Cheese contrived
to get his eyes open to look.

"It is the lost codicil," replied Jan. "It must have been in that
bureau. How did it get there?"

How indeed? There ensued a pause.

"It must have been placed there"--Jan was beginning, and then he stopped
himself. He would not, before those ladies, say--"by Dr. West."

But to Jan it was now perfectly clear. That old hunting for the
"prescription," which had puzzled him at the time, was explained now.
_There_ was the "prescription"--the codicil! Dr. West had had it in his
hand when disturbed in that room by a stranger: he had flung it back in
the bureau in his hurry; pushed it back: and by some unexplainable
means, he must have pushed it too far out of sight. And there it had
lain until now, intact and undiscovered.

The hearts of the Misses West were turning to sickness, their
countenances to pallor. That it could be no other than their father who
had stolen the codicil from Stephen Verner's dying chamber, was present
to their conviction. His motive could only have been to prevent Verner's
Pride passing to Lionel, over his daughter and her husband. What did he
think of his work when the news came of Frederick's death? What did he
think of it when John Massingbird returned in person? What did he think
of it when he read Sibylla's dying message, written to him by
Amilly--"Tell papa it is the leaving Verner's Pride that has killed me?"

"I shall take possession of this," said Jan Verner. Master Cheese was
conveyed to the house and consigned to bed, where his burnings were
dressed by Jan, and restoratives administered to him, including the
glass of wine.

The first thing on the following morning the codicil was handed over to
Mr. Matiss. He immediately recognised it by its appearance. But it would
be opened officially later, in the presence of John Massingbird. Jan
betook himself to Verner's Pride to carry the news, and found Mr.
Massingbird astride on a pillar of the terrace steps, smoking away with
gusto. The day was warm and sunshiny as the previous one had been.

"What, is it you?" cried he, when Jan came in sight. "You are up here
betimes. Anybody dying, this way?"

"Not this morning," replied Jan. "I say, Massingbird, there's ill news
in the wind for you."

"What's that?" composedly asked John, tilting some ashes out of his
pipe.

"That codicil has come to light."

John puffed on vigorously, staring at Jan, but never speaking.

"The thief must have been