Denham, Frank, and Eustace waited anxiously to hear how the old negro would begin. Tamaroo untied the bundle and selected a long, official-looking paper. "The will," he said. "By this, Mr. Frank, you inherit close on a million if you are not hanged!" "Hanged?" uttered all three in sheer astonishment. "Hanged," repeated Tamaroo, "before the age of twenty-five." CHAPTER XX A STRANGE WILL Tamaroo smiled at the amazement expressed on the faces of his audience, although they had every excuse to look astonished. "Do you mean to say that such a condition is in the will?" asked Frank. Tamaroo nodded impressively. "It is set forth here," he said. "This is a copy of the will. The original is in the office of Hiram & Co., lawyers, in San Francisco." "Are those the agents of White & Saon?" asked Eustace. "Yes, sir. I paid the monthly money through them. I was afraid to bring the original will with me, as I thought Captain Berry might kill me to get possession of it. But he has only a copy." "And how did he get the copy?" asked Natty, quickly. "That is part of the story," said the negro, adjusting his spectacles. "It is all written out here. But it will be best for me to tell it in my own way, and then, Mr. Frank, you can read the papers afterwards when you have time." Frank looked grim. "I have plenty of time," he said; "the whole twenty-four hours of the day. But tell the story in your own way." The negro nodded, and seemed pleased that he was allowed to do what he liked. The four men were seated at the end of the room furthest from the window. Outside it was a particularly dark night, and rain was falling. At times the wind shook the house, which was old. The blinds of the big, square window at the end, where Jarman's desk stood, were pulled down, but the curtains had not been drawn. Occasionally a flare of bluish lightning would show against the blinds, and more clearly where they did not quite cover the window. What with the drench of the rain, the howling of the wind, and the rolling of distant thunder, the noise at times drowned the negro's voice. Therefore the three who listened were obliged to bend their heads in order to hear clearly. The lamp was drawn close to Tamaroo's elbow so that he could refer at his ease to the papers. But this he rarely did, as he seemed to know what they contained by heart. He began his narrative by asking questions. "Do you remember your father, Mr. Denham?" he asked. "Oh, I guess I do," replied Natty, nodding. "He didn't die so very long ago. We hung out in Los Angeles, and Berry was an old friend of the governor's." "Quite so," nodded Tamaroo; "and he was the ruin of your father. He induced him to drink more than was good." Natty, who had not quite got over the contempt of the American for the black race, would have replied in rather a fiery manner, but that Tamaroo gave him no time. "Don't be angry, sir," he said. "All that I say is means to an end."