"But he was your father's friend."

"Oh, yes, of course."

"Hence you, sir, are here," continued the lawyer. "My instructions were clear enough. I was to invite you here at this painful time, and take my old friend's place as your host."

"You have been most kind, Mr Girtle," said Miss D'Enghien.

"I thank you, madam, and I grieve that you should have to be present at so painful a time. My next instructions were to send for the Italian professor, who is here to carry out the wishes of the deceased."

"Horrible idea for a man to wish to be embalmed," said Artis, brutally.

Lydia Lawrence shuddered, and turned away her face. Paul Capel glanced indignantly at the speaker, and then turned to gaze at Katrine D'Enghien, who sat perfectly unmoved, her hand still hanging from the side of the chair, as if to show the graceful contour of her arm.

"Colonel Capel had been a great part of his life in the East, Mr Artis," said the old lawyer, coldly. "He had had the matter in his mind for some time."

"How do you know that?"

"By the date on my instructions, which also contained the Italian professor's card."

"And I suppose we shall have a very eccentric will, sir."

"Yes," said the lawyer quietly, "a very eccentric will."

"Come, that's refreshing," said the young man with a fidgetty movement.

"Well, you are not very communicative, Mr Girtle. You family solicitors are as close as your deed boxes."

"Yes," said the old lawyer, closing his gold snuff-box with a loud snap.

"Well, come, it can be no breach of confidence to tell us when the funeral is to be?"

The old lawyer took a turn or two up and down the room, snuff-box in hand, the bright metal glistening as he swung his hand to and fro. Then he stopped short, and said slowly:

"The successor to Colonel Capel's enormous property will inherit under extremely peculiar conditions, duly set forth in the will it will be my duty to read to you."

"After the funeral?" said Gerard Artis.

"No, sir; there will be no funeral."

"No funeral!" exclaimed Artis and Paul Capel in a breath, and then they rose to their feet, startled more than they would have cared to own, for at that moment a strange wild cry seemed to come from the staircase, followed by a heavy crash.

"Good Heavens!" cried the old lawyer, dropping his snuff-box.

Katrine D'Enghien alone remained unmoved, with her head turned towards the door.

CHAPTER THREE.

ONE GUARDIAN OF THE TREASURE.

Paul Capel was the first to recover from the surprise, and to hurry from the darkened room, followed by Artis and the late Colonel's solicitor, though it was into no blaze of light, for the staircase was equally gloomy.

The source of the strange noise was not far to seek, for, as they reached the landing, they became aware that a fierce struggle was going on in the direction of the room occupied by the late Colonel, and hurrying there, it was to find two men locked together, one of whom was succeeding in holding the other down, and wresting his neck from the sinewy hands which had torn off his white cravat.

"Why, Charles! Ramo!" exclaimed Mr Girtle, in the midst of the hoa.r.s.e, panting sounds uttered by the contending men.

"He's mad!" cried the former, in a high-pitched tone, in which a man's rage was mingled with a schoolboy's whimpering fear. "He's mad, sir.

He tried to strangle me."

"Thief! dog!" panted the old Hindoo, with his dark features convulsed with pa.s.sion. "Wanted--rob--his master!"

The two young men had separated the combatants, who now stood up, the footman, his vest and shirt torn open, and his coat dragged half off-- the old man with one sleeve of his dark silk robe gone, and the back rent to the waist, while there was a fierce, vindictive look in his working features, as he had to be held to keep him from closing with the footman again.

"What does this mean, Charles?" cried Mr Girtle, as the butler and the other servants came hurrying up, while the three Italians also stood upon the landing, looking wonderingly on.

"If you please, sir, I don't know," said the footman, in an ill-used tone. "I was just going by the Colonel's door, and I thought, as was very natural, that I should like to see what these gentlemen had done, when Mr Ramo sprang at me like a wild cat."

"No, no!" cried the old Indian, whose English in his rage and excitement was less distinct, "a thief--come to rob--my dear lord--a thief!"

"I hope, sir," said the footman, growing calmer and looking in an injured way at Mr Girtle, "you know me better than that, sir. Mr Preenham here will tell you I've cleaned the plate regular all the ten years I've been here."

The old solicitor turned to the butler.

"Yes, sir; Charles's duty has been to clean the plate, but it is in my charge, and I have kept the strictest account of it. A little disposed to show temper, sometimes, sir, but strictly honest and very clean."

"This is a very sad and unseemly business at such a time," said Mr Girtle. "Ramo, you have made a mistake."

"No, no!" cried the old Indian, wrathfully.

"Come, come," said Mr Girtle; "be reasonable."

"The police," panted the old Indian. "Send for the police."

"All right," cried Charles, defiantly; "send for the police and let 'em search me."

"Silence!" cried Mr Girtle. "Go down and arrange your dress, sir. Mr Capel, young ladies, will you return to the drawing-room? Signori, will you retire? That will do, Preenham. Leave Ramo to me."

In another minute the old solicitor was left with Ramo, who stood beneath the dim stained-gla.s.s window, with his arms folded and his brow knit.

"You do not trust and believe me, sir?"

"Don't talk nonsense, Ramo. You know I trust you as the most faithful fellow in the world."

He held out his hand as he spoke, but the old Indian remained motionless for the moment; then, seizing the hand extended to him, he bent over it, holding it to his breast.

"My dear lord's old friend," he said.

"That's better, Ramo," said Mr Girtle. "Now, go and change your dress."