"It was supposed that she left the castle; but this morning she reappeared, and claimed the right to remain beneath this roof."

"And where had she passed the night?"

"Not in her own apartments. Of that I have been informed by her maid, who believed that she had left Raynham for good."

"Strange!" exclaimed the magistrate. "If she is guilty, why does she remain here, where her guilt is known--where she maybe suspected of a crime, and the most terrible of crimes?"

"Of what crime?"

"Of murder, Mr. Eversleigh. I regret to tell you that these two medical gentlemen concur in the opinion that your uncle's death was caused by poison. A _post-mortem_ examination will be made to-night."

"Upon what evidence?"

"On the evidence of an empty glass, which is under lock and key in yonder cabinet," answered the doctor from Plimborough; "and at the bottom of which I found traces of one of the most powerful poisons known to those who are skilled in the science of toxicology: and on the further evidence of diagnostics which I need not explain--the evidence of the dead man's appearance, Mr. Eversleigh. That your uncle died from the effects of poison, there cannot be the smallest doubt. The next question to be considered is, whether that poison was administered by his own hand, or the hand of an assassin."

"He may have committed suicide," said Reginald, with some hesitation.

"It is just possible," answered Gilbert Ashburne; "though from my knowledge of your uncle's character, I should imagine it most unlikely.

At any rate, his papers will reveal the state of his mind immediately before his death. It is my suggestion, therefore, that his papers should be examined immediately by you, as his nearest relative and acknowledged heir--by me, as magistrate of the district, and in the presence of Mr. Dalton, who was your uncle's confidential solicitor.

Have you any objection to offer to this course, Mr. Eversleigh, or Sir Reginald, as I suppose I ought now to call you?" It was the first time Reginald Eversleigh had heard himself addressed by the title which was now his own--that title which, borne by the possessor of a great fortune, bestows so much dignity; but which, when held by a poor man, is so hollow a mockery. In spite of his fears--in spite of that sense of remorse which had come upon him since his uncle's death--the sound of the title was pleasant to his ears, and he stood for the moment silent, overpowered by the selfish rapture of gratified pride.

The magistrate repeated his question.

"Have you any objection to offer, Sir Reginald?"

"None whatever, Mr. Ashburne."

Reginald Eversleigh was only too glad to accede to the magistrate's proposition. He was feverishly anxious to see the will which was to make him master of Raynham. He knew that such a will had been duly executed. He had no reason to fear that it had been destroyed; but still he wanted to see it--to hold it in his hands, to have incontestable proof of its existence.

The examination of the papers was serious work. The lawyer suggested that the first to be scrutinized should be those that he had found on the table at which Sir Oswald had been writing.

The first of these papers which came into the magistrate's hand was Mary Goodwin's letter. Reginald Eversleigh recognized the familiar handwriting, the faded ink, and crumpled paper. He stretched out his hand at the moment Gilbert Ashburne was about to examine the document.

"That is a letter," he said, "a strictly private letter, which I recognize. It is addressed to me, as you will see; and posted in Paris nearly two years ago. I must beg you not to read it."

"Very well, Sir Reginald, I will take your word for it. The letter has nothing to do with the subject of our present inquiry. Certainly, a letter, posted in Paris two years ago, can scarcely have any connection with the state of your uncle's mind last night."

The magistrate little thought how very important an influence that crumpled sheet of paper had exercised upon the events of the previous night.

Gilbert Ashburne and the lawyer examined the rest of the packet. There were no papers of importance; nothing throwing any light upon late events, except Lady Eversleigh's letter, and the will made by the baronet immediately after his marriage.

"There is another and a later will," said Reginald, eagerly; "a will made last night, and witnessed by Millard and Peterson. This earlier will ought to have been destroyed."

"It is not of the least consequence, Sir Reginald," replied the solicitor. "The will of latest date is the true one, if there should be a dozen in existence."

"We had better search for the will made last night," said Reginald, anxiously.

The magistrate and the lawyer complied. They perceived the anxiety of the expectant heir, and gave way to it. The search occupied a long time, but no second will was found; the only will that could be discovered was that made within a week of the baronet's marriage.

"The will attested last night must be in this room," exclaimed Reginald. "I will send for Millard; and you shall hear from his lips an exact account of what occurred."

The young man tried in vain to conceal the feeling of alarm which had taken possession of him. What would be his position if this will should not be found? A beggar, steeped in crime.

He rang the bell and sent for the valet. Joseph Millard came, and repeated his account of the previous night's transaction. It was clear that the will had been made. It was equally clear that if it were still in existence, it must be found in that room, for the valet declared that his master had not left the library after the execution of the document.

"I was on the watch and on the listen all night, you see, gentlemen,"

said Joseph Millard; "for I was very uneasy about master, knowing what trouble had come upon him, and how he'd never been to bed all the night before. I thought he might call me at any minute, so I kept close at hand. There's a little room next to this, and I sat in there with the door open, and though I dropped off into a doze now and then, I never was sound enough asleep not to have heard this door open, if it did open. But I'll take my Bible oath that Sir Oswald never left this room after me and Peterson witnessed the will."

"Then the will must be somewhere in the room, and it will be our business to find it," answered Mr. Ashburne. "That will do, Millard; you can go."

The valet retired.

Reginald recommenced the search for the will, assisted by the magistrate and the lawyer, while the two doctors stood by the fire-place, talking together in suppressed tones.

This time the search left no crevice unexamined. But all was done without avail; and despair began to gain upon Reginald Eversleigh.

What if all the crime, the falsehood, the infamy of the past few days had been committed for no result?

He was turning over the papers in the bureau for the third or fourth time, with trembling hands, in the desperate hope that somehow or other the missing will might have escaped former investigations, when he was arrested by a sudden exclamation from Mr. Missenden, the Plimborough surgeon.

"I don't think you need look any farther, Sir Reginald," said this gentleman.

"What do you mean?" cried Reginald, eagerly.

"I believe the will is found."

"Thank Heaven!" exclaimed the young man.

"You mistake, Sir Reginald," said Mr. Missenden, who was kneeling by the fire-place, looking intently at some object in the polished steel fender; "if I am right, and that this really is the document in question, I fear it will be of very little use to you."

"It has been destroyed!" gasped Reginald.

"I fear so. This looks to me like the fragment of a will."

He handed Reginald a scrap of paper, which he had found amongst a heap of grey ashes. It was scorched to a deep yellow colour, and burnt at the edges; but the few words written upon it were perfectly legible, nevertheless.

These words were the following:--

"--_Nephew, Reginald Eversleigh--Raynham Castle estate--all lands and tenements appertaining--sole use and benefit_--"

This was all. Reginald gazed at the scrap of scorched paper with wild, dilated eyes. All hope was gone; there could be little doubt that this morsel of paper was all that remained of Sir Oswald Eversleigh's latest will.

And the will made previously bequeathed Raynham to the testator's window, a handsome fortune to each of the two Dales, and a pittance of five hundred a-year to Reginald.

The young man sank into a chair, stricken down by this overwhelming blow. His white face was the very picture of despair.

"My uncle never destroyed this document," he exclaimed; "I will not believe it. Some treacherous hand has been thrust between me and my rights. Why should Sir Oswald have made a will in one hour and destroyed it in the next? What could have influenced him to alter his mind?"

As he uttered these words, Reginald Eversleigh remembered that fatal letter of Mary Goodwin, which had been found lying uppermost amongst the late baronet's papers. That letter had caused Sir Oswald to disinherit his nephew once. Was it possible that the same letter had influenced him a second time?