“He might have supposed the father to be dead, and that he would step into the fortune.  He might not know enough of the law of property to be aware of the difficulties attending a succession of that kind.  There is a most extraordinary ignorance of the law of the land prevailing among well-educated Englishmen.  Or he may have been tired of his wife, and have seen his way to a more advantageous alliance.  Men are not always satisfied with one wife in these days, and a man who married in such a strange underhand manner would be likely to have some hidden motive for secrecy.”

The suggestion was not without force for Gilbert Fenton.  His face grew darker, and he was some time before he replied to Mr. Medler’s remarks.  That suspicion which of late had been perpetually floating dimly in his brain—­that vague distrust of his one chosen friend, John Saltram, flashed upon him in this moment with a new distinctness.  If this man, whom he had so loved and trusted, had betrayed him, had so utterly falsified his friend’s estimate of his character, was it not easy enough to believe him capable of still deeper baseness, capable of growing weary of his stolen wife, and casting her off by some foul secret means, in order to marry a richer woman?  The marriage between John Holbrook and Marian Nowell had taken place several months before Michael Branston’s death, at a time when perhaps Adela Branston’s admirer had begun to despair of her release.  And then fate had gone against him, and Mrs. Branston’s fortune lay at his feet when it was too late.

Thus, and thus only, could Gilbert Fenton account in any easy manner for John Saltram’s avoidance of the Anglo-Indian’s widow.  A little more than a year ago it had seemed as if the whole plan of his life was built upon a marriage with this woman; and now that she was free, and obviously willing to make him the master of her fortune, he recoiled from the position, unreasonably and unaccountably blind or indifferent to its advantages.

“There shall be an end of these shapeless unspoken doubts,” Gilbert said to himself.  “I will see John Saltram to-day, and there shall be an explanation between us.  I will be his dupe and fool no longer.  I will get at the truth somehow.”

Gilbert Fenton said very little more to the lawyer, who seemed by no means sorry to get rid of him.  But at the door of the office he paused.

“You did not tell me the names of the executors to Jacob Nowell’s will,” he said.

“You didn’t ask me the question,” answered Mr. Medler curtly.  “There is only one executor—­myself.”

“Indeed!  Mr. Nowell must have had a very high opinion of you to leave you so much power.”

“I don’t know about power.  Jacob Nowell knew me, and he didn’t know many people.  I don’t say that he put any especial confidence in me—­for it was his habit to trust no one, his boast that he trusted no one.  But he was obliged to name some one for his executor, and he named me.”