“Will you be seated, gentlemen?” he said with much dignity.

They obeyed.

“And now, Meeson, I suppose that you have explained to my brother the matter on which you require my advice?”

“No, I haven’t,” said Eustace; “I thought I might as well explain it to you both together, eh?”

“Hum,” said James; “it is not quite regular.  According to the etiquette of the profession to which I have the honour to belong, it is not customary that matters should be so dealt with.  It is usual that papers should be presented; but that I will overlook, as the point appears to be pressing.”

“That’s right,” said Eustace.  “Well, I have come to see about a will.”

“So I understand,” said James; “but what will, and where is it?”

“Well, it’s a will in my favour, and is tattooed upon a lady’s neck.”

The twins simultaneously rose from their chairs, and looked at Eustace with such a ridiculous identity of movement and expression that he fairly burst out laughing.

“I presume, Meeson, that this is not a hoax,” said James, severely.  “I presume that you know too well what is due to learned counsel to attempt to make one of their body the victim of a practical joke?”

“Surely, Meeson,” added John, “you have sufficient respect for the dignity of the law not to tamper with it in any such way as my brother has indicated?”

“Oh, certainly not.  I assure you it is all square.  It is a true bill, or rather a true will.”

“Proceed,” said James, resuming his seat.  “This is evidently a case of an unusual nature.”

“You are right there, old boy,” said Eustace.  “And now, just listen,” and he proceeded to unfold his moving tale with much point and emphasis.

When he had finished John looked at James rather helplessly.  The case was beyond him.  But James was equal to the occasion.  He had mastered that first great axiom which every young barrister should lay to heart—­“Never appear to be ignorant.”

“This case,” he said, as though he were giving judgment, “is, doubtless, of a remarkable nature, and I cannot at the moment lay my hand upon any authority bearing on the point—­if, indeed, any such are to be found.  But I speak off-hand, and must not be held too closely to the obiter dictum of a viva voce opinion.  It seems to me that, notwithstanding its peculiar idiosyncrasies, and the various ‘cruces’ that it presents, it will, upon closer examination, be found to fall within those general laws that govern the legal course of testamentary disposition.  If I remember aright—­I speak off-hand—­the Act of 1.  Vic., cap. 26, specifies that a will shall be in writing, and tattooing may fairly be defined as a rude variety of writing.  It is, I admit, usual that writing should be done on paper or parchment, but I have no doubt that the young lady’s skin, if carefully removed and dried, would make excellent parchment.  At present, therefore, it is parchment in its green stage, and perfectly available for writing purposes.