he discovered that Bertie--that's Lord Southminster--was a
first-class idiot. Marmy never liked Southminster, nor Southminster
Marmy. For after all, with all his faults, Marmy _was_ a gentleman;
while Bertie--well, my dear, we needn't put a name to it. So he altered
his will, as you know, when he saw the sort of man Southminster turned
out, and left practically everything he possessed to Harold.'

'Who are the witnesses to the will?' I asked.

'There's the trouble. Who do you think? Why, Higginson's sister, who was
Marmy's _masseuse_, and a waiter--Franz Markheim--at the hotel at
Florence, who's dead they say--or, at least, not forthcoming.'

'And Higginson's sister forswears her signature,' Harold added gloomily;
'while the experts are, most of them, dead against the genuineness of my
uncle's.'

'That's clever,' I said, leaning back, and taking it in slowly.
'Higginson's sister! How well they've worked it. They couldn't prevent
Mr. Ashurst from making this will, but they managed to supply their own
tainted witnesses! If it had been Higginson himself now, he'd have had
to be cross-examined; and in cross-examination, of course, we could have
shaken his credit, by bringing up the episodes of the Count de
Laroche-sur-Loiret and Dr. Fortescue-Langley. But his sister! What's she
like? Have you anything against her?'

'My dear,' Lady Georgina cried, 'there the rogue has bested us. Isn't it
just like him? What do you suppose he has done? Why, provided himself
with a sister of tried respectability and blameless character.'

'And she denies that it is her handwriting?' I asked.

'Declares on her Bible oath she never signed the document.'

I was fairly puzzled. It was a stupendously clever dodge. Higginson must
have trained up his sister for forty years in the ways of wickedness,
yet held her in reserve for this supreme moment.

'And where is Higginson?' I asked.

Lady Georgina broke into a hysterical laugh. 'Where is he, my dear?
That's the question. With consummate strategy, the wretch has
disappeared into space at the last moment.'

'That's artful again,' I said. 'His presence could only damage their
case. I can see, of course, Lord Southminster has no need of him.'

'Southminster's the wiliest fool that ever lived,' Harold broke out
bitterly. 'Under that mask of imbecility, he's a fox for trickiness.'

I bit my lip. 'Well, if you succeed in evading him,' I said, 'you will
have cleared your character. And if you