Here St. Peter anticipated her.
“But, Mrs. Crane, your husband couldn’t, and wouldn’t, have kept Tom’s papers. They had to be given over to his executor, who was my daughter’s attorney.”
“Well, I could have kept them, if he couldn’t!”— Mrs. Crane threw up her head as if to show that the worm had turned at last—“kept them until justice was done us, and some recognition had been made of my husband’s part in all that research work. If he had taken the papers to court then, with all the evidence we have, we could easily have got an equity. But Mr. Marsellus is very smooth. He flattered Robert and got everything there was.”
“But he didn’t get anything from your husband. Outland’s papers and apparatus were delivered to his executor, as was inevitable.”
“That was a poor subterfuge,” said Mrs. Crane, with deep meaning. “You know how unworldly Robert is, and as an old friend you might have warned us.”
“Of what, Mrs. Crane?”
“Why, that Marsellus saw there was a fortune in the gas my husband and his pupil had made, and we could have asked for our equity before we gave your son-in-law a free hand with everything.”
St. Peter felt very unhappy. He began walking up and down the little room. > “Heaven knows I’d like to see Crane get something out of it, but how? How? I’ve thought a great deal about this matter, and I’ve blamed Tom for making that kind of will. I don’t think it occurred to the boy that the will would ever be probated. He expected to come back from the