‘What became of her?’ ‘I don’t know. About eight years ago, she married, and I have heard nothing of her since.’ ‘You don’t know the name of her husband?’ ‘No.’ ‘Well, it was Henry Leigh Bowden.’ ‘What!’ The exclamation came not from me, but from Mr Bowden, who began to suspect something sinister to his interests in the catechism I was undergoing. ‘Yes, Henry Leigh Bowden,’ repeated the lawyer. ‘The deceased Mrs Bowden, whose will you have been the means of restoring, was your aunt; and it is to you that she has left the bulk of her property.’ It was the howl of a wild beast, rather than any human cry, that came from George Bowden’s lips as he heard these words. ‘It’s a lie!’ he cried, rushing forward, and snatching the will from Mr Godding’s hands—‘a lie, a cheat, a plot, a swindle! The two of you are in league to keep me out of my rights. The will is in my favour; it must be.’ But he was wrong. There, in as plain English as the law can use, was the bequest by Mrs Bowden of all she might die possessed of to ‘her nephew, Richard Langham, son of her brother Richard Langham, who in the year 1850 married Marion Trench, and died at Lowborough in the year 1855.’ Mrs Bowden had made sure of the important dates in my father’s history, that there might be no difficulty in identifying her legatee. Once assured that his eyes were not playing him false, Mr Bowden began to swear that the will was a forgery, of which I had been guilty in order to secure Mrs Bowden’s money for myself. In vain I protested my entire ignorance of the relationship between the dead lady and myself. ‘I don’t believe you are related; it’s all a fabrication. If you put these names in the will, of course you knew what to reply to Mr Godding’s questions.’ ‘But,’ I exclaimed, ‘I couldn’t forge the impression of a seal which you had in your possession all the time.’ ‘Hang the seal!’ cried the little man. ‘What’s a seal? A seal isn’t evidence. I swear that the thing’s a forgery, and I’ll contest it in every court in the kingdom.’ ‘But if you do,’ interposed Mr Godding, ‘and though you should prove your case, you would not profit in the least. If this will is a forgery, we must assume that Mrs Bowden died intestate, for any disposition of her property she may have had drawn up would now, in all probability, be destroyed. In that case, all she possessed will descend to Mr Langham, as her next of kin.’ Mr Bowden glared from one to the other of us with the fiendish impotence of a caged hyena. ‘You’re both in the plot,’ he snarled; ‘but I’ll fight it out. I’ll have justice, though it should cost me my last penny; and I won’t grudge it, if only I see you both doing penal servitude before I die. I hope I shall!’ With this benevolent aspiration on his lips, Mr Bowden departed, leaving me alone with the lawyer, and too bewildered by the occurrences of the last half-hour to be elated by my sudden good fortune. ‘Do you think he will carry out his threat?’ I asked.