I marched down the aisle. Mr. Chester Downes saw me coming. His dark face never paled; the blood flooded into it, darkening it until his cheeks and brow were almost black.
We looked at each other. There was no need for either to threaten the other. As of old, we were sworn enemies. And I believed that I had again crossed him in his most precious project.
The colonel let me into the enclosure through the gate.
“You recognize your nephew, do you, Mr. Downes?” asked the Judge.
Chester Downes nodded. He could not speak.
“And I understand that Clinton Webb, here before us, objects to the appointment of his uncle as co-trustee of the estate?” he asked the colonel.
“He does,” was the brief reply.
“What is your wish, then, Colonel?” asked Judge Fetter. “This matter, evidently, is not ready for closing to-day?”
“No, your honor. We ask for a postponement—that is all.”
“Do you agree, Brother Maxwell?” asked the judge.