Just think of the whole thing. There was the old man with all his
wealth, and two sons, one to whom he is devoted, and the other with whom
he does nothing but quarrel. One day there is another of these quarrels,
but more violent, more terrible than any that have previously occurred,
with the result that the father, heartbroken by it all, has an attack of
apoplexy and practically dies of a broken heart. After that he alters
his will, and subsequently a will is proved which turns out to be a
forgery.
"Now everybody--police, press, and public alike--at once jump to the
conclusion that, as Percival Brooks benefits by that forged will,
Percival Brooks must be the forger."
"Seek for him whom the crime benefits, is your own axiom," argued the
girl.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Percival Brooks benefited to the tune of L2,000,000."
"I beg your pardon. He did nothing of the sort. He was left with less
than half the share that his younger brother inherited."
"Now, yes; but that was a former will and--"
"And that forged will was so clumsily executed, the signature so
carelessly imitated, that the forgery was bound to come to light. Did
_that_ never strike you?"
"Yes, but--"
"There is no but," he interrupted. "It was all as clear as daylight to
me from the very first.
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