‘Mr and Mrs Wedlake,’ said the solicitor—and a preparatory tremor of indignation ran through the listening group—‘were, as we know, in closer communication of late with their uncle than any other members of his family; perhaps they would be able to tell us something?’
Tom answered by a shake of the head, which might signify either refusal or unwillingness. But there was an air of composure about him and his wife which was in marked contrast with the flushed expectancy generally prevalent, and which was calculated to give rise to exasperating auguries.
Mr Blackford proceeded: ‘I regret this very much, for it renders my task all the more difficult and unpleasant. But that I cannot help. It is by no fault or interposition of my own that things are—as they will presently appear. Neither is it for me to question the testator’s wisdom or his right to do as he pleased with his own. I can only say that I used all my powers of persuasion to divert Mr Franklin from his purpose, but unavailingly; therefore, I could only act as I was instructed.’
Curiosity was excited by these words to the highest pitch; it was evident that they portended some disaster, and an angry buzz began to make itself heard.
‘The first thing to be done,’ continued the solicitor, ‘is to produce Mr Franklin’s will. It is in his bedroom; and, with the permission of Mr and Mrs Wedlake, I will now go and fetch it.’
The words were hardly out of his mouth when, with a brisk and business-like step, he left the room, and was half-way up the stairs before any one had the presence of mind to follow him. As he went, he drew a paper from his breast-pocket and carried it cautiously just within his coat. He was in the room scarcely a quarter of a minute before Tom and Lucy, followed by the whole of the company, came hurrying after him; but those precious seconds served his purpose. They found him looking up at the shelf of books in the recess, rather pale, a little out of breath, but entirely self-possessed. The master of the house was about to comment sharply on his strange behaviour; but the solicitor gave him no time.
‘The will,’ said he, ‘is in one of the largest of these books; but upon my word I don’t exactly remember which. Cruden’s Concordance—yes, I think it must have been Cruden’s Concordance. I think I should prefer, under all the circumstances, that some one else should make the search.—Mr Wedlake, perhaps, would oblige us by trying Cruden’s Concordance?’
Tom took down the big book, held it by its covers, and shook it vigorously, producing no other result than a shower of dust.
‘Dear me!’ said Mr Blackford, ‘it is very strange.—Will you try the next book, Mr Wedlake? It is a Prayer-book, I think.’
The same process was repeated; this time a folded paper fell to the floor. The solicitor picked it up.