"I would like to comment on one of your statements. You say that your uncle had a right to dispose of his estate as he pleased." "Do you dispute it?" "No; I agree with you. Stephen Ray, was his estate disposed of according to his wishes?" Mr. Ray started, and his face became flushed. "What do you mean?" he asked. "I mean that he bequeathed the estate to his son, and you took possession of it." Bolton spoke slowly, and eyed Stephen Ray keenly. "Are you mad?" gasped Stephen. "How could I do that? His will, devising the estate to me, was duly probated, and I entered upon my inheritance by due process of law." "I know such a will was probated." "Then what have you to say?" demanded Stephen Ray, defiantly. "Do you mean to deny that the will was genuine?" "No." "Because if you do, you can go to the probate office, and submit the will to any judge of my uncle's handwriting." "There will be no occasion. I admit that the will was written by him." "What do you mean, then?" asked Stephen Ray, showing relief. "I mean this--that it was not his _last_ will and testament." "Where is the later one? Produce it if you can," said Stephen Ray, triumphantly. "You say this fearlessly because you found a later will--and destroyed it." "It is a vile slander!" "No; I will swear that such a will was made." "If it was destroyed, he destroyed it himself." "No, he did not. I am willing to swear that when he died that will was in existence." "I don't think your swearing will do much good," sneered Stephen Ray. "Perhaps so; but one thing has not occurred to you." "What is that?" "A duplicate of the last will was placed in my hands. _That will exists to-day!_" Stephen Ray started violently. "I don't believe it," he said. "Seeing is believing." "Then bring it here, and let me see it. However, there is one material circumstance that would make it of no value." "What is it?" "My cousin Dudley is dead, and so is his son Ernest. There would be no one to profit by the production of the alleged will." Bolton was quite taken aback by this statement, as Stephen Ray perceived, and he plumed himself on the success of his falsehood. "When did the boy die?" asked Bolton. "About five years ago." "And where?" "At Savannah," answered Ray, glibly. "What should have taken him down there?" "I am not positive, but I believe after his father's death a Southern gentleman became interested in him and took him to Georgia, where the poor boy died." Bolton looked keenly at the face of his companion, and detected an expression of triumph about the eyes which led him to doubt the truth of his story. But he decided not to intimate his disbelief. "That was sad," he said. "Yes; and as you will see, even had your story about the will been true it would have made no difference in the disposal of the property." "Still the revelation of your complicity in the suppression of the last will would injure your reputation, Mr. Ray."