‘No man better,’ said Peter with confidence; and on the instant he drew a chair to the table, seized the pen, and bent the nib on his thumbnail; then he said briskly, ‘I wait your commands, sir.’

Sir George stared in some embarrassment—­he had not expected to be taken so literally; but, after a moment’s hesitation, reflecting that to write down his wishes with his own hand would give him more trouble, and that he might as well trust this stranger as that, he accepted the situation.  ‘Take down what I wish, then,’ he said.  ’Put it into form afterwards, and bring it to me when I rise.  Can you be secret?’

‘Try me,’ Peter answered with enthusiasm.  ’For a good client I would bite off my tongue.’

‘Very well, then, listen!’ Sir George said.  And presently, after some humming and thinking, ’I wish to leave all my real property to the eldest son of my uncle, Anthony Soane,’ he continued.

’Right, sir.  Child already in existence, I presume?  Not that it is absolutely necessary,’ the attorney continued glibly.  ‘But—­’

‘I do not know,’ said Sir George.

‘Ah!’ said the lawyer, raising his pen and knitting his brows while he looked very learnedly into vacancy.  ’The child is expected, but you have not yet heard, sir, that—­’

‘I know nothing about the child, nor whether there is a child,’ Sir George answered testily.  ’My uncle may be dead, unmarried, or alive and married—­what difference does it make?’

‘Certainty is very necessary in these things,’ Peter replied severely.  The pen in his hand, he became a different man.  ’Your uncle, Mr. Anthony Soane, as I understand, is alive?’

’He disappeared in the Scotch troubles in ‘45,’ Sir George reluctantly explained, ’was disinherited in favour of my father, sir, and has not since been heard from.’

The attorney grew rigid with alertness; he was like nothing so much as a dog, expectant at a rat-hole.  ‘Attainted?’ he said.

‘No!’ said Sir George.

‘Outlawed?’

‘No.’

The attorney collapsed:  no rat in the hole.  ’Dear me, dear me, what a sad story!’ he said; and then remembering that his client had profited, ’but out of evil—­ahem!  As I understand, sir, you wish all your real property, including the capital mansion house and demesne, to go to the eldest son of your uncle Mr. Anthony Soane in tail, remainder to the second son in tail, and, failing sons, to daughters—­the usual settlement, in a word, sir.’

‘Yes.’

‘No exceptions, sir.’

‘None.’

‘Very good,’ the attorney answered with the air of a man satisfied so far.  ‘And failing issue of your uncle?  To whom then, Sir George?’

‘To the Earl of Chatham.’

Mr. Fishwick jumped in his seat; then bowed profoundly.

‘Indeed!  Indeed!  How very interesting!’ he murmured under his breath.  ‘Very remarkable!  Very remarkable, and flattering.’