“He engaged no solicitor that I know of,” she replied. “Indeed, I have always thought you had his confidence--more than anyone----” “I had,” said the solicitor. “I may say I had all his affairs in my hands; but latterly I supposed---- There must surely be someone here.” “No one that I know of,” said Katherine. “We can ask Harrison if you like. He knew everything that went on.” Here there uprose the voice of Bob Tredgold, who even at lunch had made use of his opportunities. “I want to have the will read,” he said; “must have the will read. It’s a deal to me is that will. I’m not going to be hung up any more in suspense.” “Catch hold of this bag,” said the solicitor contemptuously, flinging it to him. Mr. Sturgeon had extracted from it the long blue envelope which he had found in Mr. Tredgold’s bureau--the envelope with his own stamp on it. Mr. Turny fixed his eyes upon this at once. Those little round eyes began to glisten, and his round bald head--the excitement of a chance which meant money, something like the thrill of the gambler, though the chance was not his, filled him with animation. Katherine sat blank, looking on at a scene which she did not understand. “Harrison, will you tell this gentleman whether my father”--she made a little pause over the words--“saw any solicitor from Sliplin, or did any business privately?” “Within the last five or six years?” Mr. Sturgeon added. “No solicitor, sir,” the man answered at once, but with a gleam in his eyes which announced more to say. “Go on, you have got something else in your mind. Let us hear what it is, and with no delay.” “Master, sir,” said Harrison thus adjured, “he said to me more than once, ‘I’m a going to send for Sturgeon,’ he says. Beg your pardon, sir, for naming you like that, short.” “Go on--go on.” “And then he never did it, sir,” the man said. “That’s not the question. Had he any interview, to your knowledge, with any solicitor here? Did he see anybody on business? Was there any signing of documents? I suppose you must have known?” “I know everything, sir, as master did. I got him up, sir, and I put him to bed. There was never one in the house as did a thing for him but me. Miss Katherine she can tell as I never neglected him; never was out of the way when he wanted me; had no ’olidays, sir.” Harrison’s voice quivered as he gave this catalogue of his own perfections, as if with pure self-admiration and pity he might have broken down. “It will be remembered in your favour,” said Mr. Sturgeon. “Now tell me precisely what happened.” “Nothing at all happened, sir,” Harrison said. “What, nothing? You can swear to it? In all these five, six years, nobody came from the village, town--whatever you call it--whom he consulted with, who had any documents to be signed, nothing, nobody at all?”