"Of course. What else?" asked the court sharply.
"Then," said Peter Mannion's attorney, "I will ask Mr. Feversham to take the stand."
James Playfair's friend looked surprised, but he came forward, was sworn, and the will was placed in his hands.
"Examine it carefully, Mr. Feversham," said the attorney, "and then state whether or not, in your opinion, the body of the instrument and the signature, all the writing, in fact, is in the writing of James Playfair."
"If this is not his handwriting," answered Feversham, after a pause, "it is a perfect imitation."
"Can you say it is not his handwriting?" questioned Peter Mannion's attorney, with sternness.
There was a pause. Feversham looked at the judge, then at the two men who had accompanied him to the court. Finally he said slowly, but with emphasis: "I can say, with a conviction that almost amounts to certainty, that this will is not in the handwriting of my deceased friend."
Peter Mannion started violently. His face grew gray. A sense of danger suddenly possessed him; but he gripped the sides of his chair and waited.
The attorney for the moment was nonplussed. He had not expected the answer. But he speedily recovered his wits, and, in a blustering manner, said:
"Is it because the will leaves you nothing, while a previous one leaves you heir to the fortune, that you are unwilling to state what must be a patent fact to any man of intelligence?"