The lock turned easily, and the massive iron door flew open. As he looked inside, he saw several packets of deeds tied up with red tape, a pile of account books, and countless old chequebooks. But he did not stop to look carefully at what the safe contained, his eyes sought eagerly for the will, for had not his father told him that, underneath that will, he would find the secret information that he wished him to receive?
HE TURNED ROUND AND SAW WATSON STANDING BEHIND HIM.
Yes, the will was there; he saw the large envelope on which was written, in clear legal copper-plate characters, "Last Will and Testament of Joseph Fortescue." But the will had little interest for him now. Of what avail to be told that so many thousands had been bequeathed to him, when he knew that those thousands did not exist, but had been swamped in the ruinous flooding of that distant mine? As his poor old father had said, the will was not worth the paper on which it was written. He took it up with beating heart, and looked underneath it.
Yes, there was the letter; he could see his father's crooked, illiterate writing upon it—he could read the words—
"For my son,
To be opened after my death."
He was just slipping it into his pocket, when he heard a movement in the room. Was the dead man rising, to make a protest against his reading its contents?
He turned round and saw Watson standing behind him; how she had crept into the room without his hearing her he could not imagine.
"What do you want, Watson?"
"I was passing the door, sir, and saw a light, so came in to see that all was right. You've soon found your way to the safe, sir!"