She turned on him with a look, which reduced him to silence, but
carefully avoided the eyes of the cousin. "Suppose I marry Mr. Lambert?"
she asked again.

"In that case you will lose the money," replied Jarwin, slightly weary
of so obvious an answer having to be made. "You have heard the will."

"Who gets the money then?"

This was another ridiculous question, as Jarwin, and not without reason,
considered.

"Would you like me to read the will again?" he asked sarcastically.

"No. I am aware of what it contains."

"In that case, you must know, madam, that the money goes to a certain
person whose name is mentioned in a sealed envelope, now in my office
safe."

"Who is the person?" demanded Garvington, with a gleam of hope that Pine
might have made him the legatee.

"I do not know, my lord. Sir Hubert Pine wrote down the name and
address, sealed the envelope, and gave it into my charge. It can only be
opened when the ceremony of marriage takes place between--" he bowed
again to Lady Agnes and this time also to Lambert.

"Pine must have been insane," said Garvington, fuming. "He disguises
himself as a gypsy, and comes to burgle my house, and makes a silly will
which ought to be upset."

"Sir Hubert never struck me as insane," retorted Jarwin, putting the
disputed will into his black leather bag. "A man who can make two
million pounds in so short a space of time can scarcely be called
crazy."

"But this masquerading as a gypsy and a burglar," urged Garvington
irritably.

"He was actually a gypsy, remember, my lord, and it was natural that he
should wish occasionally to get back to the life he loved. As to his
being a burglar, I venture to disagree with you. He had some reason to
visit this house at the hour and in the manner he did, and doubtless if
he had lived he would have explained. But whatever might have been his
motive, Lord Garvington, I am certain it was not connected with
robbery."

"Well," snapped the fat little man candidly, "if I had known that Pine
was such a blighter as to leave me nothing, I'm hanged if I'd have
allowed him to be buried in such decent company."

"Freddy, Freddy, the poor man is dead. Let him rest," said Lady
Garvington, who looked more limp and untidy than ever.

"I wish he was resting somewhere else than in my vault. A damned
gypsy!"

"And my husband," said Lady Agnes sharply. "Don't forget that,
Garvington."

"I wish I could forget it. Much use he has been to us."