XXX

_Death of the Old Professor, and how Queed finds that his List of
Friends has grown; a Last Will and Testament; Exchange of Letters
among Prominent Attorneys, which unhappily proves futile._

On the merriest, maddest day in March, Henry G. Surface, who had
bitterly complained of earthly justice, slipped away to join the
invisible procession which somewhere winds into the presence of the
Incorruptible Judge. He went with his lips locked. At the last moment
there had been faint signs of recurring consciousness; the doctor had
said that there was one chance in a hundred that the dying man might
have a normal moment at the end. On this chance his son had said to the
nurse, alone with him in the room:--

"Will you kindly leave me with him a moment? If he should be conscious
there is a private question of importance that I must ask him."

She left him. The young man knelt down by the bedside, and put his lips
close to the old man's ear. Vainly he tried to drive his voice into that
stilled consciousness, and drag from his father the secret of the
hiding-place of his loot.

"Father!" he said, over and over. "Father! _Where is the money?_"

There was no doubt that the old man stirred a little. In the dim light
of the room it seemed to his son that his right eye half opened, leaving
the other closed in a ghastly parody of a wink, while the upper lip drew
away from the strong teeth like an evil imitation of the old bland
sneer. But that was all.

So Surface died, and was gathered to his fathers. The embargo of secrecy
was lifted; and the very first step toward righting the ancient wrong
was to let the full facts be known. Henry G. Surface, Jr., took this
step, in person, by at once telephoning all that was salient to the
_Post_. Brower Williams, the _Post's_ city editor, at the other end of
the wire, called the name of his God in holy awe at the dimensions of
the scoop thus dropped down upon him as from heaven; and implored the
Doc, for old time's sake, by all that he held most sacred and most dear,
to say not a word till the evening papers were out, thus insuring the
sensation for the _Post_.

Mr. Williams's professional appraisement of the scoop proved not
extravagant. The _Post's_ five columns next morning threw the city into
something like an uproar. It is doubtful if you would not have to go
back to the '60's to find a newspaper story which eclipsed this one in
effect. For a generation, th