"A secret drawer in an old bureau!" murmured Burchill. "How deeply interesting for all of you!--quite dramatic. Yes?" "Which, on being inspected," continued Barthorpe, "proved to be a holograph----" "Pardon," interrupted Burchill, "a holograph? Now, I am very ignorant. What is a holograph?" "A holograph will is a will entirely written in the handwriting of the person who makes it," replied Barthorpe. "I see. So this was written out by Mr. Jacob Herapath, and witnessed by--whom?" asked Burchill. "Tertius as first witness, and you as second," answered Barthorpe. "Now then, I've told you all about it. What are you going to tell me? Come--did you witness this will or not? Good gracious, man!--don't you see what a serious thing it is?" "How can I when I don't know the contents of the will?" asked Burchill. "You haven't told me that--yet." Barthorpe swallowed an exclamation of rage. "Contents!" he exclaimed. "He left everything--everything!--to my cousin! Everything to her." "And nothing to you," said Burchill, accentuating his habitual drawl. "Really, how infernally inconsiderate! Yes--now I see that it is serious. But--only for you." Barthorpe glared angrily at him and began to growl, almost threateningly. And Burchill spoke, soothingly and quietly. "Don't," he said. "It does no good, you know. Serious--yes. Most serious--for you, as I said. But remember--only serious for you if the will is--good. Eh?" Barthorpe jumped to his feet and thrust his hands in his pockets. He began to pace the room. "Hang me if I know what you mean, Burchill!" he said. "Is that your signature on that will or not?" "How can I say until I see it?" asked Burchill, with seeming innocence. "Let's postpone matters until then. By the by, did Mr. Tertius say that it was my signature?" "What do you mean!" exclaimed Barthorpe. "Why, of course, he said that he and you witnessed the will!" "Ah, to be sure, he would say so," assented Burchill. "Of course. Foolish of me to ask. It's quite evident that we must postpone matters until this will is--what do you call it?--presented, propounded--what is it?--for probate. Let's turn to something else. My letter to your uncle, for instance. Of course, as you've got it, you've read it." Barthorpe sat down again and stared. "You're a cool customer, Master Burchill!" he said. "By Jove, you are! You're playing some game. What is it?" Burchill smiled deprecatingly. "What's your own?" he asked. "Or, if that's too pointed a question at present, suppose we go back to--my letter? Want to ask me anything about it?" Barthorpe again drew the letter from the case. He affected to re-read it, while Burchill narrowly watched him. "What," asked Barthorpe at last, "what was it that you wanted my uncle to oblige you with? A loan?" "If it's necessary to call it anything," replied Burchill suavely, "you can call it a--well, say a donation. That sounds better--it's more dignified."