“What, nothing? You can swear to it? In all these five, six years, nobody came from the village, town—whatever you call it—whom he consulted with, who had any documents to be signed, nothing, nobody at all?”
“Nothing!” said Harrison with solemnity, “nothing! I’ll take my Bible oath; now and then there was a gentleman subscribing for some charity, and there was the doctor every day or most every day, and as many times as I could count on my fingers there would be some one calling, that gentleman, sir,” he said suddenly, pointing to Mr. Turny, who looked up alarmed as if accused of something, “as was staying in the house.”
“But no business, no papers signed?”
“Hadn’t you better speak to the doctor, Sturgeon? He knew more of him than anyone.”
“Not more nor me, sir,” said Harrison firmly; “nobody went in or out of master’s room that was unknown to me.”
“This is all very well,” said Bob Tredgold, “but it isn’t the will. I don’t know what you’re driving at; but it’s the will as we want—my poor brother’s daughter here, and me.”
“I think, Miss Katherine,” said the lawyer, “that I’d rather talk it over with—with Mr. Turny, who is the other executor, and perhaps with the doctor, who could tell us something of your father’s state of mind.”
“What does it all mean?” Katherine said.
“I’d rather talk it over first; there is a great deal of responsibility on our shoulders, between myself and Mr. Turny, who is the other executor. I am sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Katherine.”
“Oh, it is of no consequence,” Katherine said. “Shall I leave you here? Nobody will interrupt you, and you can send for me if you want me again. But perhaps you will not want me again?”