The envelope was unsealed and there was no superscription. Benson drew forth the letter it contained and read it. Gibbs watched him narrowly the while. But the lawyer's face was expressionless, and told nothing of what was passing in his mind. Having read the letter, Benson returned it to its envelope, then he caught Gibbs's eye. It held a question.
“You know what Landray has written here?” he said.
“Yes, Steve had me read it and the other letter he mentions, which I gave Mrs. Landray.”
“What was in the letter you gave her?” asked Benson.
“He wanted her to have the boy, if you would do nothing for him. You see he was sure of her, Jake.”
“Yes, he could be sure of her; one can always be sure of her,” said Benson enigmatically.
Gibbs shot him a quick glance.
“I reckon so,” he said quietly.
“But not of me,” and Benson laughed a little bitterly.
“Well, I gathered, not so much from what he said as from what he didn't say, that you and he weren't friends;” and with a stubby forefinger Gibbs made a pattern on the polished table with some whisky and water he had inadvertently spilled from his glass. “I find it's a good thing to let death square all grudges,” he ventured. “I think at heart he counted on you, Jake, because of Marian.”