“No, not at that time.”

“Was it kept in a little bag by the pillow of the testatrix?  Did she retain the keys of the bag herself?”

“That is quite right.”

“Had it been executed at this time?  I think you said not?”

“Not at this time; it had to be revised.”

“How did you obtain possession of the keys?”

“I obtained them.”

“Yes, I know; but without her knowledge?”

It was awkward for Faker, but he had to confess that he was not sure.  Then he frankly admitted that the will was taken out of the bag—­in the lady’s presence, of course, but whether she was quite dead or almost alive was uncertain; and then he and the husband spiritually conferred as to what the real intention of the dying woman in the circumstances was likely to be, and having ascertained that, they made another will, which they called “settling the former one” by carrying out the lady’s intentions, the lady being now dead to all intentions whatsoever.

This was the will which was offered for probate!

Cresswell thought it was a curious state of affairs, and listened with much interest to the further cross-examination.

“Had you ever seen any other will?” I inquired.  It was quite an accidental question, as one would put in a desultory sort of conversation with a friend.

“Er—­yes—­I have,” said Faker.

“What was that?”

“Well, it was a will, to tell you the truth, Mr. Hawkins, executed in my favour for L5,000.”

“Where is it?”

“I have not the original,” said the minister, “but I have a copy of it.”

“Copy!  But where is the original?”

“Original?” repeats Faker.

“Yes, the original; there must have been an original if you have a copy.”

“Oh,” said the Rev. Faker, “I remember, the original was destroyed after the testatrix’s death.”

“How?”

“Burnt!”

Even the very grave Hannen, my ever-respected friend and junior, smiled; Cresswell, never prone to smile at villainy, smiled also.

“The original burnt, and only a copy produced!  What do you mean, sir?”

The situation was dramatic.

“Is it not strange,” I asked, “even in your view of things, that the original will should be burnt and the copy preserved?”

“Yes,” answered the reverend gentleman; “perhaps it would have been better—­”

“To have burnt the copy and given us the original, and more especially after the lady was dead.  But, let me ask you, why did you destroy the original will?”

I pressed him again and again, but he could not answer.  The reason was plain.  His ingenuity was exhausted, and so I gave him the finishing stroke with this question,—­

“Will you swear, sir, that an original will ever existed?”

The answer was, “No.”

I knew it must be the answer, because there could be no other that would not betray him.