The lawyer, who had taken up his position before the fire with his hands under the tails of his frock coat, turned to look at her. The bitterness of the tone startled him. "What do you mean?" "Mean!" echoed Mrs. Gilroy, with a vindictive glitter in her pale eyes. "That Sir Simon promised me five hundred a year for life." "Oh, you must be mistaken," said Durham, quickly. "He never said you were to have more than one hundred." "He might not to you, but he did to me," said the housekeeper, doggedly. "I have a right to five hundred." "I think not," said the lawyer, calmly. "And let me tell you, Mrs. Gilroy, that Sir Simon did not place your name at all in the second will. Had it been executed, you would not have had even the one hundred you despise. Therefore, you may congratulate yourself"--he watched her face while speaking--"that Sir Simon changed his mind about disinheriting his grandson." The woman's eyes glittered still more maliciously and a color rose in her bloodless cheeks. "Oh!" she said, with icy disdain, "so Sir Simon would have deprived me of my rights, would he? It's lucky he's dead, or he'd find himself on the wrong side of the hedge with me." "Ah!" Durham resumed his seat and waited to hear what would come forth. And something would come out not easily attainable at other times, for Mrs. Gilroy was apparently losing her temper. This was most extraordinary for her, as she was usually cautious. But since the death of her master, who had kept her in check, she seemed to be a much more reckless woman. The lawyer had always wondered what bond held Sir Simon and the housekeeper together, and now there seemed some likelihood that he would learn, if he held his tongue and allowed full play to that of Mrs. Gilroy. "I knew how it would be," she muttered. "I guessed he would play me false. He never was worth a kekaubi." "You are a gipsy," said Durham, looking up. "What makes you say that?" "Kekaubi is Romany for kettle. You wouldn't use it unless--" "Who I am is nothing to you," interrupted Mrs. Gilroy, sharply. "Yet you don't resemble the Romany!" said Durham, looking at her drab appearance. "Your eyes are pale and your hair--" "Let my appearance be, Mr. Durham. I am here for justice, not to hear my looks discussed. Sir Simon left me one hundred a year. I want you as the executor of the estate to make it the five hundred he promised me." "I don't know that he promised you that sum," said the solicitor, "and even if he did I cannot give it to you. The money now belongs to Sir Bernard Gore." "He is supposed to be dead." "You put it rightly," replied the man. "He is supposed to be dead, but until his dead body is found I will administer the estate on his behalf. But I have no power to help you." Mrs. Gilroy seemed struck by this view of the case. "Suppose Sir Bernard isn't dead?" she asked.