“And am I not the one to take?” cried Mr. Caleb Lurty, in some heat.
“You are the heir, as the letter of the law reads,” replied Colonel Braxton.
“And do I not take?”
“You take,” replied the lawyer, “if your brother has not already given.” He paused; his eyes wandered about the room. His voice dropped to its leisurely drawl. He shifted his weight a little, like a man at ease.
“Mr. Caleb Lurty,” he said, “it is a strange world. There is something behind it that is hard to fool. Human ingenuity moves with every sly precaution, and by some accident of chance, as it seems to us, the very subtleties of these precautions trip us.
“Observe, sir, if you please, what has happened here. This morning Marshall Lurty’s daughter came to me, and against all right, against all justice, against all honor, I was forced to say that she was not her father’s heir, and that the law distributing the estate would give her nothing. But I undertook to see you, in the hope that you might be moved by humane considerations outside the law, and so at least divide your brother’s property with his daughter. As I was setting out, your message reached me, and it cheered me, Mr. Caleb Lurty, for I reflected that perhaps you also were considering such an act of justice.” His eyes moved slowly from Caleb Lurty’s face to his feet. “When I looked you over I realized that this hope was foolish!”
He went on. The big putty-colored man standing behind the walnut desk neither moved nor spoke. His habit of caution held. He would hear, first, what this thing was that threatened.
“But what happened?... Look, sir, if you please, what happened.”
The attorney’s voice moved distinctly, although unhurried.
“When I entered this house, I was certain that your brother had died intestate. I had no knowledge of any existing will, and all my answers to your interrogations were precisely true. Marshall Lurty had never consulted me about the distribution of his estate, nor the form of any will, and no such testament had been lodged with me. And yet, Mr. Caleb Lurty,” his voice went up sharp and decisive on the words, “I now have such a paper in my possession: Marshall Lurty’s will, written by himself, and bequeathing his estate, real and personal, to his daughter!”
And putting his hand into the bosom of his coat, he drew out a folded paper.
And for once — for a single instant in his cautious life — the man by the desk was toppled off his balance.
“You got it out of that book!” he cried.
Then, as though he caught swiftly at the words to get them back, he brought his hand up sharply over his I open mouth. But the words were out. And Colonel Braxton repeated them in his even voice.
“Out of that book,” he said, indicating one on a shelf before him. “I got it out of that book while you were absent seeking your confirmatory picture. And I have it properly in my possession, for I am named in the closing line as executor.”
Colonel Braxton went on, unhurried, like one in a leisurely explanation of some ordinary and trivial event, while the other stood, his hand clenched over his open mouth, his eyes and face fixed in desperate introspection.
“Mr. Caleb Lurty,” he said, “I have had some experience with men who contemplate a criminal act, and their precautions. And during our conversation I understand precisely what you had in mind. Only the fool destroys an important paper in the moment that he finds it. A clever person, a cautious person, like yourself, takes no such chance. He conceals it, and sets about to discover what collateral evidences may lie about to indicate that such a paper exists. And so, when you found this will among your brother’s papers, you concealed it in that book and sent for me, to discover what I knew, seeing that I was mentioned as the executor in it.”
Colonel Braxton continued, while the man before him remained in an attitude of indecision.
“That was clever of you, for it might happen that I, as attorney for your brother, had some knowledge of this will, a copy of some notes, upon which a suit for the daughter could be founded, if the will did not turn up. And it would be a wise precaution to learn beforehand precisely what you would have to face in such a suit. It would determine your defense and the advisability of some sort of compromise. And so you concealed the will in that book, and sent for me, before you burned it.
“In your extremity of caution, Mr. Caleb Lurty, you were thinking of a great many things. But there was one thing you did not think of.” The colonel paused a moment as if to lend emphasis to the words that followed. “You did not think how a volume on this wall, if displaced, would indicate that fact by the disturbed dust on the shelf. Well, I thought of that, and when I saw it, knowing what you had in mind, I deemed it advisable to see why that particular volume among all the others should have been disturbed.”
And now the big, wavering creature came to a decision, as though the submerged desperado in him rose, scattering its disguises. Caleb Lurty’s hand moved toward the half-open drawer in the desk before him. He looked the lawyer steadily in the face.
“You think, sir, that it was my plan to burn this paper. Well, I have changed my plan... You shall burn it for me.”
His voice was cold, measured, and exact.
“You will find a box of matches on the table before you. Strike one and hold the paper in the flame.”
He brought his hand up from behind the desk, the big pistol gripped in his fingers, and, extending his arm, he pointed the weapon at the lawyer.
Colonel Braxton did not change his posture. His voice, when he spoke, maintained its leisurely drawl.
“Mr. Caleb Lurty,” he said, “you have made one mistake that would get you in the penitentiary... Will you make another that would get you hanged?... If you could not conceal this folded paper, how are you going to conceal the body of a dead man? When you have shot, sir, what are you going to do after that? If I am a peril to you living, think what a menace I will be to you when I am dead... Think about that, sir. What are you going to do with the body? When you have fired, Mr. Caleb Lurty, you will have a dead man on your hands.”
For answer, the man took a watch out of his pocket and put it on top of the desk before him.
“I will give you three minutes by the watch,” he replied.
The long heavy barrel of the pistol remained leveled at the lawyer, the hammer back, Lurty’s big finger on the trigger. The hand holding the weapon now rested on the desk top beside the watch, as for ease and for a steady aim. The menace was determined and deadly beyond question.
Colonel Braxton put the folded paper into his pocket and faced the man stooping over the desk.
“Mr. Caleb Lurty,” he said, “since you give me this time of grace, I will use it in some suggestions for your benefit. The Commonwealth of Virginia will presently try you for this murder; and I cannot see a theory of defense. You are known to be here on this day in this house, and so no alibi would hold; no animus against your person could be shown in me, and so no plea of self-defense would stick. And all the vagaries of insanity would go to pieces before the definite and directing motive that moved you to the act. It will be a desperate case, sir, in its every feature.”
Colonel Braxton paused, as in some reflection.
“There are only two men in Virginia who could possibly save you from the gallows, who could by any chance get you off with imprisonment for life, and I fear that you could bring neither to your aid. One is Mr. Wellington Monroe, and the other is Judge Coleman Northcote. Mr. Wellington Monroe would not take the case of an assassin whom he believed guilty. And you would find, I think, Judge Coleman Northcote on the other side, for he has a persisting notion that I have been of some service in certain critical periods of his life.”