On the table, just as both he and the servant had seen them the night before, were the neatly-stacked law papers. Also a folded legal document that had been brought from town by himself, Bede Greatorex. There were also pens, ink, and a sheet of note-paper, on which some lines were written. They were as follows:-- "My Dear Friend,--It is of no use. Nothing more can be done. Should I never see you again, I beg you once for all to believe me when I say that I _have_ made efforts, though they have been ineffectual. And when "The pistol is ready to my hand. Goodbye." The first portion of this letter, up to the point of the abrupt breaking off, was written in Mr. Ollivera's usual steady hand. The latter portion was scrawling, trembling, and blotted; the writing bearing but a faint resemblance to the rest. Acute Mr. Butterby remarked that it was just the kind of writing an agitated man might pen, who was about to commit an evil deed. There was no clue as to whom the note had been intended for, but it appeared to point too evidently to the intention of self-destruction. Nevertheless, there was one at least who doubted. "Is it so, think you?" asked Mr. Kene, in a low tone, as he stood by the side of Bede Greatorex, who was mechanically turning over the papers on the table one by one. "Is it what?" asked Bede, looking up, his tone sharp with pain. "Self-destruction. There never lived a man less likely to commit it than your cousin, John Ollivera." "As I should have thought," returned Mr. Greatorex. "But if it is not that, what else can it be?" "There is one other possible solution, at least: putting any idea of accident aside." The supposition of accident had not occurred to Bede Greatorex. A gleam of surprised cheerfulness crossed his face. "Do you indeed think it could have been an accident, Kene? Then----" "No; I think it could not have been," interrupted the barrister. "I said, putting the idea of that aside: it is the most improbable of any. I alluded to the other alternative." Mr. Greatorex understood his meaning, and shrunk from its unpleasantness. "Who would harm Ollivera, Kene? He had not an enemy in the world." "So far as we know. But I declare to you, Greatorex, I think it the more likely thing of the two." Bede Greatorex shook his head. The facts, so far as they were yet disclosed, seemed decisive and unmistakable. They passed into the bedroom. It was all just as the servant had left it the past evening, ready for the occupation of Mr. Ollivera. On a small table lay his Prayer-book, and the pocket Bible he was wont to carry with him in travelling. Bede Greatorex felt a sudden faintness steal over him as he looked, and leaned for a few moments against the wall.