"My business," Mr. Gridley said, very gravely, "relates to this. Iwish to inspect papers which I have reason to believe exist, and which have reference to the affairs of the late Malachi Withers. Can you help me to get sight of any of these papers not to be found at the Registry of Deeds or the Probate Office?""Excuse me, Mr. Gridley, but may I ask you what particular concern you have with the affairs of my relative, Cousin Malachi Withers, that's been dead and buried these half-dozen years?""Perhaps it would take some time to answer that question fully, Miss Badlam. Some of these affairs do concern those I am interested in, if not myself directly.""May I ask who the person or persons may be on whose account you wish to look at papers belonging to my late relative, Malachi Withers?""You can ask me almost anything, Miss Badlam, but I should really be very much obliged if you would answer my question first. Can you help me to get a sight of any papers relating to the estate of Malachi Withers, not to be found at the Registry of Deeds or the Probate Office,--any of which you may happen to have any private and particular knowledge?""I beg your pardon, Mr. Gridley; but I don't understand why you come to me with such questions. Lawyer Penhallow is the proper person, Ishould think, to go to. He and his partner that was--Mr. Wibird, you know--settled the estate, and he has got the papers, I suppose, if there are any, that ain't to be found in the offices you mention."Mr. Gridley moved his chair a little, so as to bring Miss Badlam's face a little more squarely in view.
"Does Mr. William Murray Bradshaw know anything about any papers, such as I am referring to, that may have been sent to the office?"The lady felt a little moisture stealing through all her pores, and at the same time a certain dryness of the vocal organs, so that her answer came in a slightly altered tone which neither of them could help noticing.
"You had better ask Mr. William Murray Bradshaw yourself about that,"she answered. She felt the hook now, and her spines were rising, partly with apprehension, partly with irritation.
"Has that young gentleman ever delivered into your hands any papers relating to the affairs of the late Malachi Withers, for your safe keeping?""What do you mean by asking me these questions, Mr. Gridley? I don't choose to be catechised about Murray Bradshaw's business. Go to him, if you please, if you want to find out about it.""Excuse my persistence, Miss Badlam, but I must prevail upon you to answer my question. Has Mr. William Murray Bradshaw ever delivered into your hands any papers relating to the affairs of the late Malachi Withers, for your safe keeping?""Do you suppose I am going to answer such questions as you are putting me because you repeat them over, Mr. Gridley? Indeed Icha'n't. Ask him, if you please, whatever you wish to know about his doings."She drew herself up and looked savagely at him. She had talked herself into her courage. There was a color in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eye; she looked dangerous as a cobra.
"Miss Cynthia Badlam," Master Gridley said, very deliberately, "I am afraid we do not entirely understand each other. You must answer my question precisely, categorically, point-blank, and on the instant.
Will you do this at once, or will you compel me to show you the absolute necessity of your doing it, at the expense of pain to both of us? Six words from me will make you answer all my questions.""You can't say six words, nor sixty, Mr. Gridley, that will make me answer one question I do not choose to. I defy you!""I will not say one, Miss Cynthia Badlam. There are some things one does not like to speak in words. But I will show you a scrap of paper, containing just six words and a date; not one word more nor one less. You shall read them. Then I will burn the paper in the flame of your lamp. As soon after that as you feel ready, I will ask the same question again."Master Gridley took out from his pocket-book a scrap of paper, and handed it to Cynthia Badlam. Her hand shook as she received it, for she was frightened as well as enraged, and she saw that Mr. Gridley was in earnest and knew what he was doing.
She read the six words, he looking at her steadily all the time, and watching her as if he had just given her a drop of prussic acid.
No cry. No sound from her lips. She stared as if half stunned for one moment, then turned her head and glared at Mr. Gridley as if she would have murdered him if she dared. In another instant her face whitened, the scrap of paper fluttered to the floor, and she would have followed it but for the support of both Mr. Gridley's arms. He disengaged one of them presently, and felt in his pocket for the sal volatile. It served him excellently well, and stung her back again to her senses very quickly. All her defiant aspect had gone.
"Look!" he said, as he lighted the scrap of paper in the flame."You understand me, and you see that I must be answered the next time I ask my question."She opened her lips as if to speak. It was as when a bell is rung in a vacuum,--no words came from them,--only a faint gasping sound, an effort at speech. She was caught tight in the heart-screw.
"Don't hurry yourself, Miss Cynthia," he said, with a certain relenting tenderness of manner. " Here, take another sniff of the smelling-salts. Be calm, be quiet,--I am well disposed towards you, --I don't like to give you trouble. There, now, I must have the answer to that question; but take your time, take your time.""Give me some water,--some water!" she said, in a strange hoarse whisper. There was a pitcher of water and a tumbler on an old marble sideboard near by. He filled the tumbler, and Cynthia emptied it as if she had just been taken from the rack, and could have swallowed a bucketful.
"What do you want to know?" she asked.