Farman still stared suspiciously at the gallery. He considered that protruding passage as the strangest feature of the room. It was a whispering gallery, through which any sound would carry to a remarkable degree. Caleb Delthern had been proud of the balcony as a place of marvelous acoustic properties.
The old lawyer smiled. He wondered about this huge reception hall. He liked it because of its antiquity; he dreaded it because of its strangeness. In the past, he had been here only with Caleb Delthern. Now that his old client was dead, Farman, for the first time, felt a full sensation of foreboding gloom.
His mind reverting to Caleb Delthern’s theory of spectral visitants, Farman found himself half believing that the ghost of the last Delthern might, itself, be here! But as he blinked and saw no further sign of the glowing spots that he had detected in the darkness, Farman set the whole thought aside as mere fancy and seated himself at the end of the table. He adjusted a pair of spectacles to his nose.
Extracting papers from his portfolio, the old lawyer began to sort them. Engrossed in his work, he forgot all about the end of the balcony behind him.
Once again those glowing spots appeared - this time they remained. A watcher in the darkness was viewing the man below!
Silence reigned. Horatio Farman considered his papers beneath the flickering light of the candelabrum. A huge grandfather’s clock - a massive piece among the furnishings of the room - ticked away so softly that its mechanical noise did not reach Farman’s ears.
It was only when a whirring sound came from the clock that the lawyer looked up, startled. He could barely see the face of the timepiece, but he did not need to observe the position of the hands. The chime of the clock followed the whir, and it announced the arrival of midnight.
Musical notes; then twelve, slow, solemn strokes. Horatio Farman, as he instinctively watched the clock, never thought to turn about. Had he done so, he might have noted that other eyes were watching from the gallery!
THE twelfth chime sounded. Horatio Farman arose and turned toward the door. A moment later, one of the sliding barriers moved back. Wellington, in the outer hall, was motioning to a group of persons who stood beside him.
Two men and a girl entered. Before Wellington could slide the door shut, another man appeared from beyond, and hastily slipped into the big room.
The sliding door closed. Horatio Farman, stoop-shouldered at the table end, was facing the heirs of Caleb Delthern.
CHAPTER II
WEIRD ECHOES
WHERE Horatio Farman had been seated alone, a small group now surrounded the table. The old lawyer, resting back in his chair, surveyed the visitors as he tapped his lingers upon the papers that he had taken from the portfolio.
Clearing his throat, Farman addressed a man who was seated at the end of the table opposite him. This individual was nearly fifty years of age; and his cadaverous face and long, broad-bridged nose, showed a quibbling, discontented nature.
“You, Winstead Delthern,” announced Horatio Farman, “now occupy the head of the council table. You are the eldest survivor of the Delthern family. You occupy the place which formerly belonged to your grandfather, Caleb Delthern.”
After this comment, Farman fumbled with the papers. He made a brief consultation, then removed the spectacles that he was wearing, and spoke as though from memory.
“The terms of Caleb Delthern’s will,” stated the lawyer, “are as follows:
“One month following the conference here tonight, the estate shall be divided among all his grandchildren who may then be living.
“This is a simple proviso, particularly so as the grandchildren are few and easily traceable. Despite the fact that Caleb Delthern had three children of his own - all now deceased - and lived to the age of ninety-seven, there are only five grandchildren, and no great-grandchildren.
“You know this fact as well as I; but in order to be precise, I shall name the descendants who are entitled to share in the apportionment of the estate.
“First, the three sons of Howard Delthern, son of Caleb. Those three sons are Winstead Delthern” - Farman indicated the man at the other end of the table - “Humphrey Delthern and Jasper Delthern.”
Farman completed this statement by pointing twice to his right. He paused to study the men whom he had indicated.
Humphrey Delthern, seated near Winstead, was the counterpart of his sour-faced brother. Jasper, the youngest of the three, was a thick-faced man of a more active type, although he bore the Delthern features.
“Next,” continued Farman, “comes the one child of Caleb Delthern’s daughter Marcia. I am speaking of Warren Barringer, who is not present with us tonight.”
Farman looked toward a vacant chair as he spoke. Finally, he studied the only woman present - the quiet- faced girl who sat beside the empty seat.
“The youngest of the heirs,” remarked Farman, “is the one child of Caleb Delthern’s second daughter. You, Marcia Wardrop, are the last of the grandchildren.
“I may mention, however” - the lawyer’s tone became sentimental - “that your grandfather felt an especial bond of affection toward you, Marcia, due to the fact that you lived in this house since childhood. In fact” - Farman’s tone now became critical - “you were the only relative whom Caleb Delthern saw during the final years of his life.”
NO one commented as the lawyer paused. Winstead Delthern, sour and expressionless, simply stared at Farman. Humphrey Delthern copied his brother’s glance. Jasper, however, indulged in a smile that added no pleasantness to his puffy, ugly lips.
“I have enumerated the descendants,” resumed Farman. “I shall list them again, in order. Winstead Delthern, Humphrey Delthern, Jasper Delthern. Then Warren Barringer and Marcia Wardrop. That is the order of progression, from the eldest to the youngest.”
Something in the lawyer’s tone brought an anticipative smile to the thin lips of Winstead Delthern, who was watching opposite. The new head of the family sensed that the mention of age might have an important bearing on the will. The surmise proved correct.
“The estate of Caleb Delthern,” said Farman, “first involves the bestowal of Delthern Manor, this ancestral home. It is to become the property of the head of the family; to remain so until his death, then to pass to the next in line. This is in accordance with the Delthern custom. I may remark, in passing, that all members of the family preserve the right to live in this home.”
No comment followed from the listeners. The statement had been expected. All were tensely awaiting the decision concerning the funds of the estate.
“Caleb Delthern,” stated Farman, “left approximately thirteen million dollars. The division of this wealth is to be made - as I remarked before - among the surviving heirs, one month from tonight.
“To the eldest survivor, one half of the estate. To all others, an equal apportionment of the other half.”
Horatio Farman replaced his spectacles upon his nose, and sat back in his chair. He studied the expressions upon the faces of those who had heard the final statement.
The mention of thirteen millions, Farman knew, had brought exultation to the listeners. The lawyer knew well what the reaction would be among them, now that the actual division had been stated.
Winstead Delthern was wearing a thin smile. Why not? He was to receive six and one half million dollars.
Humphrey Delthern, however, was glowering. Jasper Delthern showed a sneer. Farman knew the reason.
Instead of sharing equally with all, or having provisions made as second and third in line, these two men would each gain only one eighth of the total wealth. Something over a million and a half would be the individual share that each would receive.
