It was nearly nine o’clock when the three gentlemen, having brought their interview to an end, left the office together and separated, to seek their several destinations—Sothoron to his home on Clapham Common, Drummond to his club on Regent Street, and Walling to his friends at Morley’s. Mr. Will found Ran and Judy seated at the front window of their parlor, in which the gas had been turned down low to enable them to see out into the street, for they were gazing down on the panorama of the night scene on Trafalgar Square. “Well!” exclaimed Mr. Will, as he entered the room, flung his hat across the floor and dropped into a large easy-chair near the two young people, “are you ready to set out for Yorkshire and Haymore by the first mail train to-morrow morning?” “What do you mean?” inquired Ran, looking around, rather startled by the abrupt entrance and action of his lawyer, while Judy also wheeled her chair and raised her eyes inquiringly to the first speaker. “Just what I asked. Are you ready to start for Haymore Hall by the first train to-morrow morning?” repeated Mr. Will. “What is the use of your asking that, Walling, when you know there is ever such a law fight to go through first. And even after I have won my suit, as of course I shall win it, there must be writs of ejectment, and the Lord knows what all, before we can get that villain out of my house: for ‘possession is nine points of the law,’ you know, and you may depend he will contest the tenth point to the bitter end,” said Ran. “Not at all!” heartily exclaimed Will Walling; “there will be no fight. The fellow will not fight; he’ll fly. And though ‘possession is nine points of the law,’ he has never had possession. What do you think of that?” “I think your words are more incomprehensible than ever. I do not understand them in the least,” replied Ran. “Nor do I,” added Judy. “Well, then, listen, both of you. I have been three or four or more hours closeted with Sothoron & Drummond.” “Yes.” “And we have been over, together, all the documentary proofs of your identity as Randolph Hay, the only lawful heir of Haymore.” “Well?” “Well, every document connected with the case has your name, that is, Randolph Hay, as the heir and now the owner of Haymore.” “Of course.” “And you, and you only, are Randolph Hay.” “Undoubtedly. But there is another who has taken my name and estates.” “He has taken your name and stolen and squandered a good deal of your money during the last few months; there is no doubt about that. Nor will you ever get a penny of that lost money back; there is no hope of that. These moneys he has obtained by fraud from your bailiff, John Prowt, of Haymore, and from your family solicitors, Sothoron & Drummond, at Lincoln’s Inns Fields. But, my dear sir, for all that, he has never been in possession of your estate.” “Why not, when——” “But he is not Randolph Hay, in whose name all the documents are made out.”