He left his sentence unfinished, with a little airy movement of his hand, which seemed to round it off with a sting. He continued to smile, although Mr Holland regarded him for a moment with eyes which were very far from smiling. The newcomer turned to the solicitor. 'I have your letter.' 'I presume, Mr Guy, that you had my letter nearly three months ago.' 'I had it this morning. I only came back from Africa last night.' 'From Africa? I was not aware you had gone so far.' 'Dear Guy is such a gadabout.' The interpolation came from the young gentleman in the arm-chair. The solicitor went on. 'The only address I had was the one in Craven Street. As my letter did not come back I supposed it had reached you safely; but that, for reasons of your own, you chose to take no notice of it. You know, Mr Guy, that in such matters you are a little erratic.' 'I know. You needn't remind me. So my uncle is dead. Of what did he die?' 'The immediate cause was apoplexy, brought on, it is to be feared, by something which happened on the afternoon of his decease.' The young gentleman in the arm-chair struck in. 'He was thrashed within an inch of his life, and very properly he was served.' 'Thrashed! Where? On a flight of steps?' 'On the steps of the Hôtel des Anglais at Nice.' 'Good God! I thought I knew the place; of course it was the Hôtel des Anglais; it's--it's past believing.' The solicitor misapprehended the cause of Mr Holland's excitement. 'It does seem almost incredible; none the less it is a lamentable fact.' The young gentleman put in his word. 'How incredible? The dear man misbehaved himself with another man's wife, as was his invariable custom when he had a chance. The other man thrashed him for it. What could be more natural? or simpler?' Mr Holland ignored the inquiry. 'What is it, Mr Collyer, which you wish to say to me?' 'It is not so much that I have anything to say to you as that I have a duty to perform. I have to read to you your uncle's will. His instructions were that it was to be read only in the presence of both his nephews, his sole remaining relatives.' 'He has probably left all his money to found a hospital for cats, and wished us both to be present, my dear Guy, so that we might enjoy each other's discomfiture.' Mr Holland said nothing. Mr Collyer was taking some papers out of a metal box which stood against the wall, and on the front of which was painted in white letters the name, 'George Burton.' Reseating himself behind his table he held up a large white linen envelope, such as is used in England for registered letters.