"Did he?" asked Dick, shrugging his shoulders. "Then I must be like 'el escudero de Guadalaxara, que de lo que dice de noche, no hay nada â la mañana.' Do you understand Spanish?"
"Do you understand English?" growled Doctor Remy. "I asked you if you had witnessed a will; and I want to know what was in it."
"And I gave you to understand that if I had, it must have been when I was too drunk to remember anything about it," responded Dick.
Doctor Remy's eyes flashed ominously. "I shall find a way to refresh your memory," said he. "One question more, and I warn you that you had better give me a straightforward answer, and not try to put me off with a proverb;—what was done with the will after it was made?"
"Why, hasn't it been found?" asked Dick, with surprise that was plainly genuine.
"No, it has not," replied Doctor Remy, curtly. "See here, Dick," he added, after a pause, quitting his threatening tone for one of persuasion; "I'll make it well worth your while to tell me all you know about that will. Open the door—I'm tired of standing—and we'll go in and talk it over."
"I—I—it's pleasanter outside," stammered Dick, fairly driven to his wit's end by this proposal. "Besides, 'walls have ears;' no place like the open air for your business—and mine."
"Your walls should be deaf," answered the doctor, looking at him suspiciously; "you live alone, do you not?"
"Yes, certainly; but no walls are to be trusted; mèfiance est mére de sûretè."
"Very true," replied Doctor Remy; "and I distrust you. Open that door at once, and let me see what or whom it is, that you are so anxious to conceal."