"The beast who murdered Leigh could not have been looking for that will." It was Hendle who spoke, as he walked back to The Big House with Carrington. The barrister shrugged his shoulders and replied, "I had the same idea when that policeman made his statement, and I saw you look at me. I agree with you, although it is strange that the books and papers should have been turned upside down. But only you and I know of----" "Of course, of course," broke in the Squire quickly, "and, as I was in bed, and you in London, of course we had nothing to do with the matter." "Did you tell anyone else about the will?" "No. I never mentioned it to a soul." "Good. I shouldn't if I were you." Carrington's tone was so significant that the Squire turned on him in a sharp, inquiring way. "What do you mean?" "I mean that if anyone knew about the existence of John Hendle's will, and what it meant to you, it is possible that on you suspicion might rest." "What rubbish!" said Rupert uncomfortably. "I was in bed and asleep at the time the crime was committed." "How can you prove that?" Rupert looked surprised. "Why, I saw that the butler locked up as usual, and he knew that I went to bed earlier than usual." "Quite so. But when all the house was asleep, you might have risen from your bed and have gone through the sleeping village to see Leigh." "Why should I do that?" "I don't say you did," persisted Carrington. "I am only suggesting what people would say if the existence of the will were known." "Hang it, Carrington," fumed the big man, "you don't mean to insinuate that I had anything to do with so cowardly a crime." "No! No! No! I don't insinuate anything of the sort, as I know that you are incapable of such a thing. But other people have nasty, suspicious minds." Hendle looked more uncomfortable than ever. "I understand," he murmured, after a pause; "it is just as well to say nothing about the will. I dare say I shall find it among Leigh's papers when his lawyer writes to me about my being the executor." "And if you do not?" Rupert shrugged his big shoulders. "Then there's nothing more to be said or done," he remarked with resignation. "There is this to be said," observed Carrington, thoughtfully, "that if the assassin really was looking for the will, and turned over the books and papers to obtain the reward of his crime, the will is sure to turn up sooner or later." "I don't follow you," said Hendle, both perturbed and puzzled. "Think for a moment. That will is of the greatest value to you, and the man who murdered Leigh must have stolen it to--shall we say--blackmail you. When everything has blown over, he will certainly make some attempt to gain the reward he risked his neck for, by taking the will to you or to Mallien."