"Huh!" says I, indicatin' deep scorn.
But if I'd been curious before about this invite to the law office, I was more so now. So shortly after two I was on hand. And I find Mr. Steele has beat me to it by a minute or so. He's camped in the waitin' room, lookin' as imposin' and elegant as ever.
"Well, you ain't been sandbagged or jabbed with a poison needle yet, I see," says I.
He glances around uneasy. "Mr. Judson is coming," says he. "They said he was—here he is!"
Nothin' terrifyin' about Judson, either. He's a slim-built, youngish lookin' party, with an easy, quiet way of talkin', a friendly, confidin' smile; but about the keenest, steadiest pair of brown eyes I ever had turned loose on me. He shakes us cordial by the hand, thanks us for bein' prompt, and tows us into his private office.
"I have the papers all ready," says he.
"That's nice," says I. "And maybe sometime or other you can tell us what it's all about?"
"At once," says he. "You are named as co-executors with me for the estate of the late Curtis B. Gordon."
At which J. Bayard gasps. "I?" says he. "An executor for Pyramid Gordon?"
Judson nods. "I understand," says he, "that you were—ah—not on friendly terms with Mr. Gordon. But he was a somewhat unusual man, you know. In this instance, for example, he has selected Professor McCabe, whom he designates as one of his most trusted friends, and yourself, whom he designates as his—ah—oldest enemy. No offense, I hope?"