"You mean that you won't keep your promise?" The words were low and thick with emotion; I could not seem to recognize the ownership of the voice.
"No, I don't say that at all. But I'm up to my neck at 'Thane Court,' and I was counting upon the 'Hundred' to pull me out. Give me half a chance and I'll do the square thing—by you and everybody."
"What more do you want of me?"
"Just keep your eyes and ears open. I saw Grimes to-day, and he thinks there is a fair possibility of breaking the will—non compos, you know. Why think of it! Francis Graeme never saw this Yankee Hildebrand but once in his life, and then for a couple of hours only. It stands to reason that a man in his right senses doesn't hand over a fortune as though it were nothing more than a Key West cigar. Grimes advises me to fight, and I'd like nothing better than to do it. But fighting costs a lot of money," he concluded gloomily.
"You know that if I had it——"
"All I know is that you haven't got it," he interrupted coldly. "For heaven's sake! don't let us get sentimental again."
There was a brief silence, and then came a badly suppressed yawn, coupled with a declaration that the speaker was dog-tired and ready to fall asleep standing up. We could hear retreating footsteps, and the occasional creaking of a loose board in the tread of the staircase; then all was quiet again.
"Eunice Trevor, of course," announced Warriner meditatively.
"I should never have known her voice," I protested.
"Exactly so. And for the very sufficient reason that she is accustomed to riding under double-wraps, as the hunting men say. A cold, calculating, iceberg sort of creature—that's the way you've thought of her."