“I must explain first,” said McFarlane, “that I knew nothing of Mr. Jonas Oldacre.  His name was familiar to me, for many years ago my parents were acquainted with him, but they drifted apart.  I was very much surprised therefore, when yesterday, about three o’clock in the afternoon, he walked into my office in the city.  But I was still more astonished when he told me the object of his visit.  He had in his hand several sheets of a notebook, covered with scribbled writing—­here they are—­and he laid them on my table.

“‘Here is my will,’ said he.  ’I want you, Mr. McFarlane, to cast it into proper legal shape.  I will sit here while you do so.’

“I set myself to copy it, and you can imagine my astonishment when I found that, with some reservations, he had left all his property to me.  He was a strange little ferret-like man, with white eyelashes, and when I looked up at him I found his keen gray eyes fixed upon me with an amused expression.  I could hardly believe my own as I read the terms of the will; but he explained that he was a bachelor with hardly any living relation, that he had known my parents in his youth, and that he had always heard of me as a very deserving young man, and was assured that his money would be in worthy hands.  Of course, I could only stammer out my thanks.  The will was duly finished, signed, and witnessed by my clerk.  This is it on the blue paper, and these slips, as I have explained, are the rough draft.  Mr. Jonas Oldacre then informed me that there were a number of documents—­building leases, title-deeds, mortgages, scrip, and so forth—­which it was necessary that I should see and understand.  He said that his mind would not be easy until the whole thing was settled, and he begged me to come out to his house at Norwood that night, bringing the will with me, and to arrange matters.  ’Remember, my boy, not one word to your parents about the affair until everything is settled.  We will keep it as a little surprise for them.’  He was very insistent upon this point, and made me promise it faithfully.

“You can imagine, Mr. Holmes, that I was not in a humour to refuse him anything that he might ask.  He was my benefactor, and all my desire was to carry out his wishes in every particular.  I sent a telegram home, therefore, to say that I had important business on hand, and that it was impossible for me to say how late I might be.  Mr. Oldacre had told me that he would like me to have supper with him at nine, as he might not be home before that hour.  I had some difficulty in finding his house, however, and it was nearly half-past before I reached it.  I found him——­”

“One moment!” said Holmes.  “Who opened the door?”

“A middle-aged woman, who was, I suppose, his housekeeper.”

“And it was she, I presume, who mentioned your name?”

“Exactly,” said McFarlane.

“Pray proceed.”

McFarlane wiped his damp brow, and then continued his narrative: