"Certainly not. He was a great man. Cruelly misjudged by the public, he was compelled in recent years to hide his real identity beneath another name, and live in strictest retirement. His actions were put down as eccentricities, but he was a great thinker, a wonderful organiser, marvellously modern among modern men, a man whose financial schemes brought millions into the pockets of those associated with him, yet whose knowledge of ancient Egypt and dry-as-dust Egyptology was perhaps unique. But above all he was ever honest, upright and just." "He was a complete enigma to me," I declared. "As he was to most people. I who have been his legal adviser and friend through much adversity, alone understood him. I was not even aware of his death. If he took a liking to you I shall not be surprised to find that he has left you a substantial legacy." "He gave me a present before he died," I said, and told him of the banknotes I had found in the envelope, and also that I held the cylinder in the security of the Safe Deposit Company's vaults in Chancery Lane. Finding the solicitor was perfectly frank and open with me, I related the curious and startling circumstances which had occurred within my knowledge since I had made the acquaintance of Mr Harvey Shaw. As I sat in the fading light of that November afternoon I narrated the facts in their proper sequence just as I have herein set them down in the foregoing pages of this personal history. The man before me sat with folded arms in almost complete silence, listening intently to every word. The twilight faded and darkness fell quickly, as it does in November in the City. He had given orders that we were not to be disturbed, and he sat silent, so transfixed by my strange story that he did not rise to switch on the light. I told him all, everything--until I described to him the discovery of that venomous tarantula in Asta's bedroom. Then he suddenly struck his table with his fist, and sprang to his feet, crying-- "Ah! I've been expecting to hear of this all along. The scoundrel meant to kill the poor girl! There were reasons--very strong reasons-- for doing so." "What were they?" I demanded quickly. "I have told you everything, Mr Fryer. Now, be quite frank with me, I beg you--and tell me the whole truth." He was silent. I could hardly distinguish his thin, deeply lined face seated as he was in the shadows, his back to the window, so dark had it now become. Presently, he rose and turned on the light, saying as he did so--