Mrs. Pansey was somewhat surprised when the Squire's guest took up his quarters for the night in her house, and wondered what could be the reason. Carrington, afraid of making bad worse, did not give her any, but simply stated that he would eat and sleep there before leaving for London by the eight o'clock train in the morning. He engaged a sitting-room and a bedroom, and enjoyed a very good dinner shortly before Mallien put in an appearance. That gentleman swaggered into the stuffy little room in his usual truculent manner, carelessly dressed in gray flannels, because the evening was hot, and glittering with jewels after his usual fashion. "What the dickens do you mean by writing to me as you have done?" blustered the visitor when the door was closed. "As you have come, I dare say you can guess," retorted Carrington, coolly. He had been bullied by Rupert, who was strong enough to thrash him, but he did not intend to be dominated by Mallien, who was weaker. Also, Hendle being honest and Mallien a rogue, the barrister felt less at a disadvantage. He was certain that his visitor was not one who would hesitate to accept terms, however shady, so long as his purpose was served. "I can't guess," growled Mallien, sitting down aggressively, "and I demand an explanation. What do you want?" "Five thousand pounds," said Carrington, thinking it was useless to beat about the bush with a brother knave. "What for?" "For certain information which will be of service to you." "Oh, if you mean the will, Carrington, I'm not going to pay something for nothing," retorted Mallien, viciously. "I know that sooner or later the will is certain to be found, and when it is, Hendle is not the man to dispute possession of what is rightfully mine." "The will has been found and is in Hendle's possession," said Carrington with a keen look. Mallien stared and changed color. "And he never told me. Here!" He started to his feet. "Let me pass. I'm off to see Rupert, and get the will." "Unfortunately, he won't give it to you." "Won't give it to me?" "No. He intends to take it to London to-morrow and place it in the hands of your family lawyers." "Oh, well"--Mallien sat down again--"that will be all right. Once it is in their hands, they will see that I have my rights. Have you seen the will, may I ask?" "Yes. It leaves the property to Eunice Filbert and her descendants." "Ha!" Mallien expanded his chest, in a gratified manner. "Then I get the property. That's all right. Where was the will found?" "Where you buried it." The man jumped up once more, spluttering and angry. "What the devil do you mean, sir?" "I mean this: that you murdered Leigh and stole the will and buried it under the sundial in the Vicarage garden. That is the information for which I ask five thousand pounds to be paid when you come into your property." Mallien staggered against the wall with outspread hands. "You are mad to accuse me of--of----"