ing such questions now;
but really, Mr Girtle, it would be worse form for a fellow to be
pulling a long face about one he never saw."

"But he was your father's friend."

"Oh, yes, of course."

"Hence you, sir, are here," continued the lawyer. "My instructions were
clear enough. I was to invite you here at this painful time, and take
my old friend's place as your host."

"You have been most kind, Mr Girtle," said Miss D'Enghien.

"I thank you, madam, and I grieve that you should have to be present at
so painful a time. My next instructions were to send for the Italian
professor, who is here to carry out the wishes of the deceased."

"Horrible idea for a man to wish to be embalmed," said Artis, brutally.

Lydia Lawrence shuddered, and turned away her face. Paul Capel glanced
indignantly at the speaker, and then turned to gaze at Katrine
D'Enghien, who sat perfectly unmoved, her hand still hanging from the
side of the chair, as if to show the graceful contour of her arm.

"Colonel Capel had been a great part of his life in the East, Mr
Artis," said the old lawyer, coldly. "He had had the matter in his mind
for some time."

"How do you know that?"

"By the date on my instructions, which also contained the Italian
professor's card."

"And I suppose we shall have a very eccentric will, sir."

"Yes," said the lawyer quietly, "a very eccentric will."

"Come, that's refreshing," said the young man with a fidgetty movement.
"Well, you are not very communicative, Mr Girtle. You family
solicitors are as close as your deed boxes."

"Yes," said the old lawyer, closing his gold snuff-box with a loud snap.

"Well, come, it can be no breach of confidence to tell us when the
funeral is to be?"

The old lawyer took a turn or two up and down the room, snuff-box in
hand, the bright metal glistening as he swung his hand to and fro. Then
he stopped short, and said slowly:

"The successor to Colonel Capel's enormous property will inherit under
extremely peculiar conditions, duly set forth in the will it will be my
duty to read to you."

"After the funeral?" said Gerard Artis.

"No, sir; there will be no funeral."

"No funeral!" exclaimed Artis and Paul Capel in a breath, and then they
rose to their feet, startled more than they would have cared to own, for
at that moment a strange wild cry seemed to come from the staircase,
followed by a heavy crash.

"Good Heavens!" cried the old lawyer, dropping his snuff-b