“Was there a will?” asked Mrs. Agar, with audible alarm. She had not studied “Every Man his own Lawyer” quite in vain, although most of the legal technicalities had conveyed nothing whatever to her mind. She did not notice that her question regarding Mr. Glynde had never been answered. Mr. Rigg turned upon her beaming. “I have no will,” he answered. “I thought that perhaps you were aware of the existence of one.” Mrs. Agar's face lighted up. “No,” she said, with ill-concealed delight; “I am certain there is no will.” “Indeed! And why, my dear madam?” “Well--oh, well, because Jem was just the sort of person to forget such matters. Besides, when he left England he was under age.” The lawyer was looking at her with his usual sympathetic smile spread over his face like an actor's make-up, but his eyes were very keen and clever. “Of course,” he observed, “he may have made one out there.” “I do not think that it is likely,” replied the lady, whose small thoughts always came into the world in charge of a very obvious father in the shape of a wish. “There are no facilities out there--no lawyers.” “There are quite a number of lawyers in India,” said Mr. Rigg, with sudden gravity. His face was only grave when he wished to fend off laughter. “Well,” persisted Mrs. Agar, “I am _sure_ Jem did not make a will.” Mr. Rigg bowed and resumed his seat. He took up a penholder and smiled, presumably at his own sunny thoughts. Mrs. Agar was one of those fatuous ladies who think themselves capable of tricking a professional man out of his fee. She had a vague notion that if one asks a lawyer a question the price of his answer is at least six shillings and eightpence. Up to this point in the interview she was serenely conscious of having eluded the fee. “I presume,” she remarked carelessly, in pursuance of this economical policy, “that in such a case the property would go unconditionally to the second son.” “There are contingent possibilities,” replied the man of subterfuge blandly. He did not mean anything at all, but shrewdly guessed that Mrs. Agar would not credit him with so simple a design. The lady smiled in a subtly commiserating manner, indicative of the fact that on some family matters the ignorance of all except herself was somewhat pitiful. “Of course,” she said, “as regards the present case, I know perfectly well that both Jem and his father would wish everything to go to Arthur.” She was picking a thread from the corner of her jacket with an air of nonchalance. Mr. Rigg was silent. He had some thirty years before this period given up attaching importance to the wishes of the deceased as interpreted by disinterested survivors. “And _I_ should imagine that the necessary transfers--and--and things would be much better put in hand at once. Delay seems to me quite unnecessary.” She paused for Mr. Rigg's opinion--quite a friendly opinion, of course, without price.