The man himself resembled in looks Fraisier, the rascally lawyer so admirably drawn by Balzac in "Le Cousin Pons." Like Fraisier, Busham was small, sickly-looking and pimpled; his expression was equally as sinister, and his heart as hard--that is if he had a heart, which his clients were inclined to doubt. He scraped and screwed, and swindled, and pinched to collect all the money he could; yet what benefit he thought he would gain from this hoarding it is impossible to say. He never spent it, he lived like a hermit, like a beggar, and gratified his sordid pride with the knowledge that he was becoming a wealthy man. And when he arrived at wealth? What then! Busham never gave this consideration a thought, perhaps because he fancied he would never become as wealthy as he wished to be. Altogether the man was an unwholesome, evil creature, who should, for the good of humanity, have been in gaol. But he was clever enough to keep on the right side of the law he so misinterpreted.
At mid-day Mrs. Moxton and Ellis presented themselves before this engaging being, and looked round the frowsy office with disgust. Another chair had to be brought in from the outer room for the accommodation of the doctor, and when his visitors were seated, Busham welcomed them with a nervous titter, which showed that he was not quite easy in his mind regarding the interview. Indirectly he resented the presence of Ellis.
"Well, Mrs. Moxton," said he in a whistling whisper, his usual voice, "is there a will?"
The widow produced the blue envelope and laid it on the table. "There it is," she said, "it leaves all the property to me."
Busham went green and gasped, "All the property to you!" He snatched up the will and hastily read it over. "I see it does," was his answer; then after a pause he cast an evil look on Mrs. Moxton, and opened a drawer of his desk. Evidently he was about to bring forward his accusation.
"Since you have shown me the will, I have something equally interesting to show you," said he, quietly. "What do you think of this, Mrs. Moxton?" And on the table he laid a bone-handled carving-knife, on the blade of which were dull, dark stains of blood.
The widow turned pale when she saw the knife, and, unable to speak, looked at Ellis. The doctor understood that pleading glance and at once threw himself into the breach. "Where did you get this?" he asked Busham, sharply.