destruction by tearing it with his big white teeth. This done, he mixed
the little pieces up, threw them on the floor, and stamped upon them with
an air of malignity that almost frightened jerky little Mr. Todd.

"Now then," he grimly said, "there's an end of the old love; so let's on
with the new. Take your pen and receive my instructions for my will."

Mr. Todd did as he was bid.

"I leave all my property, real and personal, to be divided in equal
shares between my two partners, Alfred Tom Addison and Cecil Spooner
Roscoe. There, that's short and sweet, and, one way and another, means a
couple of millions."

"Good heavens! Sir," jerked out Mr. Todd. "Why, do you mean to quite cut
out your nephew--and the other legatees?" he added by way of an
afterthought.

"Of course I do; that is, as regards my nephew. The legatees may stand
as before."

"Well all I have to say," went on the little man, astonished into
honesty, "Is that it is the most shameful thing I ever heard of!"

"Indeed, Mr. Todd, is it? Well now, may I ask you: am I leaving this
property, or are you? Don't trouble yourself to answer that, however, but
just attend. Either you draw up that will at once, while I wait, or you
say good-bye to about L2000 a year, for that's what Meeson's business is
worth, I reckon. Now you take your choice."

Mr. Todd did take his choice. In under an hour, the will, which was very
short, was drawn and engrossed.

"Now then," said Meeson, addressing himself to Mr. Todd and the managing
clerk, as he took the quill between his fingers to sign, "do you two bear
in mind that at the moment I execute this will I am of sound mind,
memory, and understanding. There you are; now do you two witness."

* * * * *

It was night, and King capital, in the shape of Mr. Meeson, sat alone at
dinner in his palatial dining-room at Pompadour. Dinner was over, the
powdered footman had departed with stately tread, and the head butler was
just placing the decanters of richly coloured wine before the solitary
lord of all. The dinner had been a melancholy failure. Dish after dish,
the cost of any one of which would have fed a poor child for a month, had
been brought up and handed to the master only to be found fault with and
sent away. On that night Mr. Meeson had no appetite.

"Johnson," he said to the butler, when he was sure the footman could not
hear him, "has Mr. Eustace been here?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Has he