"Ah!"

"I have a copy of the will. Mr. Ripley and I are the only persons in
New York who at present know its contents. You, I am sure, after
hearing it, will not divulge them without the most careful
deliberation."

Mr. Grant drew the document from a pigeon-hole in his desk, adjusted
his glasses and prepared to read. Then, as though struck by a sudden
thought, he laid the paper down and turned once more to Brewster.

"It seems that Sedgwick never married. Your mother was his sister and
his only known relative of close connection. He was a man of most
peculiar temperament, but in full possession of all mental faculties.
You may find this will to be a strange document, but I think Mr. Jones,
the executor, explains any mystery that may be suggested by its terms.
While Sedgwick's whereabouts were unknown to his old friends in New
York, it seems that he was fully posted on all that was going on here.
He knew that you were the only child of your mother and therefore his
only nephew. He sets forth the dates of your mother's marriage, of your
birth, of the death of Robert Brewster and of Mrs. Brewster. He also
was aware of the fact that old Edwin Peter Brewster intended to
bequeath a large fortune to you--and thereby hangs a tale. Sedgwick was
proud. When he lived in New York, he was regarded as the kind of man
who never forgave the person who touched roughly upon his pride. You
know, of course, that your father married Miss Sedgwick in the face of
the most bitter opposition on the part of Edwin Brewster. The latter
refused to recognize her as his daughter, practically disowned his son,
and heaped the harshest kind of calumny upon the Sedgwicks. It was
commonly believed about town that Jim Sedgwick left the country three
or four years after this marriage for the sole reason that he and Edwin
Brewster could not live in the same place. So deep was his hatred of
the old man that he fled to escape killing him. It was known that upon
one occasion he visited the office of his sister's enemy for the
purpose of slaying him, but something prevented. He carried that hatred
to the grave, as you will see."

Montgomery Brewster was trying to gather himself together from within
the fog which made himself and the world unreal.

"I believe I'd like to have you read this extraor--the will, Mr.
Grant," he said, with an effort to hold his nerves in leash.

Mr. Grant cleared his throat and began in his still voice. Once he
looked up to find