‘Your account of the manner of finding it exactly tallies with what we know of the way in which it was lost. My father, having Mrs Bowden’s newly signed will in his possession, went to his stockbroker’s, where he heard some news about an investment in which he was interested, that affected him greatly. That evening, I received a message stating that he was at the London Hospital, and on going there, found him just recovering consciousness after an apoplectic fit. I was told that he had been brought there by a young man, who had seen him taken ill in the street.—This tends, I think, Mr Bowden, to prove the identity of this document brought by—you have not mentioned your name, sir—Langham, you say—by Mr Langham with the will we are in search of.’ ‘My dear Mr Godding, nobody but yourself ever doubted that,’ cried the impatient Bowden. ‘Pray, make haste and open the will.’ ‘Patience, Mr Bowden. For the sake of expectant legatees, who may have less reason to be satisfied with the provisions of the will than you expect to be, it may be well to set down every proof of its authenticity.—So, Mr Langham, I must ask you a few questions about yourself, in order to satisfy inquirers that the will has been found by a truthful and honest man.’ Thus thwarted, Mr Bowden tried to expedite the settlement of affairs by repeating my answers to Mr Godding’s questions, with critical comments. ‘Richard Langham, age twenty-four, clerk with Messrs Hamley and Green—good firm, Hamley and Green—must get them to raise your salary—took the late Mr Godding to the hospital—very Christian action—brought the packet to the hospital next day; found the patient removed, and could get no definite information about him; was told his name was Collins or Cotton—Cotton very like Godding; kept the packet unopened, that its authenticity might not be questioned if the owner was found—quite right—always best to restrain curiosity—besetting sin of youth; brought the packet here on seeing your advertisement—very sensible and honest. And now, Mr Godding, for any sake, open the will!’ The little man’s voice rose to a scream of entreaty as he uttered the last adjuration; but when the will was opened, there never were three men more surprised at its provisions than were the solicitor, Mr George Bowden, and myself. Mr Godding looked over the will with that professional glance which takes in immediately all that is of moment in a document, avoiding the arabesques of legal phraseology, and then turning to me, asked: ‘What was your father’s name?’ I began to share Mr Bowden’s impatience. It was quite incredible that there was any necessity for stating my long-dead father’s name in order to identify me as the finder of Mrs Bowden’s will. Nevertheless, I hid my irritation, and answered quietly: ‘Richard Langham, like my own.’ ‘And your mother’s maiden name?’ ‘Marion Trench.’ ‘Had your father any near relatives?’ ‘A step-sister, Anne, about ten years older than himself.’