"Nor I, as yet, quite; I can only form a hypothesis. It seems that the letter was written at Brighton some time on Sunday. Clearly, from the postmark, it was posted at Brighton on Sunday. It ought to have reached me, of course, on Monday, but the presumption is that, owing to some vagary of the Post Office, it went astray, so that it has been more than two days on the road, instead of only a few hours. Under the circumstances that seems rather a curious accident. Here is the letter. I warn you that you will not find it a pleasant one." "Is it absolutely necessary, then, that I should know its contents? My relations with Mr. Patterson were not of a kind to lead me to expect any pleasantness from him, either on paper or off it." "The position is this. It is my duty to place this letter before--someone else, when very serious consequences may ensue; but, by taking a certain course, you may relieve me of the duty." "In that case, let me know what is in the letter." "I had better read it to you, so that you may understand that the language is the writer's, not mine." Mr. Wilkes withdrew a letter from an envelope which he took from his pocket; the envelope he held out to Rodney. "You see? The address is in your uncle's hand; it was post-marked at Brighton on Sunday evening, so there can be no doubt about the date on which it was dispatched." The lawyer proceeded to read the letter out loud, with a dryness which seemed to give it peculiar point. "'DEAR STEPHEN' [my Christian name, I may remind you, is Stephen],--'I want you to draw up a codicil to my will, and to have it ready for my signature to-morrow--Monday afternoon. "'It is to be to the effect that if my daughter marries my nephew, Rodney Elmore, then all that portion of my will which refers to her is to be null and void--she is not to have a penny. All that would have been hers is to be divided equally among the following charities.' [Then follows a list of them; there are eight. Then the letter goes on]: 'I hope that's clear enough. Between ourselves, Master Elmore is an all-round scoundrel; I swear to you that I'm convinced that no rascality would be too steep for him. He is a liar of the very first water, a thief, and a forger; so much I can prove. I would sooner have my girl dead than his wife; the damned young blackguard is after her for all he knows. But I am going to clear him out in charge of a constable when I get back to the office; I doubt if he has got tight enough hold of my girl to induce her to marry a convict--it will be a clear case of penal servitude for him. "'I know you will think I am writing strongly, but that is because I feel strongly. When I tell you the whole story you will admit that I am justified.