The servant brought from Rutton's leather trunk a battered black-japanned tin box, which, upon exploration, proved to contain little that might not have been anticipated. A bankbook issued by the house of Rothschild Frères, Paris, showed a balance to the credit of H.D. Rutton of something slightly under a million francs. There was American money, chiefly in gold certificates of large denominations, to the value of, roundly, twenty thousand dollars, together with a handful of French, German and English bank-notes which might have brought in exchange about two hundred and fifty dollars. In addition to these there was merely a single envelope, superscribed: "To be opened in event of my death only. H.D.R."
Amber broke the seal and read the enclosures once to himself and a second time aloud to Doggott. The date was barely a year old.
"For reasons personal to myself and sufficient," Rutton had written, "I choose not to make a formal will. I shall die, probably in the near future, by my own hand, of poison. I wish to emphasise this statement in event the circumstances surrounding my demise should appear to attach suspicion of murder upon any person or persons whatever. I am a widower and childless. What relations may survive me are distant and will never appear to claim what estate I may leave—this I know. I therefore desire that my body-servant, Henry Doggott, an English citizen, shall inherit and appropriate to his own use all my property and effects, providing he be in my service at the time of my death. To facilitate his entering into possession of my means, whatever they may be, without the necessity of legal procedure of any kind, I enclose a cheque to his order upon my bankers, signed by myself and bearing the date of this memorandum. He is to fill it in with the amount remaining to my credit upon my bank-book. Should he have died or left me, however, the disposition of my effects is a matter about which I am wholly careless."
The signature was unmistakably genuine—the formal "H.D. Rutton" with which Amber was familiar. It was unwitnessed.
The Virginian put aside the paper and offered Doggott the blank cheque on Rothschilds'. "This," he said, "makes you pretty nearly independently rich, Doggott."
"Yes, sir." Doggott took the slip of paper in a hand that trembled even as his voice, and eyed it incredulously. "I've never 'ad anything like this before, sir; I 'ardly know what it means."
"It means," explained Amber, "that, when you've filled in that blank and had the money collected from the Rothschilds, you'll be worth—with what cash is here—in the neighbourhood of forty five thousand pounds sterling."
Doggott gasped, temporarily inarticulate. "Forty-five thousand pounds!… Mr. Amber," he declared earnestly, "I never looked for nothin' like this I—I never—I—" Quite without warning he was quiet and composed again. "Might I ask it of you as a favour, sir, to look after this"—he offered to return the cheque—"for a while, till I can myke up my mind what to do with it."
"Certainly." Amber took the paper, folded it and placed it in his card-case. "I'd suggest that you deposit it as soon as possible in a New York bank for collection. In the meantime, these bills are yours; you'd better take care of them yourself until you open the banking account. I'll keep Mr. Rutton's bank-book with the cheque." He placed the book in his pocket with the singular document Rutton had called his "will," and motioned Doggott to possess himself of the money in the despatch-box.
"It'll keep as well in 'ere as anywheres," Doggott considered, relocking the box. "I 'aven't 'ardly any use for money, except, of course, to tide me over till I find another position."