awyer, if only it could be naturally obtained; and he had
little reason to think it could not. So he went down-stairs.

In a moment he seemed to have passed from the realm of dreams to that of
reality. Here was no mystery. Here was life as he knew it. Walking boldly
into the office, he ran his eye over the half-dozen men who sat there
and, picking out the lawyer from the rest, sauntered easily up to him and
sat down.

"My name is Johnston," said he. "I'm from New York; like yourself, I
believe."

The lawyer, with a twinkle in his light-blue eye, answered with a cordial
nod; and in two minutes a lively conversation had begun between them on
purely impersonal subjects suited to the intelligence of the crowd they
were in. This did not last, however. An opportunity soon came for them to
stroll off together, and presently Mr. Ransom found himself closeted with
this man who he had reason to believe was the sole holder of the key to
the secret which was devouring him.

A bottle of wine was on the table between them, and some cigars. As Mr.
Ransom filled the two glasses, he spoke:

"I have to thank you--" he began, but saw immediately that he had made a
wrong start.

"For what, _Mr. Johnston_?" asked the other coldly.

"For giving me this opportunity to speak alone with you," Ransom
explained with a nervous gesture. "An hour of unrestrained gossip is so
necessary to me after a day of hard work. Perhaps you don't know that I
am an author--have been one for seven whole hours. I find it exhausting.
You could give me great relief by talking a little on some foreign
subject, say on the one now engrossing every one in the house, the twin
ladies from New York. You were in the same coach with them. Did they
quarrel and did the most wilful of the two insist on getting out at the
foot of the hill and walking up through the lane?"

"I doubt if I have anything to say to Mr. Johnston on this subject," was
the wary reply.

"What if he added another name to the Johnston?"

"It would make no appreciable difference. The driver is a loquacious
fellow, talk to him."

Mr. Ransom felt his heart fail him. He surveyed closely the mouth which
had uttered this off-hand sentence and saw that it was set in a line
there was no mistaking. Little enlightenment was to be got from this man.
Yet he made one more effort.

"Did my wife sign the will?" he asked. "All pretense aside, this is a
very important matter to me, Mr. Harper; not on account