"It isn't much to tell. It's only what I thought. If what the Cantors said and what you all believed yourselves didn't bring you to the will, nothing I could say would help you. It doesn't amount to more than thinking after all." Then Mr Apjohn was again confused and again in doubt. Could it be possible after all that the conduct on the part of the man which had been so prejudicial to him in the eyes of all men had been produced simply by the annoyances to which he had been subjected? It was still possible that the old man had himself destroyed the document which he had been tempted to make, and that they had all of them been most unjust to this poor fellow. He added, however, all the details of this new story to the instructions which were to be given to Mr Balsam, and to which Cousin Henry did attach his signature. Then came some further conversation about Mr Cheekey, which, however, did not take an official form. What questions Mr Cheekey might ask would be between Mr Cheekey and the other attorney, and formed no part of Mr Apjohn's direct business. He had intended to imbue his client with something of the horror with which his clerk had been before him in creating, believing that the cause of truth would be assisted by reducing the man to the lowest condition of mean terror. But this new story somewhat changed his purpose. If the man were innocent,--if there were but some small probability of his innocence,--was it not his duty to defend him as a client from ill-usage on the part of Cheekey? That Cheekey must have his way with him was a matter of course,--that is, if Cousin Henry appeared at all; but a word or two of warning might be of service. "You will be examined on the other side by Mr Cheekey," he said, intending to assume a pleasant voice. At the hearing of the awful name, sweat broke out on Cousin Henry's brow. "You know what his line will be?" "I don't know anything about it." "He will attempt to prove that another will was made." "I do not deny it. Haven't I said that I think another will was made?" "And that you are either aware of its existence--" here Mr Apjohn paused, having resumed that stern tone of his voice which was so disagreeable to Cousin Henry's ears--"or that you have destroyed it." "What right has he got to say that I have destroyed it? I have destroyed nothing." Mr Apjohn marked the words well, and was again all but convinced that his client was not innocent. "He will endeavour to make a jury believe from words coming out of your own mouth, or possibly by your silence, that you have either destroyed the deed,--or have concealed it." Cousin Henry thought a moment whether he had concealed the will or not. No! he had not put it within the book. The man who hides a thing is the man who conceals the thing,--not a man who fails to tell that he has found it. "Or--concealed it," repeated Mr Apjohn with that peculiar voice of his. "I have not concealed it," said the victim.