Henry paused again. Dick was gazing out at the water with fixed eyes. This cool talk made him shudder.
“I've been thinking this over,” Henry went on. “Of course, you caught me red handed; and that, along with what I'm going to tell you, any time when you're ready, gives you a pretty clear case against me. My outlook isn't what you would call cheerful. I've never made a will, but I guess now is about as good a time as any to get about it. I've got my schooner, and I've got a little money put away,—some of it drawing interest and some in the bank,—and what there is of it is to go to Dick. He's the nearest approach to a relation I have, you know. And if I were you, Dick, I should take some of it the first thing and pay up for the Anne. That 'll make you more or less independent. Do you fellows mind coming down into the cabin and fixing it up now?”
“Certainly not,” said Beveridge, rising.
Dick found it difficult to reply, but he followed them below, and sat with them at the dining-table. Beveridge got pen, ink, and paper.
“Now, I 'll tell you,” said Henry. “I 'll just make out sort of a schedule of what I'm worth. It won't take long. I know just what it is. There, now, I guess it 'll be enough to say that I devise and bequeath it all, without any conditions or exceptions, to Dick, he to take everything of mine for his own, to hold and to use in any way that he may choose. Will you witness this, Beveridge?”
“Certainly.”
“We ought to have some others.”
“I 'll get them.” Beveridge stepped out, and returned shortly with Captain Sullivan and his second officer. These put their signatures under that of the special agent and with the exchange of only a word or two returned to their posts. Nothing could have been more matter-of-fact, could have savored more strongly of humdrum, everyday life.
The three men sat there looking at the paper. Finally Henry, with a smile, blotted it, folded it, and handed it to his cousin. “I'm going to hand this over to you, Dick,” he said. “That's the easiest way of disposing of it.”
Dick accepted it and turned it slowly over and over in his hands. “I—of course, Henry—I appreciate this, but—” and then his face surged with color, and he broke out in a round voice: “What's the use of talking of this sort of thing now! Wilson isn't gone yet. I don't believe he will go either. You make my blood run cold! You'd better just—”