"If he comes to me I shall hand him over to the police," said Rupert vigorously. "And Mallien, in spite of his misanthropic ways, would do the same. I don't see, however, how anyone can have killed Leigh for the sake of that will, as no one but you and I knew about it." "True enough. Did you tell Miss Mallien about it?" "No, I told no one. And if I had told Dorinda----" "She might have told her father, to whom the will was of importance, seeing that it might possibly place him in possession of four thousand a year." "Good Lord, Carrington, you don't infer that Mallien murdered the vicar?" "No, I don't, because I have no grounds to go upon. But if you told Miss----" "Confound it, man, I didn't. Haven't I been saying for the last half hour that I told no one but you. Even if I had told Dorinda she would never have spoken to her father without my permission. And even if she had done so, her father would never have murdered Leigh to get the will, as he would know very well that I am not the sort of man to conceal such a document." "H'm! I'm not so sure of that," said Carrington doubtfully. "Mallien is not a particularly scrupulous man, from what I have seen of him. He may judge you by himself." "I don't care if he did judge me to be a scoundrel," retorted Rupert, "that would not make me one. But aren't we twisting ropes of sand, Carrington? I tell you solemnly that I told no one about John Hendle's will, save you." "Oh, I'm only suggesting what people might say about you and Mallien, did the existence of the will become known. After all," added Carrington cheerfully, "there may not be any will at all. You have never seen it, and have only the word of a dead man to go upon. It may not exist." Rupert shook his head seriously. "I think it does exist, and that I shall probably find it among Leigh's papers." "And if you do?" "I shall take it to our family lawyers and call in Mallien to talk the matter over." "It's a risk, considering that Leigh has been murdered." "I don't see it. Even if anyone was crazy enough to suggest that I killed the poor old man, the mere fact of my producing the will would show that I had no reason to murder him. Pouf!" ended Rupert contemptuously, "it is all froth and foam. Don't talk rubbish and make mountains out of molehills."