f all, Herapath's murder," said Mr. Halfpenny. "You
think it is a case of murder?"

"I'm sure it's a case of murder--cold, calculated murder," replied Mr.
Tertius, with energy. "Vile murder, Halfpenny."

"And, as far as you know, is there no clue?" asked the old lawyer.
"There's nothing said or suggested in the newspapers. Haven't you any
notion--hasn't Barthorpe any notion?"

Mr. Tertius remained silent for a while. The coupe brougham turned into
Upper Seymour Street.

"I think," he said at last, "yes, I think that when we've made this
call, I shall ask you to accompany me to my friend Cox-Raythwaite's, in
Endsleigh Gardens--you know him, I believe. I've already seen him this
morning and told him--something. When we get there, I'll tell it to you,
and he shall show you--something. After that, we'll hear what your legal
instinct suggests. It is my opinion, Halfpenny--I offer it with all
deference, as a layman--that great, excessive caution is necessary. This
case is extraordinary--very extraordinary. That is--in my opinion."

"It's an extraordinary thing that Jacob Herapath should have made that
will," murmured Mr. Halfpenny reflectively. "Why Barthorpe should be
entirely ignored is--to me--marvellous. And--it may be--significant. You
never heard of any difference, quarrel, anything of that sort, between
him and his uncle?"

"I have not the remotest notion as to what the relations were that
existed between the uncle and the nephew," replied Mr. Tertius. "And
though, as I have said, I knew that the will was in existence, I hadn't
the remotest idea, the faintest notion, of its contents until we took it
out of the sealed envelope an hour or so ago. But----" he paused and
shook his head meaningly.

"Well?" said Mr. Halfpenny.

"I'm very sure, knowing Jacob as I did, that he had a purpose in making
that will," answered Mr. Tertius. "He was not the man to do anything
without good reasons. I think we are here."

The landlady of No. 331 opened its door herself to these two visitors.
Her look of speculative interest on seeing two highly respectable
elderly gentlemen changed to one of inquisitiveness when she heard what
they wanted.

"No, sir," she answered. "Mr. Frank Burchill doesn't live here now. And
it's a queer thing that during the time he did live here and gave me
more trouble than any lodger I ever had, him keeping such strange hours
of a night and early morning, he never had nobody to call on him, as I
reco