"Do you actually imagine you're likely to get out at the end of three days?"
Mr. Walkingshaw looked at his son steadily.
"You know perfectly well that every word I said was true."
Andrew remained coldly immovable.
"I am no judge myself. I'd sooner depend on Dr. Downie's opinion."
"Hypocrite to the last!" scoffed Heriot. "Can you look me in the face, Andrew, and tell me that you honestly thought it was insanity to make friends of my children and help them to marry the people they loved, and divide my money fairly among you all? Can you?"
"Permit me to remind you that it was not I who signed the certificate."
There was a moment's very dead silence, and then Heriot asked—
"Then do you actually mean to shut me up in a lunatic asylum for the rest of my days?"
Andrew had some of the finer points of the legal mind. He noted the trace of emotion in his father's voice, and knew he was fairly on top at last. To let this fact sink still further into Heriot's mind, he eyed him in austere silence for a few moments before he answered—