in the hall, conducted me up the great staircase,
showed me into a bedroom prepared for me, and
told me that Mr. Strahan was already waiting
dinner for me. I should find him in the study.
I hastened to join him. He began apologising,
very unnecessarily, for the state of his establishment.
He had, as yet, engaged no new servants.
The housekeeper, with the help of a housemaid,
did all the work.

Richard Strahan at college had been as little
distinguishable from other young men as a youth
neither rich nor poor, neither clever nor stupid,
neither handsome nor ugly, neither audacious
sinner nor formal saint, possibly could be.

Yet, to those who understood him well, he was
not without some of those moral qualities by
which a youth of mediocre intellect often
matures into a superior man.

He was, as Sir Philip had been rightly
informed, thoroughly honest and upright. But
with a strong sense of duty, there was also a
certain latent hardness. He was not indulgent.
He had outward frankness with acquaintances,
but was easily roused to suspicion.
He had much of the thriftiness and
self-denial of the North Countryman, and I
have no doubt that he had lived with calm content
and systematic economy on an income which
made him, as a bachelor, independent of his
nominal profession, but would not have sufficed,
in itself, for the fitting maintenance of a wife and
family. He was, therefore, still single.

It seemed to me, even during the few minutes
in which we conversed before dinner was
announced, that his character showed a new phase
with his new fortunes. He talked in a grandiose
style of the duties of station and the woes of
wealth. He seemed to be very much afraid of
spending, and still more appalled at the idea of
being cheated. His temper, too, was ruffled;
the steward had given him notice to quit. Mr.
Jeeves, who had spent the morning with him,
had said the steward would be a great loss,
and a steward, at once sharp and honest, was not
to be easily found.

What trifles can embitter the possession of
great goods! Strahan had taken a fancy to the
old house; it was conformable to his notions,
both of comfort and pomp, and Sir Philip had
expressed a desire that the old house should be
pulled down. Strahan had inspected the plans
for the new mansion to which Sir Philip had
referred, and the plans did not please him; on
the contrary, they terrified.

"Jeeves says that I could not build such a
house under seventy or eighty thousand pounds,
and then it will require twice the establishment
which will suffice for this. I shall be ruined,"
cried the man who had just come into possession
of at least twelve thousand a year.

"Sir Philip did not enjoin you to pull down
the old house; he only advised you to do so.
Perhaps he thought the site less healthy than that
which he proposes for a new building, or was aware
of some other drawback to the house, which you
may discover later. Wait a little and see before
deciding."

"But, at all events, I suppose I must pull
down this curious old room—the nicest part
of the whole house!"

Strahan, as he spoke, looked wistfully round
at the quaint oak chimney-piece; the carved
ceiling; the well-built solid walls, with the large
mullion casement, opening so pleasantly on the
sequestered gardens. He had ensconced himself
in Sir Philip's study, the chamber in which the
once famous mystic, Forman, had found a
refuge.

"So cozy a room for a single man!" sighed
Strahan. "Near the stables and dog-kennels, too!
But I suppose I must pull it down. I am not
bound to do so legally; it is no condition of the
will. But in honour and gratitiide I ought not
to disobey poor Sir Philip's positive injunction."

"Of that," said I, gravely, "there cannot be a
doubt."

Here our conversation was interrupted by
Mrs. Gates, who informed us that dinner was
served in the library. Wine of great age was
brought from the long-neglected cellars; Strahan
filled and refilled his glass, and, warmed into
hilarity, began to talk of bringing old college
friends around him in the winter season, and
making the roof-tree ring with laughter and
song once more.

Time wore away, and night had long set in,
when Strahan at last rose from the table, his
speech thick and his tongue unsteady. We
returned to the study, and I reminded my host
of the special object of my visit to him, viz. the
inspection of Sir Philip's manuscript.

"It is tough reading," said Strahan; "better
put it off till to-morrow. You will stay here
two or three days."

"No; I must return to L—— to-morrow. I
cannot absent myself from my patients. And it
is the more desirable that no time should be lost
before examining the contents of the manuscript,
because probably they may give some clue to the
detection of the murderer."

"Why do you think that?" cried Strahan,
startled from the drowsiness that was creeping
over him.

"Because the manuscript may show that Sir
Philip had some enemy—and who but an enemy
could have had a motive for such a crime?
Come, bring forth the book. You of all men are
bound to be alert in every research that may
guide the retribution of justice to the assassin of
your benefactor."

"Yes, yes. I will offer a reward of five
thousand pounds for the discovery. Allen, that
wretched old steward had the insolence to tell
me that I was the only man in the world who
could have an interest in the death of his master;
and he looked at me as if he thought that I
had committed the crime. You are right, it
becomes me, of all men, to be alert. The assassin
must be found. He must hang."

While thus speaking, Strahan had risen,