‘And what do they charge him with, eh?’ ‘They have not had time to charge him yet; but I thought it better to make you acquainted with the facts, so that----’ Mr. Beattie stopped, for Mr. Corker was not listening to him. With one hand still holding up the tails of his gown, and the other caressing the lower part of his face, Mr. Corker was promenading the room, quite oblivious to all but the workings of his own brain. ‘And the draft’s lost?’ he asked suddenly. ‘It cannot be found,’ said Mr. Beattie gravely. ‘That’s a mistake. It ought to be found,’ said Mr. Corker sharply. ‘I’m afraid it cannot be found,’ replied Mr. Beattie, and the barrister recommenced his promenade without paying any more attention to his visitor. Seeing this, Beattie quietly left the room, and after impressing upon the silent clerk the necessity of despatching his master in a hansom to Bow Street Police Court immediately on receiving a telegram, he took his departure. Next morning Beattie had a note from Alec, posted the night before, telling him of the summons; and in consequence of the managing clerk’s forethought, Alec found his counsel awaiting him when he arrived at Bow Street. The magistrate had not yet taken his seat, and there was time for a short interview. Etiquette did not require that Mr. Corker should appear in an inferior court such as a police court in professional costume; and this was a pity, for if the barrister had seemed but a faded flower in his wig and gown, he looked positively disreputable without them. On his part Mr. Corker regarded Alec with considerable interest, very much as an R.A. might look on a young artist who had shown unusual talent. ‘There’s just one thing I want to say to you, Mr. Corker,’ said Alec hurriedly. ‘I am convinced now that I made a gross blunder in preparing the will. I could not believe it at first; but I see that I must have done so, and I suppose I must suffer for my carelessness. Whether, in reading the will, I read what was really there, or what I thought was there, I don’t know.’