‘Something for you there, Frederick Wellington Ryley!’ exclaimed Stanway in a frigid tone, biting his thumb and looking up at the ceiling.

Ryley blushed.  He had scarcely spoken during the meal, and he did not break his silence now.

With much verbiage the will proceeded to state that the testatrix left the residue of her private savings to Meshach, ’to dispose of absolutely according to his own discretion,’ in case he should survive her; and that in case she should survive him she left her private savings and the whole of the estate of which she and Meshach were joint tenants to John Stanway.

‘There is a short codicil,’ Dain added, ’which revokes the legacy of two hundred and fifty pounds to Mr. Ryley in case Mr. Myatt should survive the testatrix.  It is dated some six months ago.’

‘Kindly read it,’ said Stanway coldly.

‘With pleasure,’ the lawyer agreed, and he read it.

‘Then, as it turns out,’ Stanway remarked, looking defiantly at his uncle, ‘Ryley gets nothing but five pounds under this will.’

‘Under this will, nephew,’ the old man assented.

‘And may one inquire,’ Stanway persisted, ’the nature of your intentions in regard to aunt’s savings which she leaves you to dispose of according to your discretion?’

‘What dost mean, nephew?’

Leonora saw with anxiety that her husband, while intending to be calm, pompous, and superior, was, in fact, losing control of himself.

‘I mean,’ said John, ‘are you going to distribute them?’

’No, nephew.  They’re well enough where they lie.  I shall none touch ‘em.’

Stanway gave the sigh of a martyr who has sufficient spirit to be disdainful.  Throwing his serviette on the disordered table, he pushed back his chair and stood up.  ‘You’ll excuse me now, uncle,’ he said, bitterly polite, ‘I must be off to the works.  Ryley, I shall want you.’  And without another word he left the room and the house.

* * * * *

Leonora was the last to go.  Meshach would not allow her to stay after the tea-things were washed up.  He declined firmly every offer of help or companionship, and since the middle-aged servant made no objection to being alone with her convalescent master, Leonora could only submit to his wishes.

When she was gone he lighted his pipe.  At seven o’clock, the servant came into the parlour and found him dozing in the dark; his pipe hung loosely from his teeth.

‘Eh, mester,’ she cried, lighting the gas.  ’Hadn’t ye better go to bed?  Ye’ve had a worriting day.’

‘Happen I’d better,’ he answered deliberately, taking hold of the pipe and adjusting his spectacles.

‘Can ye undress yeself?’ she asked him.

‘Ay,’ he said, ‘I can do that, wench.  My candle!’

And he went carefully up to bed.

CHAPTER X