"How do you know that?" "By the date on my instructions, which also contained the Italian professor's card." "And I suppose we shall have a very eccentric will, sir." "Yes," said the lawyer quietly, "a very eccentric will." "Come, that's refreshing," said the young man with a fidgetty movement. "Well, you are not very communicative, Mr Girtle. You family solicitors are as close as your deed boxes." "Yes," said the old lawyer, closing his gold snuff-box with a loud snap. "Well, come, it can be no breach of confidence to tell us when the funeral is to be?" The old lawyer took a turn or two up and down the room, snuff-box in hand, the bright metal glistening as he swung his hand to and fro. Then he stopped short, and said slowly: "The successor to Colonel Capel's enormous property will inherit under extremely peculiar conditions, duly set forth in the will it will be my duty to read to you." "After the funeral?" said Gerard Artis. "No, sir; there will be no funeral." "No funeral!" exclaimed Artis and Paul Capel in a breath, and then they rose to their feet, startled more than they would have cared to own, for at that moment a strange wild cry seemed to come from the staircase, followed by a heavy crash. "Good Heavens!" cried the old lawyer, dropping his snuff-box. Katrine D'Enghien alone remained unmoved, with her head turned towards the door. CHAPTER THREE. ONE GUARDIAN OF THE TREASURE. Paul Capel was the first to recover from the surprise, and to hurry from the darkened room, followed by Artis and the late Colonel's solicitor, though it was into no blaze of light, for the staircase was equally gloomy. The source of the strange noise was not far to seek, for, as they reached the landing, they became aware that a fierce struggle was going on in the direction of the room occupied by the late Colonel, and hurrying there, it was to find two men locked together, one of whom was succeeding in holding the other down, and wresting his neck from the sinewy hands which had torn off his white cravat. "Why, Charles! Ramo!" exclaimed Mr Girtle, in the midst of the hoarse, panting sounds uttered by the contending men. "He's mad!" cried the former, in a high-pitched tone, in which a man's rage was mingled with a schoolboy's whimpering fear. "He's mad, sir. He tried to strangle me." "Thief! dog!" panted the old Hindoo, with his dark features convulsed with passion. "Wanted--rob--his master!" The two young men had separated the combatants, who now stood up, the footman, his vest and shirt torn open, and his coat dragged half off-- the old man with one sleeve of his dark silk robe gone, and the back rent to the waist, while there was a fierce, vindictive look in his working features, as he had to be held to keep him from closing with the footman again. "What does this mean, Charles?" cried Mr Girtle, as the butler and the other servants came hurrying up, while the three Italians also stood upon the landing, looking wonderingly on.