Amongst the elders of the court there was some little talk
about the dead man, and the probable disposal of his property, with a
good deal of argument and laying down of the law on the part of the
graver and wiser members of that community; some people affecting to know
to a sixpence the amount of Jacob Nowell's savings, others accrediting
him with the possession of fabulous riches, and all being unanimous in
the idea that the old man's heir or heirs, as the case might be, would
speedily scatter his long-hoarded treasures. Many of these people could
remember the silversmith's prodigal son; but none among them were aware
of that gentleman's return. They wondered a good deal as to whether he
was still living, and whether the money had been left to him or to that
pretty young woman who had appeared in the last days of the old man's
life, no one knowing whence she had come. There was nothing to be gained
from questioning Luke Tulliver, the court knew of old experience. The
most mysterious dungeons of the Spanish Inquisition, the secret chambers
under the leads in Venice, were not closer or deeper than the mind of
that young man. The court had been inclined to think that Luke Tulliver
would come into all his master's money; and opinion inclined that way
even yet, seeing that Mr. Tulliver still held his ground in the shop, and
that no strangers had been seen to enter the place since the funeral.
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