If Carrington had spoken his mind, he would have answered that he took the young man for a superfine fool. To throw away a fine position, a fine house, and a fine income out of sheer honesty, was not Carrington's notion of common sense. But then the barrister's notions of right and wrong had become somewhat warped by a struggling life. A penniless man is always more unscrupulous in dealing with money matters than one who has never been poor, and it seemed to Carrington that his friend's self-sacrificing honor was the result of ignorance. Had Hendle lived from hand to mouth, he would not be so ready to surrender his possessions. Moreover Carrington wanted to pick Rupert's pockets, as Mallien surmised he would. This was the real reason why he urged Hendle not to strip himself of his wealth. But such urging had to be done delicately, for the Squire was by no means a man to be handled easily. With this in his mind the barrister replied carefully, and did not translate his real thoughts into words. "I take you for one of the best fellows in the world," he said warmly; "but there is such a thing as overdoing honesty, you know." "I don't know," retorted the other positively. "One must be one thing or the other. There can be no tampering with honor." "Of course not. I should never suggest such a thing. However, I do suggest that you should wait for a day or so before seeing your lawyer." "Why?" "You forget that the will is mixed up with a crime. If your lawyers decide that Mallien must have the money, the matter is bound to be made public. In that case it will become known to Lawson that Leigh possessed the will. I leave you to guess what complications will ensue." Hendle tugged at his brown moustache moodily. "It's an infernally difficult business," he said after a pause. "What do you suggest?" Carrington, rejoicing that he had succeeded thus far, had his answer ready. "I suggest that you wait for a few days, and meanwhile come with me to the vicarage." "What for?" "To look at the sundial, and see where the will was buried." "What good will that do?" "One never knows," said Carrington sententiously. "Who do you think buried the will?" "The man who murdered Leigh to get it." "And his name?" "Pouf! Ask me another. How do I know?" "Mrs. Beatson?" "Well, why not she as well as another? She had much to gain by possessing the will, and the will was in her possession last night. But for the chance of our stumbling across her when she went to unearth it, we would never have known that." "I can't think that Mrs. Beatson, bad as she is, would commit a murder," mused the Squire reflectively. "After all, if she had the will on the night Leigh was got rid of, and committed the crime, why should she bury it?"