"I am very glad to see you, doctor," said he, advancing with outstretched hands. "Had you not come, I should have sent for you." "Humph!" said Browne, the cynic, "I seem to have become a person of importance. Miss Tedder greeted me in the same way." "You have seen Miss Tedder?" "Yes. I should have thought that you would have seen her also." "About what?" asked Ritson quickly, and returning to his desk. "About her father's death, and the will and----" "The will," interrupted Ritson, vehemently, "that is exactly what I fear to see her about." "You fear?" "Yes, doctor," he caught Browne's button-hole, "some time ago, when we were talking of Sir Simon's wealth, you mentioned that you knew his nephew." "Yes. Poor Herries, who is accused of the murder." "Ah!" Ritson wiped his high bald forehead, although he was usually a cold-blooded man, "that's the difficulty. I must speak." "Speak away," said Browne, more and more surprised. "In confidence." "Of course, in confidence," assented the other. Ritson sat down suddenly, and began to fiddle with his papers, and Browne, straddling his legs with his hands behind him, watched. It was strange that so quiet a lawyer should be so moved. Certainly the death of Sir Simon was very terrible, and naturally Ritson, who had known him for years, was startled by the tragedy. But it seemed to the doctor that there was something more behind the mere fact of the murder,--something having to do with the dead man's will. "Well?" he said impatiently, while Ritson kept shifting pens and sealing-wax, and paperweights, as though he were playing chess. "Yes, yes," Ritson threw himself back, and thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. "I never speak of my clients' affairs to anyone." "No," nodded Browne, "everyone is aware that you are trustworthy." "Then you will be surprised that I am about to betray--no, that is not the word,--that I am about to forestall the reading of the will made last week by the late Sir Simon Tedder." "Is it necessary?" "To ease my mind, it is." "What do you mean?" "Why should Sir Simon make such a will?" said Ritson, almost to himself. "I thought that it was strange at the time, but now, when this nephew has murdered him, and----" "Herries did not," cried Browne growing red. "Yes, he did," said Ritson determinedly, "and to get the money." "The money?" Browne leaned forward his hands on the desk, and stared into the agitated face of the solicitor. "The money. Sir Simon has disinherited his daughter in favour of Angus Herries, who now has fifty thousand a year." CHAPTER X THE INQUEST "You must be mistaken," stammered the doctor, staring, as well he might, considering the astounding news which he had heard. "I don't make mistakes either in or out of business," replied Mr. Ritson haughtily. "Last week I drew up Sir Simon's will, which was short and to the point. In it he disinherited Maud Tedder and left all his money and property to his nephew, Angus Herries."