“Ah, Daireh, how do you do?” said Mr Burke with a nod, but not offering to shake hands, as the other evidently expected.
Daireh was an Egyptian protégé of Mr Forsyth, who had employed him as a boy-clerk, brought him to England with him, and placed him in a lawyer’s office. He was clever, sharp, and a most useful servant; and, entering the employ of Messrs Burrows and Fagan, had ingratiated himself with both of them, so that he was trusted to an extraordinary degree. He professed great gratitude to Mr Burke, as the brother-in-law of his benefactor, and as having spoken for him when he was seeking his present engagement. But Mr Burke did not like the look of him. He was prejudiced, however, against all foreigners, especially Greeks and Egyptians, so that his dislike did not go for much. But certainly an acute physiognomist would have said that Daireh looked sly.
Mr Burke had friends to call on, and business to transact, so the delay did not really matter to him; and he called at the lawyer’s office again at the appointed time, Daireh, bowing obsequiously as usual, ushering him into Mr Burrows’ private room.
“Well, we have put your good English into what you profanely call legal jargon,” said that gentleman.
“Just listen, and try to understand your own directions while I read them over.”
It was all plain enough, and short enough, in spite of Mr Burrows’ little joke, and then Mr Burke put his mouth to a speaking-tube, and called Daireh to come and witness the document. Then there was some signing, and the new will was consigned to the tin box bearing the name of Richard Burke, Esquire, upon it.
“Better destroy the old one,” said he.
“Certainly,” replied Mr Burrows. “Throw it behind the fire, Daireh.”
Then Daireh did a curious thing. He took another parchment, exactly like the old will, out of his breast coat pocket, and managed, unperceived, to exchange it for the document; so that the object which Mr Burke and the lawyer watched curling, blazing, sputtering, till it was consumed, was not the old will at all, but a spoilt skin of some other matter, and the old will was lying snugly in Daireh’s pocket.
What motive could he have? What earthly use could this old will be, when one of more recent date lay in that tin box? Daireh could not have answered the question. He kept it on the off-chance of being able to make something out of it. He was a thorough rogue, though not found out yet, and he knew that Stephen Philipson, who had just been disinherited, was both rogue and fool.