Barletti did not know but that the
omission of some trifling precaution might
imperil the possession of the property.
He had a vague idea that the law was a
ticklish and complicated machine,
something like a conjurer's paraphernalia, in
the handling of which great nicety and
cunning were required, lest by the touching
of a wrong spring, or the non-touching of a
right one, the instrument should go wrong,
and produce quite unexpected results.
He really had faith in the justice of
Veronica's cause, and deemed that it would
be a crying shame to deprive her of the
money that he persisted in believing had
been bequeathed to her.

But none the more for that faith would
he have neglected any wile that the wiliest
lawyer could have suggested to him.

Blunt-fingered Honesty will never pull
the yards of ribbon out of the conjurer's
box. That is not blunt-fingered Honesty's
business.

The servant who answered the bell, was
told to send Paul to the boudoir
immediately.

"Wait for me an instant," said Veronica
to Frost and Barletti. " I— I will come."

She took a lamp from the table, and
went into her dressing-room, shutting the
door behind her.

CHAPTER XVI. THE WILL.

ON the toilet-table in the dressing-room,
stood a large dressing-case. It was open,
so as to display ostentatiously its rich gold
fittings and violet velvet lining.

Veronica selected one of the crystal
bottles it contained, and turned its contents
into a drinking goblet; but only a drop or
two dripped out. The liquid it had
contained was eau-de-cologne. She poured a
little water into the goblet, and drank it
off; but there was scarcely enough eau-de-
cologne to flavour the water.

Impatiently she searched about, opening
another case that stood near, and then
shaking a wicker-covered flask that lay
uncorked on a side table. It was quite
empty.

After a minute's hesitation, she took up
the lamp again, and hastened very
noiselessly through her bedroom, into a
corridor, and so to the dining-room. The large
room was empty. The cloth was still
spread. The plates, dishes, and glasses,
were just as they had been left after dinner
on the preceding evening, when Veronica
and Cesare had dined tête-à-tête, before the
making of Sir John's will. The machine-
like regularity of the household service
had been terribly interrupted since then.

The air was close, and there was a faint
sickening smell of fruit, and of the lees of
stale wine in the room.

Veronica peered about, holding her lamp
up so as to throw its light here and there
in the great shadowy space, and moving
with a kind of stealthy hurry. On the
sideboard stood a row of bottles and
decanters. She examined them one by one.
They were mostly uncorked, and some were
nearly empty. On the ground beside the
sideboard, was a large plated ice-pail, and
in it was a small bottle of champagne.
She set down her lamp, knelt on the floor
and took out the bottle all dripping from
the melted ice. It was corked, and she
had no means of opening it. For a
moment she listened intently, turning her
head towards the main door of the saloon.
There was no sound to be heard. Then all
at once she rose, seized a tumbler from the
table and broke off the neck of the bottle
by striking it sharply across the rim of the
ice-pail. The foaming wine poured out
over the floor, and over her hands, and
some of it half-filled the tumbler. She
drank it desperately, as though it had been
some draught on which her life depended.
Then having thrown the broken flask back
into the ice-pail and replaced the tumbler
on the table, she hastened back
breathlessly to her dressing-room.

Her going and return had occupied but
a few minutes. In her confused haste she
was hardly conscious how long it was since
she had left the boudoir. But when she
re-entered it, Paul had only just made his
appearance in presence of the two gentlemen.

"You have the key of Sir John Gale's
desk, Paul, have you not?" said Barletti.

"Of the desk that stands in his bed-
chamber? Yes, Signor Principe."

"We wish to open it to take out the
testament which your master read to us
last night, and which you signed."

Paul very quietly raised his left hand,
and put the thumb and forefinger of it into
his waistcoat pocket. Having done so he
made no further movement, but stood
looking gravely and silently at Barletti.

"Well," said the latter, impatiently,
"where is the key?"

"It is here, illustrissimo," said Paul, very
respectfully, but still not attempting to
produce the key.

Barletti coloured with anger. He had
never liked Paul, having derived a
prejudice against him from Veronica; and the