Even the pleasure of depriving Mr. Blount of his small annuity, ridiculous as such a consideration seemed, had its influence. He was keenly incensed with that officious and interested agent. The vicar, in their first conversation, had opened his eyes as to the action of that pretended friend. "Mr. Blount told me, just before he left this," said the good vicar, "that he had been urging and even entreating Sir Harry for a long time to execute a will which he had by him, requiring nothing but his signature, but, as yet, without success, and that he feared he would never do it." Now approached the moment of decision. He had read a trial in the newspapers long before, in which a curious case was proved. A man in the position of a gentleman had gone down to a deserted house that belonged to him, for the express purpose of there destroying a will which would have injuriously affected him. He had made up his mind to destroy it, but he was haunted with the idea that, do it how he might in the village where he lived, one way or other the crime would be discovered. Accordingly he visited, with many precautions, this old house, which was surrounded closely by a thick wood. From one of the chimneys a boy, in search of jackdaws, saw one little puff of smoke escape, and his curiosity being excited, he climbed to the window of the room to which the chimney corresponded, and peeping in, he saw something flaming on the hob, and near it a man, who started, and hurriedly left the room on observing him. Fancying pursuit, the detected man took his departure, without venturing to return to the room. The end of the matter was that his journey to the old house was tracked, and not only did the boy identify him, but the charred pieces of burnt paper found on the hob, having been exposed to chemical action, had revealed the writing, a portion of which contained the signatures of the testator, and the witnesses, and these and other part thus rescued, identified it with the original draft in possession of the dead man's attorney. Thus the crime was proved, and the will set up and supplemented by what, I believe, is termed secondary evidence. Who could be too cautious, then, in such a matter? It seemed as hard to hide away effectually all traces of a will destroyed as the relics of a murder. Again he was tempted to spare the will, and rest content with an annuity and safety. It was but a temptation, however, and a passing one. He unbolted the door softly, and rang the bell. The waiter found him extended on a sofa, apparently deep in his magazine. He ordered tea--nothing else; he was precise in giving his order--he did not want the servant pottering about his room--he had reasons for choosing to be specially quiet. The waiter returned with his tea-tray, and found him buried, as before, in his magazine. "Is everything there?" inquired Richard Marston. "Everything there? Yes, sir, everything." "Well, then, you need not come again till I touch the bell."