“On the other hand, Mr. Henry Oranmore, K.C., very ably and courteously replied that he too had several witnesses to prove that Mr. Brooks certainly did make a will on the day in question, and that, whatever his intentions may have been in the past, he must have modified them on the day of his death, for the will proved by Mr. Percival Brooks was found after his death under his pillow, duly signed and witnessed and in every way legal.

“Then the battle began in sober earnest.  There were a great many witnesses to be called on both sides, their evidence being of more or less importance—­chiefly less.  But the interest centred round the prosaic figure of John O’Neill, the butler at Fitzwilliam Place, who had been in Mr. Brooks’ family for thirty years.

“‘I was clearing away my breakfast things,’ said John, ’when I heard the master’s voice in the study close by.  Oh my, he was that angry!  I could hear the words “disgrace,” and “villain,” and “liar,” and “ballet-dancer,” and one or two other ugly words as applied to some female lady, which I would not like to repeat.  At first I did not take much notice, as I was quite used to hearing my poor dear master having words with Mr. Percival.  So I went downstairs carrying my breakfast things; but I had just started cleaning my silver when the study bell goes ringing violently, and I hear Mr. Percival’s voice shouting in the hall:  “John! quick!  Send for Dr. Mulligan at once.  Your master is not well!  Send one of the men, and you come up and help me to get Mr. Brooks to bed.”

“‘I sent one of the grooms for the doctor,’ continued John, who seemed still affected at the recollection of his poor master, to whom he had evidently been very much attached, ’and I went up to see Mr. Brooks.  I found him lying on the study floor, his head supported in Mr. Percival’s arms.  “My father has fallen in a faint,” said the young master; “help me to get him up to his room before Dr. Mulligan comes.”

“’Mr. Percival looked very white and upset, which was only natural; and when we had got my poor master to bed, I asked if I should not go and break the news to Mr. Murray, who had gone to business an hour ago.  However, before Mr. Percival had time to give me an order the doctor came.  I thought I had seen death plainly writ in my master’s face, and when I showed the doctor out an hour later, and he told me that he would be back directly, I knew that the end was near.

“’Mr. Brooks rang for me a minute or two later.  He told me to send at once for Mr. Wethered, or else for Mr. Hibbert, if Mr. Wethered could not come.  “I haven’t many hours to live, John,” he says to me—­“my heart is broke, the doctor says my heart is broke.  A man shouldn’t marry and have children, John, for they will sooner or later break his heart.”  I was so upset I couldn’t speak; but I sent round at once for Mr. Wethered, who came himself just about three o’clock that afternoon.