“I advise you not to trifle with the law, Glenarm,” said Pickering angrily. “You have absolutely no right whatever to be here. And these other gentlemen—your guests, I suppose—are equally trespassers under the law.”
He stared at Larry, who crossed his legs for greater ease in adjusting his lean frame to the door.
“Well, Mr. Pickering, what is the next step?” asked the sheriff, with an importance that had been increased by the legal phrases he had been reading.
“Mr. Pickering,” said Larry, straightening up and taking the pipe from his mouth, “I’m Mr. Glenarm’s counsel. If you will do me the kindness to ask the sheriff to retire for a moment I should like to say a few words to you that you might prefer to keep between ourselves.”
I had usually found it wise to take any cue Larry threw me, and I said:
“Pickering, this is Mr. Donovan, who has every authority to act for me in the matter.”
Pickering looked impatiently from one to the other of us.
“You seem to have the guns, the ammunition and the numbers on your side,” he observed dryly.
“The sheriff may wait within call,” said Larry, and at a word from Pickering the man left the room.
“Now, Mr. Pickering,”—Larry spoke slowly,—“as my friend has explained the case to me, the assets of his grandfather’s estate are all accounted for,—the land hereabouts, this house, the ten thousand dollars in securities and a somewhat vague claim against a lady known as Sister Theresa, who conducts St. Agatha’s School. Is that correct?”