The Herapath Property Part 12

And Burchill spoke, soothingly and quietly.

"Don't," he said. "It does no good, you know. Serious--yes. Most serious--for you, as I said. But remember--only serious for you if the will is--good. Eh?"

Barthorpe jumped to his feet and thrust his hands in his pockets. He began to pace the room.

"Hang me if I know what you mean, Burchill!" he said. "Is that your signature on that will or not?"

"How can I say until I see it?" asked Burchill, with seeming innocence.

"Let's postpone matters until then. By the by, did Mr. Tertius say that it was my signature?"

"What do you mean!" exclaimed Barthorpe. "Why, of course, he said that he and you witnessed the will!"

"Ah, to be sure, he would say so," a.s.sented Burchill. "Of course.

Foolish of me to ask. It's quite evident that we must postpone matters until this will is--what do you call it?--presented, propounded--what is it?--for probate. Let's turn to something else. My letter to your uncle, for instance. Of course, as you've got it, you've read it."

Barthorpe sat down again and stared.

"You're a cool customer, Master Burchill!" he said. "By Jove, you are!

You're playing some game. What is it?"

Burchill smiled deprecatingly.

"What's your own?" he asked. "Or, if that's too pointed a question at present, suppose we go back to--my letter? Want to ask me anything about it?"

Barthorpe again drew the letter from the case. He affected to re-read it, while Burchill narrowly watched him.

"What," asked Barthorpe at last, "what was it that you wanted my uncle to oblige you with? A loan?"

"If it's necessary to call it anything," replied Burchill suavely, "you can call it a--well, say a donation. That sounds better--it's more dignified."

"I don't suppose it matters much what it's called," said Barthorpe drily. "I should say, from the tone of your letter, that most people would call it----"

"Yes, but not polite people," interrupted Burchill, "and you and I are--or must be--polite. So we'll say donation. The fact is, I want to start a newspaper--weekly--devoted to the arts. I thought your uncle--now, unfortunately, deceased--would finance it. I didn't want much, you know."

"How much?" asked Barthorpe. "The amount isn't stated in this letter."

"It was stated in the two previous letters," replied Burchill. "Oh, not much. Ten thousand."

"The price of your silence, eh?" suggested Barthorpe.

"Dirt cheap!" answered Burchill.

Barthorpe folded up the letter once more and put it away. He helped himself to another cigarette and lighted it before he spoke again. Then he leaned forward confidentially.

"What is the secret?" he asked.

Burchill stated and a.s.sumed an air of virtuous surprise.

"My dear fellow!" he said. "That's against all the rules--all the rules of----"

"Of shady society," sneered Barthorpe. "Confound it, man, what do you beat about the bush so much for? Hang it, I've a pretty good notion of you, and I daresay you've your own of me. Why can't you tell me?"

"You forget that I offered not to tell for--ten thousand pounds," said Burchill. "Therefore I should want quite as much for telling. If you carry ten thousand in cash on you----"

"Is there a secret?" asked Barthorpe. "Sober earnest, now?"

"I have no objection to answering that question," replied Burchill.

"There is!"

"And you want ten thousand pounds for it?" suggested Barthorpe.

"Pardon me--I want a good deal more for it, under the present much altered circ.u.mstances," said Burchill quietly. "There is an old saying that circ.u.mstances alter cases. It's true--they do. I would have taken ten thousand pounds from your uncle to hold my tongue--true. But--the case is altered by his death."

Barthorpe pondered over this definite declaration for a minute or two.

Then, lowering his voice, he said:

"Looks uncommonly like--blackmail! And that----"

"Pardon me again," interrupted Burchill. "No blackmail at all--in my view. I happen to possess information of a certain nature, and----"

Barthorpe interrupted in his turn.

"The thing is," he said, "the only thing is--how long are you and I going to beat about the bush? Are you going to tell me if you signed that will I told you of?"

"Certainly not before I've seen it," answered Burchill promptly.

"Will you tell me then?"

"That entirely depends."

"On--what?"

"Circ.u.mstances!"

"Have the circ.u.mstances got anything to do with this secret?"

"Everything! More than anything--now."

"Now--what?"

"Now that Jacob Herapath is dead. Look here!" continued Burchill, leaning forward and speaking impressively. "Take my counsel. Leave this for the moment and come to see me--now, when? Tonight. Come tonight.

I've nothing to do. Come at ten o'clock. Then--I'll be in a position to say a good deal more. How will that do?"

"That'll do," answered Barthorpe after a moment's consideration.

"Tonight, here, at ten o 'clock."

He got up and made for the door. Burchill got up too, and for a moment both men glanced at each other. Then Burchill spoke.

"I suppose you've no idea who murdered your uncle?" he said.