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recollection—I—er—I’m not a business man. I—er—don’t take much interest in business.”
    “Can you tell me what your uncle said?”
    Egbert ran his hands through his hair.
    “I—er—really I have a very poor memory.”
    “Mr. Standing, this is a very important matter. Do you assert that your uncle spoke to you in such a sense as to lead you to suppose that your cousin was illegitimate?”
    “Something of that sort.” Egbert’s voice was languid in the extreme.
    “What did he say?”
    “I—er—really can’t remember. I don’t take much interest in family matters.”
    “You must have some recollection.”
    “My uncle was, I believe, excited—I seem to remember that. He was, in fact, annoyed—with me—yes, I think it was with me. And I have some recollection of his saying” —Egbert paused and regarded his right thumb-nail critically.
    “Yes? What did he say?”
    “I don’t remember exactly. It was something about his will.”
    “Yes? That is important.”
    “I don’t remember really what he said. But he seemed annoyed. And it was something about making his will, because he’d be hanged if he’d let the property come to me. But he didn’t make a will after all, did he?”
    “We haven’t been able to find one. Was that all he said, Mr. Standing?”
    “Oh no, there was a lot more—about my cousin, you know.”
    “What did he say about your cousin?” Egbert yawned.
    “I didn’t take any interest in her, I’m afraid.”
    Mr. Hale strove for patience.
    “What did your uncle say about his daughter’s position?”
    “I don’t remember,” said Egbert vaguely. “Something about it’s being irregular—something like he said before, when he wrote to me.”
    Mr. Hale sat bolt upright.
    “Your uncle wrote to you about his daughter’s position?”
    Egbert shook his head.
    “He wrote to me about the club I was putting up for—said he’d blackball me.”
    Mr. Hale tapped on the table.
    “You said he wrote to you about his daughter.”
    “No, he wrote to me about blackballing me for the club. He just mentioned his daughter.
    “In a letter of that sort? Mr. Standing!”
    “Come to think of it, it wasn’t that letter at all. I told you my memory was awfully bad.”
    “Oh, it was another letter? And what did he say?”
    “I really can’t remember,” said Egbert in an exhausted voice.
    “Have you got that letter—did you keep it?”
    Egbert brightened a little.
    “I might have it, but I don’t know—I’m so awfully careless about letters. I just leave them about, you know, and sometimes my man throws them away, and sometimes he doesn’t. I could ask him.”
    “He’d be hardly likely to remember, but perhaps you will have a search made.”
    “He reads all the letters,” said Egbert thoughtfully. “He might remember.”
    Years of self-control do not go for nothing. Mr. Hale merely pressed his lips together for a moment before saying:
    “Will you kindly ask him to make a thorough search? This letter may be a very important piece of evidence. Indeed, if it contains Mr. Standing’s own admission that his daughter’s birth was irregular, the whole question would be settled.” He paused, and added, “In your favour.”
    “I suppose it would,” said Egbert vaguely.
    Mr. Hale shuffled some papers.
    “It is, perhaps, a little premature to raise the point, but if you succeed as heir-at-law, you will, I presume, be prepared to consider the question of some allowance to your cousin. I mention this now, because if we had your assurance on this point, we should be prepared to make her a small advance. She appears to be entirely without money.”
    “Does she?”
    “Entirely. She in fact asked me for some money to go on with only this afternoon.”
    “Did she?”
    “I am telling you that she did, and I should be glad to have your views on the subject of an allowance.”
    Egbert yawned.
    “I don’t go in for having views. Art is what interests me—my little