He sighed, clasping and unclasping his hands, yet with eyes steadily fixed upon Cavendish, who had sunk back into his chair.

“Now consider the situation, my dear fellow.  I have, it is true, performed an unprofessional act which, if known, would expose me to severe criticism.  There is, however, no taint of criminal intent about my conduct and, no doubt, my course would be fully vindicated, were I now to go directly before the court and testify to the existence of a will.”

“But that could not be proved.  You have already stated that Frederick took the will with him; it has never been found.”

“Quite true—­or rather, it may have been found, and destroyed.  It chances, however, that I took the precaution to make a carbon copy.”

“Unsigned?”

“Yes, but along with this unsigned copy I also retain the original memoranda furnished me in Frederick Cavendish’s own handwriting.  I believe, from a legal standpoint, by the aid of my evidence, the court would be very apt to hold such a will proved.”

He leaned suddenly forward, facing the shrinking Cavendish and bringing his hand down hard upon the desk.

“Do you perceive now what this will means?  Do you realise where such testimony would place you?  Under the law, providing he died without a will, you were the sole heir to the property of Frederick Cavendish.  It was widely known you were not on friendly terms.  The evening of his death you quarrelled openly in a public restaurant.  Later, in a spirit of friendship, I called you up and said he had made a will practically disinheriting you.  Between that time and the next morning he is murdered in his own apartments, his safe rifled, and yet, the only paper missing is this will, to the existence of which I can testify.  If suspicion is once cast upon you, how can you clear yourself?  Can you prove that you were in your own apartments, asleep in your own bed from one o’clock until eight?  Answer that.”

Cavendish tried, but although his lips moved, they gave utterance to no sound.  He could but stare into those eyes confronting him.  Enright scarcely gave him opportunity.

“So, the words won’t come.  I thought not.  Now listen.  I am not that kind of a man and I have kept still.  No living person—­not even my partner—­has been informed of what has occurred.  The witnesses, I am sure, do not know the nature of the paper they signed.  I am a lawyer; I realise fully the relations I hold to my client, but in this particular case I contend that my duty as a man is of more importance than any professional ethics.  Frederick Cavendish had this will executed in a moment of anger and devised his estate to a number of charities.  I personally believe he was not in normal mind and that the will did not really reflect his purpose.  He had no thought of immediate death, but merely desired to teach you a lesson.  He proposed to disappear—­or at least, that is my theory—­in order that he might test you on a slender income.  I am able to look upon the whole matter from this standpoint, and base my conduct accordingly.  No doubt this will enable us to arrive at a perfectly satisfactory understanding.”