“You say that the circumstances suggested that your brother was dead.  What circumstances were they?”

“Principally the suddenness and completeness of the disappearance.  His luggage, as you may remember, was found lying unclaimed at the railway station; and there was another circumstance even more suggestive.  My brother drew a pension from the Foreign Office, for which he had to apply in person, or, if abroad, produce proof that he was alive on the date when the payment became due.  Now, he was exceedingly regular in this respect; in fact, he had never been known to fail, either to appear in person or to transmit the necessary documents to his agent, Mr. Jellicoe.  But from the moment when he vanished so mysteriously to the present day, nothing whatever has been heard of him.”

“It’s a very awkward position for you,” I said, “but I should think there will not be much difficulty in obtaining the permission of the Court to presume death and to proceed to prove the will.”

Mr. Bellingham made a wry face.  “I expect you are right,” he said, “but, unfortunately, that doesn’t help me much.  You see, Mr. Jellicoe, having waited a reasonable time for my brother to reappear, took a very unusual but, I think, in the special circumstances, a very proper step:  he summoned me and the other interested party to his office and communicated to us the provisions of the will.  And very extraordinary provisions they turned out to be.  I was thunderstruck when I heard them.  And the exasperating thing is that I feel sure my poor brother imagined that he had made everything perfectly safe and simple.”

“They generally do,” I said, rather vaguely.

“I suppose they do,” said Mr. Bellingham; “but poor John has made the most infernal hash of his will, and I am certain that he has utterly defeated his own intentions.  You see, we are an old London family.  The house in Queen Square where my brother nominally lived, but actually kept his collection, has been occupied by us for generations, and most of the Bellinghams are buried in St. George’s burial-ground close by, though some members of the family are buried in other churchyards in the neighbourhood.  Now, my brother—­who, by the way, was a bachelor—­had a strong feeling for the family traditions, and he stipulated, not unnaturally, in his will that he should be buried in St. George’s burial-ground among his ancestors, or, at least, in one of the places of burial appertaining to his native parish.  But instead of simply expressing the wish and directing his executors to carry it out, he made it a condition affecting the operation of the will.”

“Affecting it in what respect?” I asked.

“In a very vital respect,” answered Mr. Bellingham.  “The bulk of the property he bequeathed to me, or if I predeceased him, to my daughter Ruth.  But the bequest was subject to the condition that I have mentioned—­that he should be buried in a certain place—­and if that condition was not fulfilled, the bulk of the property was to go to my cousin, George Hurst.”