Curtis Waring followed the retreating form of his cousin with a sardonic smile.
“She is in the toils! She cannot escape me!” he muttered. “But”—and here his brow darkened—“it vexes me to see how she repels my advances, as if I were some loathsome thing! If only she would return my love—for I do love her, cold as she is—I should be happy. Can there be a rival? But no! we live so quietly that she has met no one who could win her affection. Why can she not turn to me? Surely, I am not so ill-favored, and though twice her age, I am still a young man. Nay, it is only a young girl’s caprice. She shall yet come to my arms, a willing captive.”
His thoughts took a turn, as he arose from his seat, and walked over to the secretary.
“So it is here that the two wills are deposited!” he said to himself; “one making me a rich man, the other a beggar! While the last is in existence I am not safe. The boy may be alive, and liable to turn up at any moment. If only he were dead—or the will destroyed——” Here he made a suggestive pause.
He took a bunch of keys from his pocket, and tried one after another, but without success. He was so absorbed in his work that he did not notice the entrance of a dark-browed, broad-shouldered man, dressed in a shabby corduroy suit, till the intruder indulged in a short cough, intended to draw attention.
Starting with guilty consciousness, Curtis turned sharply around, and his glance fell on the intruder.
“Who are you?” he demanded, angrily. “And how dare you enter a gentleman’s house unbidden?”
“Are you the gentleman?” asked the intruder, with intentional insolence.
“Yes.”
“You own this house?”