Johnson nodded. “I hate leaving this place,” he said, “but it’s much too expensive. It seems as though I shall never get another job, and I’d better face that fact sensibly. If I live at Balham, I can live comfortably. I’ve very few expensive tastes.” “If you have, you can indulge them,” said Elk. “We found the old man’s will. He has left you everything!” Johnson’s jaw dropped, his eyes opened wide. “Are you joking?” he said. “I was never more serious in my life. The old man has left you every penny he had. Here is a copy of the will: I thought you’d like to see it.” He opened his pocket-case, producing a sheet of foolscap, and Johnson read: “I, Ezra Maitland, of 193, Eldor Road, in the County of Middlesex, declare this to be my last will and testament, and I formally revoke all other wills and codicils to such wills. I bequeath all my property, movable or immovable, all lands, houses, deeds, shares in stock companies whatsoever, and all jewellery, reversions, carriages, motor-cars, and all other possessions absolutely, to Philip Johnson, of 471, Fitzroy Square, in the County of London, clerk. I declare him to be the only honest man I have ever met with in my long and sorrowful life, and I direct him to devote himself with unremitting care to the destruction of that society or organization which is known as the Frogs, and which for four and twenty years has extracted large sums of blackmail from me.” It was signed in a clerkly hand familiar to Johnson, and was witnessed by two men whose names he knew. He sat down and did not attempt to speak for a long time. “I read of the murder in the evening paper,” he said after a while. “In fact, I’ve been up to the house, but the policemen referred me to you, and I knew you were too busy to be bothered. How was he killed?” “Shot,” said Elk. “Have they caught the man?” “We shall have him by the morning,” said Elk with confidence. “Now that we’ve taken Balder, there’ll be nobody to warn the men we want.” “It is very dreadful,” said Johnson after a while. “But this”—he looked at the paper—“this has quite knocked me out. I don’t know what to say. Where was it found?” “In one of his deed boxes.” “I wish he hadn’t,” said Johnson with emphasis. “I mean, left me his money. I hate responsibility. I’m temperamentally unfitted to run a big business . . . I wish he hadn’t!” “How did he take it?” asked Dick when Elk had returned. “He’s absolutely hazed. Poor devil, I felt sorry for him, and I never thought I should feel sorry for any man who came into money. He was just getting ready to move into a cheaper house when I arrived. I suppose he won’t go to the Prince of Caux’s mansion. The change in Johnson’s prospects might make a difference to Ray Bennett: does that strike you, Captain Gordon?” “I thought of that possibility,” said Dick shortly.