"Well, there must have been more than one," drawled the duck man with exasperating slowness. "Foster was down in the first, but that was burned. I don't think he ever saw the others, but he knew he wasn't a favorite any more."
"What about yourself?" asked Garrison.
"I asked Uncle John to leave me out. I've got enough," was the answer.
"We're no blood kin to the Hardys. I know I wasn't in the last."
"The last?" repeated Garrison. "You mean the last will of Mr.
Hardy—the one in favor of Dorothy, in case she should be married?"
Durgin studied his distant ducks for a moment.
"No, I don't think that was the last. I'm sure that will wasn't the last."
Garrison stared at him fixedly.
"You're sure it wasn't the last?" he echoed. "What do you mean?"
"Uncle John sent a letter and said he'd made a brand-new will," answered Durgin in his steady way of certainty. "I burned up the letter only yesterday, clearing up my papers."
"You don't mean quite recently?" insisted Garrison.