“Or, rather,” pursued my friend imperturbably, “there was one.”

“What do you mean⁠—there was one? Where is it now?”

“Burnt!”

“Burnt?”

“Yes. See here.” He took out the charred fragment we had found in the grate in Mrs. Inglethorp’s room, and handed it to the lawyer with a brief explanation of when and where he had found it.

“But possibly this is an old will?”

“I do not think so. In fact I am almost certain that it was made no earlier than yesterday afternoon.”

“What?” “Impossible!” broke simultaneously from both men.