"I think," said Mr. Jarlcot, "it will be desirable that I should take a note of any information which Mr. Marston and the vicar may be so good as to supply with respect to the former search in the same place. I think, sir," he continued, addressing the vicar, "you mentioned that the deceased, Sir Harry Rokestone, placed that key in your charge on the evening of his departure from this house for London?" "So it was, sir," said the vicar. "Was it out of your possession for any time?" "For about three quarters of an hour. I handed it to Mr. Marston on his way to this house; but as I was making a sick-call near this, I started not many minutes after he left me, and on the way it struck me that I might as well have back the key. I arrived here, I believe, almost as soon as he, and he quite agreed with me that I had better get the key again into----" "Into your own custody," interposed Marston. "You may recollect that it was I who suggested it the moment you came." "And the key was not out of your possession, Mr. Marston, during the interval?" said Mr. Jarlcot. "Not for one moment," answered Richard Marston, promptly. "And you did not, I think you mentioned, open that safe?" "Certainly not. I made no use whatever of that key at any time. I never saw that safe open until the vicar opened it in my presence, and we both saw that it contained nothing; so did Mrs. Shackleton, as intelligent a witness as any. And, I think, we can all--I know I can, for my part--depose, on oath, to the statements we have made." Mr. Jarlcot raised his eyebrows solemnly, slowly shook his head, and having replaced his note-book in his pocket, drew a long breath in through his rounded lips, with a sound that almost amounted to a whistle. "Nothing could be more distinct; it amounts to demonstration," he said, raising his head, putting his hands into his trousers-pockets, and looking slowly round the cornice. "Haven't you something to say?" he added, laying his hand gently on Mr. Blount's arm, and then turning a step or two away; while Marston, who could not comprehend what he fancied to be an almost affected disappointment at the failure to discover a will, thought he saw his eyes wander, when he thought no one was looking, curiously to the grate and the hobs; perhaps in search, as he suspected, of paper ashes. "I am awfully sorry," exclaimed Mr. Blount, throwing himself into a chair in undisguised despondency. "The will, as it was drafted, would have provided splendidly for Miss Ethel Ware, and left you, Mr. Marston, an annuity of two thousand five hundred a year, and a sum of five thousand pounds. For two or three years I had been urging him to execute it; it is evident he never did. He has destroyed the draft, instead of executing it. That hope is quite gone--totally." Mr. Blount stood up and said, laying his hand upon his forehead, "I am grieved--I am shocked--I am profoundly grieved."