“All my money’s in it—hard cash,” she retorted, “and all my valuable papers besides. I could trust the judge with ’em better than I could trust myself; but I won’t trust anyone else. Now he’s gone I must take charge of the stuff myself. I want that box.”
“Well,” said Toby reflectively, “the box is yours, of course, and you’re entitled to it. But I’m not sure we have the right to remove anything from the judge’s office until an inventory has been made and the will probated. I suppose an administrator or trustee will be appointed who will deliver your box to you.”
“Shucks!” cried Mrs. Ritchie scornfully; “you’re a fool, Toby Clark. You can’t tie up my personal property that way.”
“The law, madam—”
“Drat the law! The property’s mine, and I want it now.”
Toby looked helplessly at Janet.
“That’s the way she’s been annoying me all the afternoon,” declared the girl, stifling a sob. “Can’t you get rid of her, Toby? Give her anything she wants; only make her go.”
“I’ll go when I get my property,” said Mrs. Ritchie, obstinately settling herself in the chair.
Toby thought about it.
“I might ask Lawyer Kellogg’s advice,” he said. “He wasn’t Judge Ferguson’s friend, but he knows the law and could tell us what to do.”