“’Cause yo’ never axed me ’bout de paper; ef yo’ had I’d a telled yer,” protested Sam. “When yo’ didn’t say nuffin’ I thought de paper wasn’t no ’count.”
“Go downstairs, you rascal!” thundered the Admiral, and Sam, glad to escape, disappeared from the room. “Well, Alvord, what d’ye think?”
The lawyer tugged at his mustache. “What is your theory, Mr. Fordyce?” he asked, passing on the Admiral’s question.
“That you gave the unsigned codicil to Miss Langdon who, following instructions, placed it in the safe where the Admiral found it the next morning. Sam knocked the signed paper into the gutter, and it went down the sewer.”
“Could you make out any writing on the paper as it fell, Mr. Fordyce?”
“Unfortunately, no; the paper resembled an ordinary letter size typewriting sheet, folded three times. It spread open and fell writing down.”
“The codicil was written on ordinary typewriting paper such as you describe,” admitted Alvord. “It was the only kind Miss Langdon had here. Still, that’s slim proof to back your theory, Mr. Fordyce.”
“But it will hold,” Duncan’s elation could be read in his animated expression and excited manner. “I’m willing to face any court, and I’ll win my case....”
“And that scamp, Chichester Barnard, will win his hundred thousand after all,” groaned the Admiral.