"Give me the paper. Where is it? I am Lawyer
Watson!"
The gardener laughed--a horrible, croaking laugh that ended with a
gasp of pain.
"_You_ Lawyer Watson?" he cried, a moment later, in taunting tones.
"Why, you old fool, Si Watson's as young as Master Tom--as young as I
am! You--_you_ Lawyer Watson! Ha, ha, ha!"
"Where is the paper?" demanded the lawyer fiercely.
James stared at him an instant, and then suddenly collapsed and fell
back inert upon the bed.
"Have you heard all?" asked John Merrick, laying his hand on the
lawyer's shoulder.
"Yes; I followed you here as soon as I could. Tom Bradley made another
will, as he lay dying. I must have it, Mr. Merrick."
"Then you must find it yourself," said Donald gravely, "for James is
dead."
The doctor, arriving a few minutes later, verified the statement.
It was evident that the old gardener, for years insane, had been so
influenced by Miss Merrick's death that he had wandered into
the stables where he received his death blow. When he regained
consciousness the mania had vanished, and in a shadowy way he could
remember and repeat that last scene of the tragedy that had deprived
him of his reason.
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