and in recalling old times they reminded him that if he died without making a will, his property would go to the Crown.  It displeased him to think that his property should pass away in so impersonal a manner.  But his mind was now full of death; like a gourmet he longed to taste of the dark fruit of oblivion; and the delay involved in making out a will exasperated him, and it was with difficulty that he conquered his selfishness and sat down to write.  Fretful he threw aside the pen; this little delay had destroyed all his happiness.  To dispose of his property in money and land would take some time; the day would surprise him still in the world.  After a few moments’ reflection he decided that he would leave Belthorpe Park to Frank Escott.

“I dare say I’m doing him an injury ... but no, there’s no time for paradoxes—­I’ll leave Belthorpe Park to Frank Escott.  The aristocrat shall not return to the people.  But to whom shall I leave all my money in the funds?  To a hospital?  No.  To a woman?  I must leave it to a woman; I hardly know any one but women; but to whom?  Suppose I were to leave it to be divided among those who could advance irrefutable proof that they had loved me!  What a throwing over of reputation there would be.”  Then a sudden memory of the girl by whom he had had a child sprang upon him like something out of the dark.  He wondered for a moment what the child was like, and then he wrote leaving the interest of his money to her, until his son, the child born in such a year—­he had some difficulty in fixing the date—­came of age.  She should retain the use of the interest of twelve thousand pounds, and at her death that sum should revert to the said child born in ——­, and if the said child were not living, his mother should become possessor of the entire monies now invested in funds, to do with as she pleased.

“That will do,” he thought; “I dare say it isn’t very legal, but it is common sense and will be difficult to upset.  Yes, and I will leave all my books and furniture in Temple Gardens to Frank; I don’t care much about the fellow, but I had better leave it to him.  And now, what about witnesses?  The policemen will do.”

He found one in King’s Bench Walk, another he met a little further on, talking to a belated harlot, whom he willingly relinquished on being invited to drink.  Mike led the way at a run up the high steps, the burly officers followed more leisurely.

“Come in,” he cried, and they advanced into the room, their helmets in their hands.  “What will you take, whiskey or brandy?”

After some indecision both decided, as Mike knew they would, for the former beverage.  He offered them soda-water; but they preferred a little plain water, and drank to his very good health.  They were, as before, garrulous to excess.  Mike listened for some few minutes, so as to avoid suspicion, and then said—­

“Oh, by the way, I wrote out my will a night or two ago—­not that I want to die yet, but one never knows.  Would you mind witnessing it?”