But for you she never would have known it! And—that is a plain answer to what you have had to allege against me. Now, sir, let me ask you a plain question. Who invented this cock-and-bull story? You don’t reply—readily? Shall I assist you by a suggestion? Was it that man who sits by you—Burchill? For Burchill knows that he has lied vilely and shamelessly this morning—Burchill knows that he did see Jacob Herapath sign that will—Burchill knows that that will was duly witnessed by himself and by me in the presence of each other and of the testator! God bless my soul!” exclaimed Mr. Tertius, thumping the table vehemently. “Why, man alive, your cousin Margaret has a document here which proves that that will is all right—a document written by Jacob Herapath himself! Bring it out, my dear—confound these men with an indisputable proof!”

But before Peggie could draw the packet from her muff, Burchill had risen and was showing signs of retreat. And Barthorpe, now pale with anger and perplexity, had risen too—and he was looking at Burchill.

Mr. Halfpenny looked at both men. Then he pointed to their chairs. “Hadn’t you better sit down again?” he said. “It seems to me that we’re just arriving at the most interesting stage of these proceedings.”

Burchill stepped towards the door.

“I do not propose to stay in company in which I am ruthlessly insulted,” he said. “It is, of course, a question of my word against Mr. Tertius’s. We shall see. As for the present, I do.”

“Stop!” said Barthorpe. He moved towards Burchill, motioning him towards the window in which Peggie and Mr. Tertius had spoken together. “Here—a word with you!”

But Burchill made for the door, and Mr. Halfpenny nudged Professor Cox-Raythwaite.

“I say—stop!” exclaimed Barthorpe. “There’s some explanation——”

He was about to lay a hand on the door when Mr. Halfpenny touched a bell which stood in front of him on the table. And at its sharp sound the door opened from without, and Burchill fell back at what he saw—fell back upon Barthorpe, who looked past him, and started in his turn.