"Old women, Mr. Gillingham, have their fancies. Death seems at times uncomfortably close."
I murmured some polite deprecation, but I was sure it was not death that frightened her.
Drawing from my pocket her letter and the copy of the will I had prepared I explained as best I could why I had come. I was tolerably confused. I could not question her entire sanity, and as I did not wish in any way to hint at what I felt concerning Emily I soon involved myself in a veritable dust of legal pedantry. Finally I asked whether there were other children.
Mrs. Drainger heard me out in ironic silence.
"I have no others," she admitted at length, and added after a second, "Thank heaven!"
"There remains only one other matter," I said. "The provisions of your will are such that unless she knows them in advance Miss Emily will almost inevitably forfeit the inheritance."
"I am aware of that," said the voice, and the pale hands moved imperceptibly. "I am quite well aware of what I am doing, Mr. Gillingham, and I repeat, my daughter is not to ask impertinent questions."
I bowed, somewhat ruffled. I added that it would be necessary to witness her signature in the usual manner. She seemed surprised to learn that two persons were necessary, and remained silent.
"Call Emily," she directed.
"Emily will not do," I objected, "since she is a possible beneficiary."