“I haven’t admitted yet that I believe my uncle to be a—a murderer,” Miss Graham quietly reminded him.
“A strong word,” said Average Jones smiling. “The law would hardly support your view. Now, Miss Graham, would it grieve you very much if Peter Paul were to die?”
“I won’t have him put to death,” said she quickly. “That would be, cheating my grandmother’s intentions.”
“I supposed you wouldn’t. Yet it would be the simplest way. Once dead, and buried in accordance with the terms of the will, the dog would be out of his troubles, and you would be out of yours.”
“It would really be a relief. Peter Paul suffers so from asthma, poor old beastie. The vet says he can live only a month or two longer, anyway. But I’ve got to do as Grandmother wished, and keep Peter Paul alive as long as possible.”
“Admitted.” Average Jones fell into a baffled silence, studying the pattern of the rug with restless eyes. When he looked up into Miss Graham’s face again it was with a changed expression.
“Miss Graham,” he said slowly, “won’t you try to forget, for the moment, the circumstances of our meeting, and think of me only as a friend of your friends who is very honestly eager to be a friend to you, when you most need one?”
Now, Average Jones’s birth-fairy had endowed him with one priceless gift: the power of inspiring an instinctive confidence in himself. Sylvia Graham felt, suddenly, that a hand, sure and firm, had been outstretched to guide her on a dark path. In one of those rare flashes of companionship which come only when clean and honorable spirits recognize one another, all consciousness of sex was lost between them. The girl’s gaze met the man’s level, and was held in a long, silent regard.
“Yes,” she said simply; and the heart of Average Jones rose and swore a high loyalty.
“Listen, then. I think I see a clear way. Judge Ackroyd will kill the dog if he can, and so effectually conceal the body that no funeral can be held over it, thereby rendering your grandmother’s bequest to you void. He has only a few days to do it in, but I don’t think that all your watchfulness can restrain him. Now, on the other hand, if the dog should die a natural death and be buried, he can still contest the will. But if he should kill Peter Paul and hide the body where we could discover it, the game would be up for him, as he then wouldn’t even dare to come into court with a contest. Do you follow me?”