NOT ACCORDING TO LAW
Nan was reading the newspaper report of Eaton’s speech over her coffee
when at nine o’clock he called her on the telephone.
“Your speech sounds fine, though I don’t understand all the jokes,” she
said. “But I’m sure you made a hit.”
“Not so sure of it myself, Nan. But please listen to me carefully. Our
friend from the southern part of the State is here. I have him marked
at his hotel. He has probably come to see you. Let him say all he has
on his mind, then report to me. You will probably hear from Thurston,
too, during the day. He’s trying a case this morning. But our brother
from the South comes first. Don’t let him frighten you; just listen and
encourage him if necessary to show what he’s up to this time.”
“Very well,” she replied, though the thought of facing Harlowe alone
filled her with misgivings.
Mrs. Copeland was on the wire immediately afterward, to ask if she
could be of any service. Then Thurston’s clerk called her to make an
appointment for three o’clock.
The night’s vigil had left its marks upon her. She was nervously alert
for the day’s developments, but nothing could be worse than the long
struggle against temptation. She had, she fancied, considered every
possibility as to the future and she was prepared for anything that
might befall her. She was happy in the thought that she faced the world
with a clean conscience; never in her life had she been on so good
terms with herself.
She was standing at the parlor window when at eleven a familiar figure
entered the gate. Harlowe, tall, slightly stooped, advanced to the
door. She called to the maid not to trouble to answer the ring and let
the man in herself.
He began with formal condolences on what he called “her irreparable
loss.”
“Much as we may be prepared for the death of a loved one, it always
comes with a shock. I sympathize with you very deeply, Miss Farley.”
She murmured her thanks and bade him be seated. She wished she had
asked Eaton to be present at the interview, which he had forecast with
a prescience that justified all her faith in his unusual powers.
“I came as quickly as possible after hearing of Mr. Farley’s death, in
the hope of being of some service to you--of avoiding any difficulties
that might possibly arise with reference to the settlement of Mr.
Farley’s affairs.”
She nodded, and remembering Eaton’s injunction, gave him strict
attention.
“I hope,” he went on, “that my handling of the very distressing and
delicate matter that brought me here last June won your confidence to
such an extent--”
He paused, watching her narrowly for any sign of dissent.
“I appreciated that, Mr. Harlowe; it was very considerate of you to
come to me as you did.”
“I didn’t report on that case further, feeling that it might embarrass
you, assuming that the whole matter was strictly between ourselves.”
“Quite so,” she agreed.
“I was distressed that after all our interest, and your own generosity,
we could not save your unfortunate brother. Still, it’s something that
we were able to secure what was a light sentence--taking everything
into consideration. Only circumstantial evidence, to be sure, but it
pointed very strongly to his guilt. You doubtless read the result in
the papers?”
“Yes, I followed the case,” she answered. “And I’m sure you did the
best you could.”
His solemnity would have been amusing at any other time. He clearly had
no idea that she had learned of his duplicity in taking money from her
for the defense of a Corrigan who was in no manner related to her.
“I assume,” he said, “that no steps have yet been taken to offer for
probate any will Mr. Farley may have left. I had hoped to see you
first; this accounts for my visit to-day. I thought it best to see you
before going to Mr. Thurston. Mr. Joseph C. Thurston was, I believe,
Mr. Farley’s attorney?”
“Yes. He was one of papa’s best friends and he had charge of his
affairs as far back as I can remember.”
“An excellent man. There’s no better lawyer in the State,” Harlowe
responded heartily. “But I occasionally find it best to deal directly
with a client. We lawyers, you know, are sometimes unwisely obstinate,
and lead our clients into unnecessary trouble. As you are the person
chiefly concerned in this matter, I came directly to you. I did this
because in that former matter you were so quick to see the justice of
my--er--request.”
Her amazement at his effrontery almost equalled her curiosity as to
what lay behind his deliberate approaches.
“It is generally known that Mr. Farley was a man of violent temper,”
he went on. “Some of his old friends on the river remember him well,
and you may never have known--and I am sorry to be obliged to mention
so unpleasant a fact--that his mother died insane. That is a matter of
record, of course. The malady from which Mr. Farley suffered for many
years is one that frequently affects the mind. No doubt living with him
here, as you did, you noticed at times that he behaved oddly--didn’t
conduct himself quite normally?”
Remembering Eaton’s instructions she acquiesced without offering any
comment. His designs, she now assumed, were not personal to herself,
but directed against Farley’s estate.
“I represent two cousins of Mr. Farley’s who live in my county. Very
worthy men they are; you may have heard Mr. Farley speak of them.”
“Yes; I knew about them. I sent them telegrams advising them of his
death.”
“That was very thoughtful on your part, Miss Farley, and they
appreciate it. But by reason of their poverty they were unable to
attend the funeral. They asked me to thank you for thinking of them.
Several times during the past twenty years Mr. Farley had advanced them
small sums of money--an indication of his kindly feeling toward them.”
“I didn’t know of that; but it was like papa.”
“In case Mr. Farley left a will, it is my duty to inform you, that
you may have time for reflection before taking up the matter with
Mr. Thurston, that we are prepared to attack it on the ground of Mr.
Farley’s mental unsoundness. I assume, of course, that Mr. Farley made
a handsome provision for you, but quite possibly he overlooked the
natural expectations of his own kinsfolk.”
She merely nodded, thinking it unnecessary to impart information while
he continued to show his hand so openly.
“You have probably understood, Miss Farley, that in case your
foster-father died intestate, that is to say, without leaving a will in
proper form, you would, as his heir, be entitled to the whole of his
property.”
“Yes; I think I have heard that,” she answered uneasily.
The cold-blooded fashion in which he had stated his purpose to contest
the will on the ground of Farley’s insanity had shocked her. Copeland
had suggested the same thing, but it was a preposterous pretension
that Timothy Farley’s mind had been affected by his long illness. Even
the assertion that his mother had been a victim of mental disorder,
plausibly as he had stated it, would hardly stand against the fact that
Farley’s faculties to the very end had been unusually clear and alert.
“In case there should be no will,” Harlowe continued, “your rights
would rest, of course, upon your adoption. It would have to be proved
that it was done in accordance with law. The statutes are specific as
to the requirements. I’m sorry, very sorry indeed, my dear Miss Farley,
that in your case the law was not strictly complied with.”
“I don’t know what you mean; I don’t understand you!” she faltered.
“Please don’t be alarmed,” he went on, with a reassuring smile. “I’m
sure that everything can be arranged satisfactorily; I am not here to
threaten you--please remember that; I merely want you to understand my
case.”
“But my father never dreamed of anything of that kind,” she gasped;
“it’s impossible--why, he would never have made a mistake in so
serious a matter.”
“Unfortunately, we are all liable to err, Miss Farley,” he answered,
with a grotesque affectation of benevolence. “And I regret to say that
in this case the error is undeniable. What Mr. Farley’s intentions
were is one thing; what was actually done to make you his child in law
is another. We need not go into that. It is a legal question that Mr.
Thurston will understand readily; the more so, perhaps,” he added with
faint irony, “because he was not himself guilty of the error, not being
Mr. Farley’s attorney at the time the adoption was attempted.”
The room swayed and she grasped the arms of her chair to steady
herself. The man’s story was plausible, and he spoke with an easy
confidence. All Farley’s deliberation about the disposal of his
property would go for naught; her victory over the temptation to
destroy his wills had been futile!
“Please don’t misunderstand me, Miss Farley,” the man was saying.
“My clients have no wish to deprive you wholly of participation in
the estate. And we should deplore litigation. In coming to you now,
I merely wish to prepare you, so that you may consider the case in
all its aspects before taking it up with your lawyer. No doubt a
satisfactory settlement can be arranged, without going into court. I
believe that is all. Henceforth I can’t with propriety deal directly
with you, but must meet your counsel. I assume, however, that he
will not wholly ignore your natural wish to--er--arrange a settlement
satisfactory to all parties.”...
The door had hardly closed upon him before she was at the telephone
calling Eaton, and in half an hour he was at the house. Harlowe’s words
had so bitten into her memory that she was able to repeat them almost
_verbatim_. Eaton listened with his usual composure. It might have
seemed from his manner that he was more interested in Nan herself than
in her recital. She betrayed no excitement, but described the interview
colorlessly as though speaking of matters that did not wholly concern
her. When she concluded Eaton chuckled softly.
“You’re taking it nobly,” were his first words; “I’m proud of you! You
see, I had expected something of the sort--prepared for it, in fact,
right after this fellow got that thousand dollars out of you. He’s
crafty, shrewd, unscrupulous. But you have nothing to worry over. He
came to you first and at the earliest possible moment in the hope of
frightening you as he did before, hoping that you’d persuade Thurston
to settle with him. As for Farley’s incompetence to make a will, that’s
all rubbish! His mother suffered from senile dementia--no symptoms
until she was nearly ninety. Every business man in town would laugh at
the idea that Tim Farley wasn’t sane. He was just a little bit saner
than most men. His occasional fits of anger were only the expression of
his vigorous personality; wholly characteristic; nothing in that for
Harlowe to hang a case on.
“But this point about the adoption is more serious. When I was down
there watching Harlowe defend the man he pretended to you--but to
nobody else--was your brother, I looked up those adoption proceedings,
out of sheer vulgar curiosity. The law provides that adoption
proceedings shall be brought in the county where the child resides, and
that the parents appear in court and consent. Your parents were dead,
and Mr. Farley’s petition was filed in this county after you had been a
member of his household for fully two years.
“I seriously debated mentioning these points to Thurston, after my
visit down there, but on reflection decided against it. Contrary to
the common assumption the law is not an ass--not altogether! I can’t
imagine the courts countenancing an effort to set aside this adoption
on so flimsy a pretext. Mr. Farley not only complied with the law to
the best of his belief, but let the world in general understand that he
looked on you as his child and heir.”
“That’s what every one believed, of course,” Nan murmured.
“I dare say there’s a will,” Eaton continued. “Thurston may have
to defend that--but you may rely on him. I have already made an
appointment to meet him at luncheon to turn over to him all my data.
I’ll say to you in all sincerity that I don’t see the slightest cause
for uneasiness. If there’s a valid will, that settles the adoption line
of attack, though this man may go the length of trying to annul it on
the insanity plea, merely to tie up the estate until you pay something
to these cousins to get rid of him.”
“There is a will; there are a number of them, I think,” said Nan
soberly.
“Mr. Farley told you about them--let you know what he was doing?”
“No; he never spoke of them, except in general terms. I used to see him
hiding them; once one dropped out of his dressing-gown.” She hesitated;
then added quickly: “I read that one before putting it back. I know
I shouldn’t have done it, but I did--as I’ve done a good many things
these last two years I shouldn’t!”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself! It was quite natural for you to look at
it.”
“The night he died,” she went on breathlessly, “he had been looking at
a number of wills he kept hidden in mamma’s old sewing-table. I put
them back in the drawer. I suppose Mr. Thurston will ask for them when
he comes.”
“Yes; he should see all such papers. You must tell him everything you
know that relates to them.”
“I almost burnt them all up last night,” she exclaimed in a strange,
hard tone. “That one I read made me angry. I thought it niggardly
and unjust. And--some one told me”--in her eagerness to make her
confession complete she nearly blurted out Copeland’s name--“that if
there should be no will I’d inherit everything. And last night I fought
that out. And it was a hard fight; it was horrible! But for once in
my life I got a grip on myself. You may remember saying to me, ‘Don’t
wobble.’ Well, I wobbled till I was dizzy--but I wobbled right! And now
that that’s over, I believe--though I’m afraid to say it aloud--that
I’m a different sort of a girl some way. I hope so; I mean to be very,
very different.”
“You poor, dear, little Nan,” he said softly. “I’m proud of you--but
not very much surprised!”
“But you see it doesn’t count, anyhow,” she said, smiling, pleased and
touched by his praise. “If there’s a will, it’s bad; if there isn’t,
I’m not to be considered!”
“Don’t belittle your victory by measuring it against mere money. As for
those purely business matters, they’ll be attended to. You’re not going
to be thrown out on the world just yet.”
“I shouldn’t cry--not now--if it came to that! Now that I know what
they mean, I think I rather like these little wars that go on inside
of us. But I tell you it was good to see the daylight this morning and
know I could pass a mirror and not be afraid of my own face!”
“It is rather nicer that way; much nicer,” he said, with his rare
smile. “I’m glad you told me this. I see that I don’t need to worry
about you any more.”
“You haven’t really been doing that?”
“At times, at times, my dear Nan,” he said, looking at her quizzically,
“you’ve brought me to the verge of insomnia!”