The lawyer was a tall, thin, dried-up man, with a clean-shaven face and two shrewd, twinkling black eyes. He had met Lemby before in connection with the marriage settlements of Claudia, and did not like him. Therefore Sandal received him coldly, and, having seated himself at his desk, waited to hear what he had called about. Lemby, by no means disconcerted by this chilly reception, plunged at once into the matter. And, being nervous, he was the more truculent. "This is a pretty kettle of fish," he said, in his gruff way. "If you are referring to the sad death of Sir Hector Wyke," said Sandal, in his dry, precise style, "it is a very painful matter." "Why didn't you come down to Hedgerton to look into the affair?" asked Lemby. "Don't you know that I wrote to you?" "I received your letter, Mr. Lemby; there was no need for me to go down personally. I sent a representative, who saw Sergeant Purse, and did what was required. My representative was at the inquest, at the burial, and at the police-office in Redleigh, where he learnt that no trace could be found of the assassin. But you, Mr. Lemby," added the lawyer pointedly, "were in the house when my late client was murdered. Have you come to tell me something likely to lead to the detection of the criminal?" "No, sir, I haven't. I am as much in the dark as you are about the matter." "Then I fail to understand why you have come to see me," said Sandal, coldly. "Why?" Lemby grew angry. "I want to know what Sir Hector has done for my daughter." "Nothing." Sandal raised his eyebrows. "Why should he do anything." "My daughter was engaged to marry him, and the marriage settlements were drawn up by you." "But they were not signed by Sir Hector," Sandal reminded him: "nor did the marriage take place. Well?" "Well," echoed the pirate, viciously. "Surely Sir Hector has provided for my daughter in his will." "No, he has not. There is a will dated many years ago, before Sir Hector met your daughter. That will leaves all the property, real and personal, to quite another person." "Who to?" asked Lemby, rather ungrammatically. "To Sir Hector's wife." "What!" Lemby rose with a dazed air, scarcely believing his ears. "To his wife. To Lady Wyke." The lawyer smiled grimly. CHAPTER IX. Having in his adventurous life become accustomed to unexpected surprises, Lemby was rarely startled, and frequently boasted that nothing could astonish him. But on this occasion he was not only astonished but enraged. At the outset he blankly refused to believe the lawyer. "You are talking nonsense," he declared, roughly. "How could Wyke have a wife when he was engaged to be married to my daughter?"