Feversham, on account of his long residence in Washington, and his high character as a citizen and as a man, had no difficulty in procuring the temporary appointment from the court. A locksmith was found, and in less than an hour after his departure from the room which held the officers he reappeared with a bulky envelope in his hand.
Opening the envelope in the presence of the company, a number of papers, stock certificates, tax receipts, bankbooks, etc., and a small, sealed envelope superscribed "My last will and testament," were brought forth.
"Before you produce the will which that small envelope holds," said Nick Carter. "I will venture a prediction of its contents. You will find it to be an exact reproduction in wording and handwriting of this model."—holding out one of the will copies taken from the body of Dimitri Goloff.
The coroner's eyes widened. But he said nothing.
Jackson Feversham opened the envelope, read the will with an amazed countenance, and then compared it with the copy which Nick had handed to him.
"You are right, Mr. Carter," he said. "The will I took from the envelope is a facsimile of the one you gave me. But I—I don't understand. The idea is abhorrent. I can't believe that James Playfair, in his right mind, ever made that wretch, Arthur Mannion, his heir."
"Sit down, Mr. Feversham," said Nick, with a look charged with reassurance, "and I will try to make matters clear to you and at the same time relieve your mind. And I will also try to satisfy the curiosity of our friend the coroner. The will you found in the bank deposit box is a forgery."
"But," said Feversham, "it is in James Playfair's handwriting. I would be willing to swear to that."
"I will admit that it is an almost perfect imitation of Playfair's handwriting," replied the detective, "and that the imitation cannot probably be duplicated by any man in the United States—barring, of course, Arthur Mannion—but I cannot admit that it is genuine."
"It may be hard to prove that it is not genuine," put in the coroner.