"I don't see how you can avoid it, Hendle. Mallien is not the man to let a chance of getting a fortune go."
"I am sure he isn't," retorted the Squire positively. "And he is certain to make things as disagreeable for me as possible. But if I surrender the property, should the will prove to be legal, I don't see that he can worry me."
"You will lose everything," warned the barrister, significantly.
"I suppose so," admitted the Squire reluctantly. "Even if she remains true to me, as I am sure she will, I can't ask her to marry me on nothing a year."
There was silence for a few minutes as the two men walked into the village, and it was Carrington who spoke first. "I'm awfully sorry for you, old man."
"I'm rather sorry for myself. However, what must be must be, so there's no more to be said. By the way, Dorinda told me that Leigh had made me his executor. I never knew that he had, until she told me."
"Leigh took your friendship for granted, it seems. Who inherits?"
"I don't know. His sole relative is a sea captain, somewhere in Australia. I have heard him speak of the young fellow--a cousin of sorts--as the last of the Leighs. There isn't much to leave in the way of property."
"So you are executor," murmured Carrington thoughtfully. "In that case, you will have the handling of the papers, and may be able to get possession of the will before the Inspector lays hands on it."
"What good will that do?" asked Hendle, irritably.
"I shouldn't think of doing such a thing."
"You'll lose all if the will proves to be genuine," Carrington warned him.
"So you said yesterday. But I mean to be honest." And again there was silence, Carrington secretly considering his friend an honorable ass.
Anxious to help Rupert, and, at his friend's request, Carrington remained at The Big House until the inquest was over, and the burial of the murdered man took place. Both he and the Squire could do little save watch the course of events, as neither of them wished to say anything about the missing will, and neither could suggest any reason why the crime should have been committed. And, indeed, the police were equally unable to solve the problem, since the murder, on the face of it, appeared to be purposeless and the assassin could not be discovered. Inspector Lawson, of Tarhaven, did his best to find a clue, but from first to last was unsuccessful. He did not even know where to look for one, and when the inquest was held, had absolutely no evidence to place before the Coroner and jury. Leigh's murderer had come out of the night and had gone into the night; but why he had come to commit so dastardly a crime, and whither he had gone after achieving his aim, it was wholly impossible to say. The affair was unpleasant, mysterious and uncanny.