CHAPTER VICOUNSEL'S OPINION

When Hendle, having a weight on his mind, woke shortly after dawn, he remembered the vicar's proverb, and thought that it might be true. Morning certainly was wiser than the night with him, as he began to ask himself why he should be so much disturbed over an unproven matter. Leigh certainly asserted positively that he had found a hundred-year-old will, made in favor of the elder branch of the Hendle family, and, undoubtedly, he spoke in a way which appeared to be genuine. But then, the vicar was a queer, eccentric person, who sometimes believed his visions to be facts, and who had on occasions some difficulty in distinguishing between the real and the unreal. In a perfectly honest way he might be making a mistake, and Rupert, turning over the matter before rising, hoped fervently that such might prove to be the case.

On the other hand, unless Mr. Leigh's statement had some foundation, in fact, it seemed improbable that he would even think of such a thing. There had never been any question as to the legitimacy of Hendle holding the property, and after a whole century had elapsed, it seemed strange that such an odd question should be raised. Assuredly the vicar must have found something which had to do with the inheritance of the estates by the elder branch, else the fantastic idea would not have entered his rather wavering mind. But the will might not be good in law; it might have been signed and not witnessed, or there might be some flaw in its drawing up which would nullify its provisions. If this was the case, Rupert was far too sensible to think of surrendering his lands and income to a man, who, on the face of it, would make a bad use of the same. On the other hand, if the will was quite in order, the Squire was honest enough to step down from his throne and allow the rightful king to take his seat thereon, evil as might prove to be his rule. The whole question of right or wrong turned on the production of the will.

Having reached this point in his meditations, Rupert arose, and cleared his brain by a cold bath. It would be foolish to say that he was not worried, for he felt very much upset, as was natural, seeing there was a chance of his being reduced to the condition of a pauper. Mallien was not rich, but he had enough to live on, so the acquisition of more money would only result in his greater extravagance in the purchase of jewels. But if the will proved to be legal, Hendle foresaw that he--the Squire of Barship--would be turned out of his pleasant home without a single penny and without any means of earning one. He had no profession; he had no trade; he was not over-clever, and Mallien--he was sure of this--would not allow him anything out of the estate. This was uncomfortable enough in itself for a young man who liked the good things of this life, but there was worse to follow. He would lose Dorinda, since her father would undoubtedly prevent the marriage with a pauper. The girl herself, as Rupert had said to the vicar, would remain true; but how could he ask her to become his wife, when he could not support himself, much less a helpmate? It was all very painful and very disagreeable, and Rupert descended to breakfast with a bad appetite.

"You don't look at all well, Mr. Hendle," remarked Mrs. Beatson, when she came for orders after breakfast. "Perhaps you are sickening for a fever."

"Not at all," replied her master, more crossly than he was accustomed to speak to this dismal woman. "I have had a wakeful night, that's all."

"Ah well, sir, it's natural, considering you are going to take such a serious step as marriage without thinking about it."

Rupert allowed Mrs. Beatson a certain amount of latitude, but here she overstepped the mark. He passed over her observation in silence, and gave his orders for the day. "I shall have dinner at eight," he remarked, having arranged matters, "as I am going to town and will not be back until late."

"Going to see the lawyers, I suppose, sir," mentioned the housekeeper with an odd look on her dreary face.

Rupert looked up suddenly, wondering why she had made such a pertinent observation, for it was in his mind to do what she had suggested. "Why do you suppose that, Mrs. Beatson?"

"Well, sir, it's only natural, as no doubt there are marriage settlements to be prepared, and all must be in order for the ceremony."

Mrs. Beatson said this glibly enough, and her reason appeared to be very plausible. Nevertheless, her glance was so significant that Hendle wondered if she had guessed his trouble. It seemed to be incredible, since Leigh had promised to hold his tongue until the matter was properly threshed out. Yet there was a certain malicious triumph lurking in the housekeeper's look, which hinted that she was rejoicing at his approaching downfall. After swift reflection Rupert thought that he was mistaken, and was in the position of a man who sees a bird in every bush. He therefore ignored Mrs. Beatson's remark and merely repeated that he would return late to dine. The woman hesitated for a moment, as if she wished to speak more plainly, then tossed her head and glided out in her ghostly way. Rupert frowned, for her behavior made him uncomfortable. Yet it was impossible that she should know anything of the thunderbolt which had struck him.

And after all, as the Squire reflected when he started to walk to the railway station, the thunderbolt had not yet reached its mark and might not reach it at all. Only an examination of the will would prove if he was a rich man or a pauper, and in his anxiety to learn this, Hendle called in at the Vicarage as he passed the rickety gate. Strange to say, Mr. Leigh proved to be absent, as he had gone to see a dying parishioner.

It was only a short walk to the little wayside station, at which the London trains stopped occasionally during the day. Rupert caught the ten o'clock train easily, and, although it was very full, managed to secure a compartment to himself. Here, when the engine started, he gave himself up to meditation, not, as it may be guessed, of the most pleasant kind.

Hendle, as Mrs. Beatson ignorantly or knowingly had suggested, really intended to consult lawyers. But, before going to his family solicitors, he thought that he would ask the opinion of counsel in the person of Carrington, as it struck him that there might be a Statute of Limitations in connection with long-lost wills. Even if there were, Rupert knew, in his own heart, that if Mallien proved to be the rightful owner of the property, he--the present owner--would never be able to take advantage of any law quibble. It all depended on the will, for, if not produced, he would not be required--even by his own uneasy conscience--to surrender his house and income. He wondered if Leigh had lost the will forever, in which case things could remain as they were; he wondered if there was a will at all, or, if there was, whether the vicar might not have made a mistake; he wondered if the will were found, if it would be all shipshape, so as to deprive him of his kingdom. Indeed, Hendle wondered in a more or less worried way throughout the journey to town, and stepped out onto the platform of the Liverpool Street station in anything but a happy frame of mind. Carrington had envied him his wealth and quiet existence; it was anything but quiet now, and the wealth--if the vicar proved to be correct--was about to take wings to itself and fly away into Mallien's gaping pockets. In a dismal frame of mind, Rupert took a taxi to Friars Inn.

It was in this set of tall buildings that Carrington had his chambers for business purposes.

"Hendle!" said the barrister, when his visitor was ushered into a bare room sparsely furnished and looking very businesslike, "this is a surprise. How are you, old chap; not up to much, from the look of you."

"I'm bothered out of my life," replied Hendle, taking the cane chair--a most uncomfortable one--which was pointed out to him.

"Oh, I think there is sufficient life left in you to stand a trifle more strain," was Carrington's flippant observation, as he resumed his seat at a very businesslike desk. "I can't guess in any way what can bother you."

"No one, but the wearer, knows where the shoe pinches," quoted Hendle grimly.

"Quite so, and no one ever will know unless the wearer explains the bad fit, my friend. Bothered? You! With beeves and lands and money, and the promise of a beautiful and desirable damsel to be your wife."

"That's just it," said the visitor, seizing the opening. "I may lose all these things, Carrington."

The barrister wheeled his chair round to stare, and his keen dark face was alive with curiosity. "Have you been outrunning the constable?" he asked; "has the lady changed her mind? Has----"

"You are wide of the mark. To put the matter in a nutshell, it's a will."

"A will! What about it?"

"This much. It exists and may disinherit me."

"The deuce. In whose favor?"

"In favor of Julius Mallien, my cousin."

"Then he will have his rights, if he has a leg to stand on," said Carrington grimly. "Mallien struck me as a man who would go through fire and water for himself. Why did your father make a will in his favor?"

"He did not. The will was made one hundred years ago, by John Hendle, from whom Mallien and I are descended."

"One hundred years ago," echoed the barrister puzzled. "Then how comes it you have to do with it now?"

"Leigh found it in the Muniment Room."

"Confound his zeal. But still I don't quite understand. Perhaps you will tell me the whole story from the beginning. I suppose you have come to ask my advice as a friend?"

"Yes, and as a barrister."

"My best forensic lore is at your disposal. Well?"

Hendle at once began his explanation, and, as he proceeded, became much too restless to remain seated. Midway in the recital he started to his feet and began to pace the narrow limits of the office. Shading his eyes with his hand and drawing figures on the blotting paper, Carrington listened to the rather amazing story of Leigh's discovery, and when in possession of the facts looked rather skeptical. "I understand that you have not seen the will?"

"No. Leigh, as is natural with so untidy a man, has mislaid it."

"Then how do you know the will exists?"

"Leigh says so."

"Humph!" Carrington threw down his pencil and leaned back with a doubtful look. "I think the vicar's wits must be wool-gathering. He has no enmity against you, I suppose?"

"Enmity?" Hendle stopped in his walk and stared.

"I mean he is your friend."

"Oh, yes. Leigh and I are great friends."

"And his attitude toward Mallien?"

"He doesn't like him overmuch. Mallien is so rude to him."

"And to everyone," finished Carrington with a shrug. "A most disagreeable person. Well, as Leigh likes you and doesn't like your cousin, I take it he could not have invented this story to do you out of the property in Mallien's favor."

"No. Leigh is the best of good fellows, though rather eccentric. He must have found the will; it is impossible that he could have suggested its existence otherwise."

"I suppose not," murmured Carrington vaguely; then glanced shrewdly at his client. "Does he know your family history?"

"Everyone in Barship knows that," replied Hendle, dropping again into his chair with a sigh. "There is nothing to know really, as we have always been a dull, homely lot of people."

"Tell me how your descent runs from John Hendle?"

"In the direct male line. Frederick, the son; Henry, the grandson; Charles, the great-grandson, and myself, the great-great-grandson."

"And Mallien's descent?"

"He comes in the female line from Walter, the eldest son of John Hendle. Eunice, the daughter of Walter and the granddaughter of John, married George Filbert. Mrs. Filbert had a daughter Anne, who married Frank Mallien, and her son is Julius, my cousin, who has, as you know, a daughter."

"Dorinda, to whom you are engaged," commented Carrington; "that marriage will bring the elder and the younger branches of the family together. A very good arrangement. Will Julius marry again?"

"I don't think so. He hates women."

"I should think every single member of the sex returned the compliment. But what I mean is, that when you marry Miss Mallien, the money will come to you and her when her father dies."

"It should, as we two represent the elder and younger branches of the family, joined, as you observed. But Mallien is quite capable of leaving the money elsewhere out of devilment. He tolerates me because I lend him money, and he has very little affection for Dorinda. We are to marry next month, because I have promised Mallien five hundred a year when I make Dorinda my wife, and he is now in a hurry for the money. But," added Rupert anxiously, "if he knew that he was the rightful heir, he would forbid the marriage."

"It is probable he would, since he has such a sweet nature," said Carrington dryly; "but would Miss Mallien obey him?"

"No. She loves me too well for that. But, of course, if I lose the property, I am reduced to pauperism pure and simple, and could scarcely ask the girl to share my nothing."

The barrister nodded sympathetically. "It's a beastly position," he said, after a pause, "especially as you haven't been brought up to earn your own living in any way. But, of course, we are building on sand. Nobody but this weird parson has seen the will, so it may not exist."

"I don't see why Leigh should think of such a thing if the will does not exist," said Rupert impatiently.

"True enough. Well, let us grant that the will does exist and leaves the property to Eunice Filbert, from whom Mallien traces his descent. Still, possession is nine points of the law, and your lot has held the property for close upon one hundred years. There is a Statute of Limitations."

"Oh!" Rupert looked up eagerly. "I had an idea that there might be. Then, if I take your meaning correctly, since this will has only been found after so long a period, the Statute operates against its being legal?"

"Well, it might operate or it might not; it all depends upon the circumstances of the case. Mostly the Statute of Limitations would operate. The will was never filed in the Probate Court, I take it?"

"No. Until Leigh found it I expect no one but its maker and his witnesses knew of its existence, and they are all dead, ages ago. But I thought wills were filed at Somerset House?"

"Now they are. But in 1815 they were filed at the Probate Court at Canterbury."

"Well," said Hendle restlessly. "The question is, what am I to do?"

"Well, obviously the first thing is to get possession of the will and in that way learn exactly how things stand with regard to Mallien. John Hendle may not have cut off his second son Frederick entirely."

"He may not," assented Rupert dubiously; "on the other hand he may. Leigh certainly gave me to understand that everything had been left to Eunice, who afterward married Filbert. If such is the case, you may be sure that Mallien will take everything, and will decline to give me a penny."

"Just like him. But the Statute of Limitations----"

"I shall not take advantage of that," interrupted Hendle firmly. "If the will does make Mallien the heir by descent, he shall have the property."

"But, my dear man," cried the barrister, starting to his feet, "that is quixotic. Why leave yourself without a penny, especially when Mallien is such an unamiable person?"

"It's hard, I grant," replied Rupert ruefully; "yet, as an honest man, what else can I do?"

"It seems to me that there is a limit to honesty," said Carrington tartly. "I scarcely think that I could act so quixotically if I had to do with the matter. However, we can discuss this point when the will is in your possession, and we can make sure that what Leigh says is true. When do you hope to get it?"

"Well, I don't know. Leigh said that he had mislaid it and would search for it, so I have called this morning on the chance that he might have found it. He was absent attending to a dying woman, and of course I couldn't interrupt him at his business. I left a message that I would call again when I returned this evening."

"When do you return?"

"By the seven o'clock train. I shall arrive in time for dinner. I told Mrs. Beatson that I would dine at eight."

"If Leigh finds the will, I presume he will bring it to you this evening at The Big House?"

"He might and he might not. And in any case I shall call."

Carrington considered the remark for a few moments and stared out of the window at the chimney pots. "I don't think that I would call if I were you, Hendle," he said at length.

"Why not?"

"Because this case needs a more careful handling than you are able to give it, my friend. Leave Leigh alone until to-morrow, and I'll come down some time about midday to interview the vicar along with you."

"It's very good of you, Carrington," said the perplexed Squire gratefully. "I don't expect one night will make any difference, as I shall be certain of the bad news soon enough. I'll wait until you can go with me to-morrow to the Vicarage; perhaps, by then, Leigh will have found the will."

"I don't leave the Vicarage until he has found it," said Carrington grimly. "It's too important a document to be left in the hands of a shiftless creature such as Leigh. He is quite capable of taking it to Mallien, if it is in favor of Mallien's grandmother, as he asserts."

Hendle, standing up to go away, shook his head. "I don't think he will go past me," he remarked slowly. "In the first place, he dislikes Mallien because of Mallien's brusque manners, and in the second Mallien refused, out of his present income, to help him to fit out an expedition to Yucatan."

"Central America. Why does the vicar want to go there?"

"Oh, he's been reading some diary of Mallien's father, describing certain researches amongst buried cities in those wilds, and wants to go there and look up things for himself."

"I dare say if you finance this expedition, Leigh will say nothing about the will--that is, if he has already said nothing to anyone," said Carrington.

"He told me that he had not. Save you and I no one knows about Leigh's discovery. It's just as well that Mallien doesn't know," ended Rupert, with a shrug, "or he would tear down the Vicarage, or rob it, to get the testament which would make him a rich man."

"Well, I don't think a weak old buffer like Leigh could put up much fight, Handle. Well, my advice is for you to hold your tongue, and refrain from seeing Leigh until to-morrow afternoon. Then we can tackle him together. Buck up and face the music, old chap," added the barrister, clapping his friend on the back, "after all, the thing may prove to be a false alarm. I don't place much reliance on that dreaming parson."

"Nor do I," answered Rupert, as he took his leave, "but, in this case, I fancy there must be a fire to account for the smoke. Leigh could not have invented a will which does not exist. Well then, good-bye. I shall see you to-morrow."

"At one o'clock or thereabouts; anyhow, before two. Meanwhile, don't see anyone and particularly not Miss Mallien. She is sure to spot your dismals, and if she begins to question you may give yourself away."

Rupert halted on the threshold, hesitating for a while, but finally promised not to see Dorinda.

Then, as there was nothing else to be done, he went to a matinée of a successful play to distract his mind, and returned, as he had arranged, in time for his eight o'clock dinner. After the meal, he spent a very dull evening, reading the newspapers and playing patience. But for his promise to Carrington he would have walked to the cottage to see Dorinda, and he sorely felt the want of her society at this crisis. However, he saw the wisdom of the barrister's advice, not to acquaint her with the trouble until more was ascertained for certain, lest, by arousing Mallien's suspicions, that gentleman might learn too much. And Mallien was very quick as a rule to guess that something was being kept from him.

So Rupert possessed his soul in patience and retired to bed early. After a somewhat restless night, he descended to breakfast to find that ill news travels fast. It was Mrs. Beatson who conveyed this especial information, and she did so with delight, always anxious to pass on any news of any disaster.

"Oh, Mr. Hendle," she cried, bursting into the breakfast room without knocking; "such a terrible thing has happened! Mr. Leigh is dead! Mr. Leigh has been murdered!"