‘And now you had better go, as I must go down to the office,’ said Beattie. ‘Well, it’s worth the risk,’ he muttered to himself when he was left alone. ‘A hundred thousand pounds. A very fair sum. Enough to be the foundation of a first-rate fortune,’ And with this pleasant thought in his mind he set out for Theobald’s Road. Mr. Hatchett was before him that morning, and was busy opening letters when he arrived. ‘There’s a note from that Mr. Lindsay whom you saw last night,’ said the solicitor, tossing it across the table. ‘He wants his nephew to draw his will. He can do it, I suppose?’ Beattie stood with the note in his hand without answering. ‘It doesn’t matter how it is done, for of course you will send the draft to counsel.’ ‘There won’t be time for that, I’m afraid,’ said Beattie slowly. ‘Ah! The old man is dying, is he? Then you can look over the draft yourself, you know.’ And Mr. Hatchett began speaking about another matter, to which the managing clerk was forced to give his attention. When the interview was over, Beattie went to his own room, and throwing on the table the letters and papers which he carried, he sat down and leant his head upon his hand. Then he took up a pen and began idly drawing lines from one blot to another on his writing-pad. Did Alec Lindsay know of this whim of his uncle’s? Probably he did. And if he did not, would it be safe to disregard it? These were the questions that were troubling him. He was still sitting in the same attitude when a knock came to the door. He started up, and drew one of the papers towards him, as if he were reading it. ‘Come in!’ he cried, and Alec Lindsay walked into the room. ‘Good morning, Beattie. Have you seen the letters to-day?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Was there one from my uncle?’ ‘Yes; I saw it.’ ‘It’s a great nuisance,’ said Alec, seating himself on a corner of the table. ‘I had very much rather not have anything to do with drawing the will, especially as I believe I am to be one of the legatees.’ ‘It is hardly usual, certainly. But you are rather busy just now, I think. I’ll do the will for you if you like.’ ‘Thank you. But my uncle made me promise that I would see to it myself. I will send the draft to counsel.’ ‘There isn’t time for that,’ said Beattie in a decided tone. ‘Mr. Battiwell would keep the draft for a week--three days at least--and your uncle particularly wished it done at once. If anything should happen in the meantime----’ ‘I see. Well, you will look over the draft after I have done it?’ ‘If you like. But it’s the easiest thing in the world. A child might do it. You have nothing to do but follow the precedent. By the way,’ he added, ‘I suppose your uncle has told you of his intentions?’ ‘He told me he meant to leave the bulk of his property to the Free Church.’ ‘What can have put such an absurd notion into his head?’ ‘Well, I fancy a Dr. Mackenzie, who is staying with him just now, may have had something to do with it.’