'My dear Bryan, before very long he'll be wanting to kill himself; that'll be so much nicer for us and so much worse for him.'
CHAPTER XX
[HOW THE CHASE WAS ENDED]
Mr Samuel Collyer was seated in his office. Spread open on the table in front of him was Mr George Burton's will, which apparently he had just been studying. The study seemed to have afforded him amusement. Leaning back in his chair, he smiled. He referred to his watch.
'Twenty minutes past; they will soon be here. On these occasions, punctuality ought to be the rule, and generally is. George Burton was a curious man, and left a curious will. And yet I don't know. Why should I, or anyone, call it curious? By what right? When a man has neither wife nor children, and his only kindred are a couple of nephews to whom he is not particularly attached, surely he has a right to do as he likes with his own. It is his own--as yet. And if he chooses to attach to the succession certain conditions which appeal, we'll say, to his sense of humour, what title has anyone, lawyer or layman, to comment adversely on the expression of his wishes? So long as they are not in opposition to the general welfare of the body politic, it seems to me none. In a sense, most wills are curious, when you get right into them and understand their ins and outs. I daresay mine will be. I'm a bachelor. Upon my word, I don't know who has the best claim to the few pence I shall leave. Why shouldn't I ornament my testamentary dispositions with a few characteristic touches? Why not?'
While the lawyer propounded to himself this knotty problem, two visitors were shown in--Mr Holland, again upon Miss Broad's arm. He still was not himself. The effects of the sand-bag, which the Flyman had used with more enthusiasm than he had perhaps intended, had not yet all vanished. He seemed uncertain about his capacity to steer himself. He did not carry himself so upright as was his wont. There was a look upon his face which it had not previously worn--of indecision, irresolution, as if he was not quite master of his mental faculties. That sandbag had landed on the brain. Miss Broad seemed to regard him as if he were a child; she watched over him as if he were one, and it must be allowed that he appeared to appreciate to the full her tender care.
The diplomatic lawyer chose not to see the things which were patent. His greeting was,--
'I am glad to see you, Mr Holland, looking so much yourself. I was grieved to hear that you had had an accident.'
'Accident!' The reiteration was Miss Broad's. 'You call it accident!'
'My dear young lady, the words which lawyers use are not always intended to bear their strict dictionary significance.'