“Do I understand that you are using threatening language to me?” asked Mr. Tertius, mildly.
Barthorpe sneered, and turned to Selwood.
“We’ll open this safe now,” he said. “You know which is the key, I suppose,” he went on, glaring at Peggie, who had retreated to the hearthrug and was evidently considerably put out by her cousin’s behaviour. “I suppose you never heard my uncle mention a will? We’ve searched his private safe at the office and there’s nothing there. Personally, I don’t believe he ever made a will—I never heard of it. And I think he’d have told me if—”
Mr. Tertius broke in upon Barthorpe’s opinions with a dry cough.
“It may save some unnecessary trouble if I speak at this juncture,” he said. “There is a will.”
Barthorpe’s ruddy cheeks paled in spite of his determined effort to appear unconcerned. He twisted round on Mr. Tertius with a startled eye and twitching lips.
“You—you say there is a will!” he exclaimed. “You say—what do you know about it?”
“When it was made, where it was made, where it now is,” answered Mr. Tertius.
“Where it now is!” repeated Barthorpe. “Where it now—is! And where is it, I should like to know?”
Mr. Tertius, who had gone up to Peggie, laid his hand reassuringly on her arm.