I narrowly observed the witness's face.
"'It looked exactly the same paper to me, sir,' replied John, somewhat vaguely.
"'Did you look at the contents, then ?' "'No, sir; certainly not.' "'Had you done so the day before ?' "'No, sir, only at my master's signature.' "'Then you only thought by the _outside_ look of the paper that it was the same ?' "'It looked the same thing, sir,' persisted John obstinately.
"You see," continued the man in the corner, leaning eagerly forward across the narrow marble table, "the contention of Murray Brooks' adviser was that Mr.Brooks, having made a will and hidden it--for some reason or other under his pillow--that will had fallen, through the means related by John O'Neill, into the hands of Mr.Percival Brooks, who had destroyed it and substituted a forged one in its place, which adjudged the whole of Mr.Brooks' millions to himself.

It was a terrible and very daring accusation directed against a gentleman who, in spite of his many wild oats sowed in early youth, was a prominent and important figure in Irish high life.
"All those present were aghast at what they heard, and the whispered comments I could hear around me showed me that public opinion, at least, did not uphold Mr.Murray Brooks' daring accusation against his brother.
"But John O'Neill had not finished his evidence, and Mr.Walter Hibbert had a bit of sensation still up his sleeve.

He had, namely, produced a paper, the will proved by Mr.Percival Brooks, and had asked John O'Neill if once again he recognized the paper.
"'Certainly, sir,' said John unhesitatingly, 'that is the one the undertaker found under my poor dead master's pillow, and which I took to Mr.Percival's room immediately.' "Then the paper was unfolded and placed before the witness.
"'Now, Mr.O'Neill, will you tell me if that is your signature ?' "John looked at it for a moment; then he said: 'Excuse me, sir,' and produced a pair of spectacles which he carefully adjusted before he again examined the paper.

Then he thoughtfully shook his head.
"'It don't look much like my writing, sir,' he said at last.

'That is to say,' he added, by way of elucidating the matter, 'it does look like my writing, but then I don't think it is.' "There was at that moment a look in Mr.Percival Brooks' face," continued the man in the corner quietly, "which then and there gave me the whole history of that quarrel, that illness of Mr.Brooks, of the will, aye! and of the murder of Patrick Wethered too.
"All I wondered at was how every one of those learned counsel on both sides did not get the clue just the same as I did, but went on arguing, speechifying, cross-examining for nearly a week, until they arrived at the one conclusion which was inevitable from the very first, namely, that the will _was_ a forgery--a gross, clumsy, idiotic forgery, since both John O'Neill and Pat Mooney, the two witnesses, absolutely repudiated the signatures as their own.