“Very well,” said Cousin Henry. “Let the fly come.”
“I thought it would be best,” said the clerk, taking cowardly advantage of his success over the prostrate wretch. “What’s the use of a gentleman taking his own carriage through the streets on such an occasion as this? They are so prying into everything in Carmarthen. Now, when they see the Bush fly, they won’t think as anybody particular is in it.” And so it was settled. The fly should be at Llanfeare by two o’clock on the following day.
Oh, if he could but die! If the house would fall upon him and crush him! There had not been a word spoken by that reptile of a clerk which he had not understood—not an arrow cast at him the sting of which did not enter into his very marrow! “Oh, nothing, sir, to a gentleman like you.” The man had looked at him as he had uttered the words with a full appreciation of the threat conveyed. “They’ve got a rod in pickle for you—for you, who have stolen your cousin’s estate! Mr. Cheekey is coming for you!” That was what the miscreant of a clerk had said to him. And then, though he had found himself compelled to yield to that hint about the carriage, how terrible was it to have to confess that he was afraid to be driven through Carmarthen in his own carriage!
He must go into Carmarthen and face Mr. Apjohn once again. That was clear. He could not now send the will in lieu of himself. Why had he not possessed the presence of mind to say to the clerk at once that no further steps need be taken? “No further steps need be taken. I have found the will. Here it is. I found it this very morning among the books. Take it to Mr. Apjohn, and tell him I have done with Llanfeare and all its concerns.” How excellent would have been the opportunity! And it would not have been difficult for him to act his part amidst the confusion to which the clerk would have been brought by the greatness of the revelation made to him. But he had allowed the chance to pass, and now he must go into Carmarthen!
At half-past two the following day he put himself into the fly. During the morning he had taken the will out of the book, determined to carry it with him to Carmarthen in his pocket. But when he attempted to enclose it in an envelope for the purpose, his mind misgave him and he restored it. Hateful as was the property to him, odious as were the house and all things about it, no sooner did the doing of the act by which he was to release himself from them come within the touch of his fingers, than he abandoned the idea. At such moments the estate would again have charms for him, and he would remember that such a deed, when once done, would admit of no recall.
“I am glad to see you, Mr. Jones,” said the attorney as his client entered the inner office. “There are a few words which must be settled between you and me before the day comes, and no time has to be lost. Sit down, Mr. Ricketts, and write the headings of the questions and answers. Then Mr. Jones can initial them afterwards.”
Mr. Ricketts was the clerk who had come out to Llanfeare. Cousin Henry sat silent as Mr. Ricketts folded his long sheet of folio paper with a double margin. Here was a new terror to him; and as he saw the preparations he almost made up his mind that he would on no account sign his name to anything.
The instructions to be given to Mr. Balsam were in fact very simple, and need not here be recapitulated. His uncle had sent for him to Llanfeare, had told him that he was to be the heir, had informed him that a new will had been made in his favour. After his uncle’s death and subsequent to the funeral, he had heard a will read, and under that will had inherited the property. As far as he believed, or at any rate as far as he knew, that was his uncle’s last will and testament. These were the instructions which, under Mr. Apjohn’s advice, were to be given to Mr. Balsam as to his (Cousin Henry’s) direct evidence.
Then Cousin Henry, remembering his last communication to Farmer Griffith, remembering also all that the two Cantors could prove, added something on his own account.
“I saw the old man writing up in his room,” he said, “copying something which I knew to be a will. I was sure then he was going to make another change and take the property from me.” “No; I asked him no questions. I thought it very cruel, but it was of no use for me to say anything.” “No; he didn’t tell me what he was about; but I knew it was another will. I wouldn’t condescend to ask a question. When the Cantors said that they had witnessed a will, I never doubted them. When you came there to read the will, I supposed it would be found. Like enough it’s there now, if proper search were made. I can tell all that to Mr. Balsam if he wants to know it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me all this before?” said Mr. Apjohn.
“It isn’t much to tell. It’s only what I thought. If what the Cantors said and what you all believed yourselves didn’t bring you to the will, nothing I could say would help you. It doesn’t amount to more than thinking after all.”
Then Mr. Apjohn was again confused and again in doubt. Could it be possible after all that the conduct on the part of the man which had
