The solicitor bows with an expression which indicates that he would prefer to remain unacquainted with the _Age to Come_. “But pardon me,” continues Fanshawe, “is my friend here really so immensely in luck’s way?” “He inherits under the Prince of Viana’s will all properties, both English and Italian,” replies the lawyer, with the cat’s expression more accentuated on his countenance. “And they are very large?” “Very large. My late client was an only son, and though generous, never spendthrift.” Fanshawe touches Bertram’s arm. “Wake up, Wilfrid. Do you hear? Can’t you speak?” Bertram says wearily, “What am I to say? It is an unspeakably awful thing. I really cannot bring myself to believe in it.” “If you will allow me,” says the solicitor, “to make you acquainted with some details of the----” “To what end? Do the items of the contents of the pack interest the pack-horse to whose aching back the burden is offered?” “Again I fail to follow you.” “To follow him, Mr. Folliott,” says Fanshawe, “requires a long course of patient perusal of the _Age to Come_.” “Quite so, quite so,” answers the solicitor, coldly, in a tone which intimates that he will not have that patience. “I have certainly never seen the announcement of an inheritance received in such a manner.” “But why,” says Bertram--“why did this relative, whom I never knew, leave his property to me?” “I cannot tell, sir. It was certainly not by the advice of our firm.” “Are there any conditions attached to this extraordinary bequest?” “None, sir. You can realise at once and invest everything in dynamite and pyretic acid,” replies the solicitor, with a rasping scorn showing through the velvet of his admirable manners. “Oh, my dear sir! Can you fall into the vulgar error of confounding collectivism and altruism with anarchy? They are as far apart as the Poles. One is love; the other hatred.” “I confess, sir, that such love nauseates me. I prefer of the two the hatred. But I am an old-fashioned person, and I know little of literature later than the ’Sixties.” “A most debased period in every form of production.” “It may be so. Macaulay was alive in it and Tennyson. But I did not come here to discuss the characteristics of generations. I came to inform you of an event which I immaturely concluded would appear to you both important and agreeable.” “You did not know me, my dear sir.” “I did not, sir.” With a little cough and a little stately bow the old gentleman prepares to leave, with the cat’s glance at the bull terrier still more hostile and more scared. “You will be so good, sir, as to call on us to-morrow morning, or to send some representative authorised by you. You must be aware that the law requires you either to accept the bequest or decline it.” “I am criminal if I accept: I may be equally criminal if I reject it.”