She dropped her stocking to take the wide-necked bottle in her hands, deciding now how best to send it.  It must go by post, in a good-sized wooden box, tightly packed, with a great deal of damp straw and wool; it ought to be safe that way.  She would send it to the club address, it was fortunate she had it; but not yet, not until her own plans were clearer.  It was just possible he might suspect her; it was hardly likely, but it was always as well to provide against remote contingencies, for if he tried and succeeded in verifying the suspicion everything would be spoiled.  He had made sensible efforts to find her before, he might make equally sensible and more successful ones again, unless she left a way of escape clear for herself.  Accordingly, so she determined, the explosive should not go yet, thought it had better be packed ready.  She would get a box and packing to-morrow; to-night she could only copy the formula.  She did this, printing it carefully on a strip of paper which she put on the bottle and coated with wax from her candle.  She knew Herr Van de Greutz waxed labels sometimes to preserve them from the damp, so she felt sure the formula would be safe however wet she might make the packing.

The next day she went to the lawyer’s office and heard all about the legacy and what she must do to prove her own identity and claim it.  Mr. Gillat waited outside, pacing up and down the street, striving so hard to look casual that he aroused the suspicions of a not too acute policeman.  The official was reassured, however, when Julia came out of the office and carried Johnny away to hear about the legacy.

“It is more than I thought,” she said, before they were half down the street.  “Fifty pounds a year, a small house—­not much more than a cottage—­and a garden and field; that’s about what it comes to.  The house is not worth much; it is in an unget-at-able part of Norfolk, in the sandy district towards the sea—­the man spoke as if I knew where that was, but I don’t—­and the garden and field are not fertile.  I don’t suppose one could let the place, but one could live in it, if one wanted to.”

“Yes, yes,” Johnny said, “of course; you will have your own estate to retire to; quite an heiress—­your mother will be pleased.”

Julia could well imagine what skilful use her mother could make of the legacy; it would figure beautifully in conversation; no doubt Johnny was really thinking of this also, though he did not know it, for actually the thing would not commend itself to Mrs. Polkington so highly as a lump sum of money would have done.

“Why do you think Great-aunt Jane let it to me?” Julia asked.  “Because I went out to work!  It seems that father and we three girls are the nearest relations she had, and though we knew nothing about her, she made inquiries about us from time to time.  When she heard I had gone abroad as companion or lady-help, she said she should leave all she had to me because I was the only one who even tried to do any honest work.  You know that is not really strictly fair, because I did not altogether go with the idea of doing honest work; although, certainly, when I got there I did it.”