He had, namely, produced a
paper, the will proved by Mr. Percival Brooks, and had asked John
O'Neill if once again he recognized the paper.
"'Certainly, sir,' said John unhesitatingly, 'that is the one the
undertaker found under my poor dead master's pillow, and which I took to
Mr. Percival's room immediately.'
"Then the paper was unfolded and placed before the witness.
"'Now, Mr. O'Neill, will you tell me if that is your signature?'
"John looked at it for a moment; then he said: 'Excuse me, sir,' and
produced a pair of spectacles which he carefully adjusted before he
again examined the paper. Then he thoughtfully shook his head.
"'It don't look much like my writing, sir,' he said at last. 'That is to
say,' he added, by way of elucidating the matter, 'it does look like my
writing, but then I don't think it is.'
"There was at that moment a look in Mr. Percival Brooks' face,"
continued the man in the corner quietly, "which then and there gave me
the whole history of that quarrel, that illness of Mr. Brooks, of the
will, aye! and of the murder of Patrick Wethered too.
"All I wondered at was how every one of those learned counsel on both
sides did not get the clue just the same as I did, but went on arguing,
speechifying, cross-examining for nearly a week, until they arrived at
the one conclusion which was inevitable from the very first, namely,
that the will _was_ a forgery--a gross, clumsy, idiotic forgery, since
both John O'Neill and Pat Mooney, the two witnesses, absolutely
repudiated the signatures as their own.
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