The cause of death was only too apparent, but the principles of the law are hidebound, and it was necessary that a post-mortem should be made, in order that the coroner's jury should arrive at their verdict. Later Raife, assisted the family solicitor to gather out the contents of the safe and make them into bundles, which they sealed up carefully and counted. "Of course," Kellaway said, "I am not aware of the contents of your lamented father's will, and I frankly confess I was rather disappointed at not being asked to make it." "I think it was made by some solicitors in Edinburgh," was Raife's reply. "Gordon and Gordon, I believe, is the name of the firm. It is deposited at Barclay's Bank in London." "The executors will, no doubt, know. You have wired to them, you say?" Then, after a pause, Kellaway added: "The fact that Sir Henry engaged a strange solicitor to draw up his will would rather lead to the assumption that he had something to hide from me, wouldn't it?" "By jove, yes," was the young man's response. "I had never thought of that! He wished to preserve his secret until his death. I wonder if the will reveals anything?" "Perhaps--who knows?" Raife remained silent. He was still carefully removing the papers from the steel inner drawer of the safe--a drawer which had been overlooked when he had made his investigation. The papers were mostly memoranda regarding financial transactions, sales and purchases of land, and other matters. Among them were a number of old letters, mostly signed by George Mountjoy, who had been member for South Gloucestershire, and his father's particular crony. He had died a year ago, and Sir Henry had keenly felt the loss of his life-long friend. They had been as brothers, and old Mr Mountjoy was frequently a guest at Aldborough for months at a stretch, and treated quite as one of the family. Letter after letter he turned over aimlessly, reading scraps here and there. They were strange letters, which showed a great bond of friendship existing between the two men. In some, Mountjoy asked Sir Henry's advice regarding his most intimate and private affairs, and in others he gave the baronet his aid, and made suggestions regarding his line of action in many matters. One struck him as very strange. Dated from the Hotel Angst, in Bordighera, over three years ago, it contained the following passage: "As you have asked my advice upon the most secret page of our history, my dear Henry, I am most decidedly and emphatically of opinion that it will be best to allow them to remain in entire ignorance. He should, however, be diplomatically warned lest the pitfall you fear be placed in his path--as no doubt it will be sooner or later.