“It is marvelous!” exclaimed the latter, at the close, “how nearly my poor sister seems to have recalled every word of it. It was made originally with her sanction and approval, and she has obeyed it as far as was possible, under the circumstances. It will now greatly aid us in carrying into effect the terms of her own.” “The property seems to have been large,” remarked the Judge. “Quite so,” said Norton, “and almost all of it in available shape--stocks, bonds and the like. Very little real estate. My sister had been well provided for, so that she was never cramped, you know, or anything of that sort. Still, the whole thing was a dreadful blow to her.” “I should say it would have been,” remarked the Judge. “But did you never, until now, have any idea in what direction your brother had gone?” “To be sure we did,” replied Norton, “and that was the worst of it. We heard from him, or thought we did, on the Continent, in the Colonies, in India, everywhere. We spent a mint of money in searches. This last hint, you know, came from himself. He thought, perhaps, he might get something out of us.” “And now what shall we do with him?” asked the Judge. “The very thing that puzzles me!” exclaimed Norton. “There’ll be nobody to dispute the will, now it’s found. Indeed there could hardly be any dispute about it. But we don’t want any row made or public notoriety. We’ve suffered enough. All I want of him is to tell us when my nephew died, if he’s dead, or where he is if he’s alive.” “We will easily make him do that,” replied the Judge, “and then he’s done enough in this country to have him put out of the way for years, if we wanted to, but I’ve no malice against him.” “Nor I, indeed,” said Norton. “Even my poor sister forgave him, and she’d suffered more than any one else, unless it may be his own wife, poor thing!” Things looked pretty black for Major Montague, or Major Robert Norton, it must be confessed, for the longer the lawyer talked with his English client the clearer it became that there remained little enough of power, either for good or evil, in the wretched man who had done so much of the latter. There he sat in his cell that day, nevertheless, scheming and calculating and plotting for all the world as if he really had what he called “a hold” upon old Judge Danvers. If he expected to be sent for at once, however, he was very much mistaken. Indeed, just as the Judge was about to start for home that night, a sharp, alert, wiry-looking little gentleman stepped into his office. “Glad to see you, Mr. District Attorney,” said the lawyer. “What can I do for you?” “I see you have put that fellow Montague in quod again. Want him for anything?” “Witness, perhaps, for a few days. Why?” “Oh! that’s all right. I won’t interfere till you’re through with him. Want him myself after that. Been looking for him this long time, only I didn’t know he was the man till to-day.” “Bad case?”