"Then find out."
"I offered Dunwoodie a ponderable amount."
"Well?"
"He refused it."
"Double it, then, triple it."
"Mr. Paliser, I'm sorry, but it won't do."
"Damnation, why not?"
"It is all or nothing with him and maybe nothing in the end. I told him
so. I told him that the courts view with no favour a woman who, having
lived illicitly with a man, claims, on his demise, to be his widow. Such
a claim is but the declaration of a woman entered after the death of her
alleged husband and, as such, is inadmissible under Section 829 of the
Code. I have posted myself very thoroughly in the matter, though I find
it has been held----"
"Damn what has been held. It's all or nothing, is it?"
Jeroloman pulled at his long chin.
All, the wicked old man reflected. All! All would be ten million and ten
million was less than a tenth of his wealth--ten million for which he
had no earthly need, which it would fatigue him to spend, burden him to
hoard, disgrace him to fight for, and which, normally, would go to a
brat whom he had never seen and whom, as next in line, he hated.
Already he had decided. Though, it may be that on planes of which he
knew nothing, long since it had been decided for him.
None the less it hurt. It hurt horribly. From a pocket, he drew a little
bottle.
"Settle it then."
"On what basis?"
"All and be damned to her."
But now the menthe that he had raised to his lips was trickling from the
bottle, staining his tweeds. He hiccoughed, gasped, motioned.
"And good-day to you."
Below, on the malachite bench, a silk hat was waiting. When that hat
again appeared in Dunwoodie's office, the Paliser Case was over. It had
ended before it began.