"Well, people have all sorts of fancies now-a-days"--I said; "What with Blavatskyism, Besantism and hypnotism, it is no wonder if some folks still have a faint credence in the silly old superstition of a devil's existence. But for a thoroughly sensible man...." "Yes--er, yes;"--interrupted Mr Ellis--"Your relative, Mr Tempest, _was_ a thoroughly sensible man, and this--er--this idea was the only fancy that ever appeared to have taken root in his eminently practical mind. Being only an idea, it seemed hardly worth mentioning--but perhaps it is well--Mr Bentham agreeing with me--that we _have_ mentioned it." "It is a satisfaction and relief to ourselves,"--said Mr Bentham, "to have had it mentioned." I smiled, and thanking them, rose to go. They bowed to me once more, simultaneously, looking almost like twin brothers, so identically had their united practice of the law impressed itself upon their features. "Good-day Mr Tempest,"--said Mr Bentham--"I need scarcely say that we shall serve you as we served our late client, to the best of our ability. And in matters where advice may be pleasant or profitable, we may possibly be of use to you. May we ask whether you require any cash advances immediately?" "No, thank you,"--I answered, feeling grateful to my friend Rimânez for having placed me in a perfectly independent position to confront these solicitors--"I am amply provided." They seemed, I fancied, a trifle surprised at this, but were too discreet to offer any remark. They wrote down my address at the Grand Hotel, and sent their clerk to show me to the door. I gave this man half-a-sovereign to drink my health which he very cheerfully promised to do,--then I walked round by the Law Courts, trying to realize that I was not in a dizzy dream, but that I was actually and solidly, five times a millionaire. As luck would have it, in turning a corner I jostled up against a man coming the other way, the very publisher who had returned me my rejected manuscript the day before. "Hullo!" he exclaimed stopping short. "Hullo!" I rejoined. "Where are you off to?" he went on--"Going to try and place that unlucky novel? My dear boy, believe me it will never do as it is...." "It will do, it shall do;"--I said calmly--"I am going to publish it myself." He started. "Publish it yourself! Good heavens!--it will cost you--ah!--sixty or seventy, perhaps a hundred pounds." "I don't care if it costs me a thousand!" A red flush came into his face, and his eyes opened in astonishment. "I thought ... excuse me ..." he stammered awkwardly; "I thought money was scarce with you----" "It was," I answered drily--"It isn't now."