“It was a weak stroke, a weak stroke! But I can’t think of what is to be done now, not now!”

No, for to-night all his attention must be concentrated on the will.

Wiping the perspiration from his brow, he lit another candle. This time nothing should prevent him from destroying the accursed thing which stood between him and wealth; he would burn it at once—at once. With feverish eagerness he thrust his hand in his coat, then staggered and fell back white as death.

The pocket was empty. The will was not there.

“I—I am a fool!” he muttered, with a smile. “I put it in the other coat,” and he snatched up the overcoat, but a glance, a touch showed him that it was not there either.

Wildly, madly he searched each pocket in vain, went on[58] his knees and felt, as if he could not trust his sight alone, every inch of the carpet; turned up the hearth-rug, almost tore up the carpet itself, shook the curtains, and still hunted and searched long after the conviction had forced itself upon his mind that in no part of the room could the thing be hidden.

Then he paused, pressing his hand to his brow and biting his livid lips. Let him think—think—think! Where could it be? He had not dropped it on the stairs or in any other part of the house, for he remembered, he could swear, that he had felt the thing as he stood in the study buttoning up his overcoat. If not in the house, where then?

Throwing aside all caution in his excitement, he unfastened the window, and, candle in hand, examined the grand terrace, traced every step which he had taken across the lawn—and all to no purpose.

“It is lying in the road,” he muttered, the sweat dropping from his face. “Heaven! lying glaring there, for any country clown to pick up and ruin me. I must—I will find it! Brandy—I must have some brandy—this—this is maddening me!”

And indeed he seemed mad, for though he knew he had not passed it, he went back, still peering on the ground, the candle held above his head. Suddenly he stumbled up against some object, and, looking up, saw the tall figure of a man standing right in his path. With a wolfish cry of mingled fear and rage, he dropped the candle and sprang on to him.

“You—you thief!” he cried, hoarsely; “give it to me—give it me!”

The man made an effort to unlock the mad grasp of the hands round his throat, then scientifically and coolly knocked his assailant down, and, holding him down writhing, struck a match.

Gasping and foaming, Stephen looked up and saw that it was Jack Newcombe—Jack Newcombe regarding him with cool, contemptuous surprise and suspicion.

“Well,” he said contemptuously, “so it’s you! Are you out of your mind?” and he flung the match away and allowed Stephen to rise.[59]

Trembling and struggling for composure, Stephen brushed the dust from his black coat and stood rubbing his chest, for Jack’s blow had been straight from the shoulder.

“What have you got to say for yourself?” said Jack, sternly. “I asked you if you had gone mad. What are you doing here with a candle, and behaving like a lunatic?”

Stephen made a mighty effort for composure, and a ghastly smile struggled to his face.

“My dear Jack, how you startled me!” he gasped. “I was never so frightened in my—my life!”

“So it appeared,” said Jack, with strong disgust in his voice. “Pick up the candle—there it is.”

And he pointed with his foot. But Stephen was by no means anxious for a light.

“Never mind the candle,” he said. “You are quite right—I must have seemed out of my mind. I—I am very much upset, my dear Jack.”

“Are you hurt?” inquired Jack, but with no great show of concern.

“No, no!” gasped Stephen; “don’t distress yourself, my dear Jack—don’t, I beg of you. It was my fault, entirely. The—the fact is that I——”

He paused, for Jack had got the candle, lit it, and held it up so that the light fell upon Stephen’s face.

“Now,” he said, his tone plainly intimating that he would prefer to see Stephen’s face while he made his explanation.

“The fact is,” Stephen began again, “I have had the misfortune to lose a pocketbook—no, not a pocketbook, that is scarcely correct, but a paper which I fancied I had put in my pocketbook, and which must have dropped out. It—it was a draft of a little legal document which my lawyer had sent me—of no value, utterly valueless—oh, quite——”

“So I should judge from the calm way in which you accused the first man you met of stealing it,” said Jack, with quiet scorn.

Stephen bit his lip, and a glance of hate and suspicion shot from under his eyelids.[60]

“Pray forgive me, my dear Jack,” he said, pressing his hand to his brow, and sighing. “If you had sat up for so many nights, and were so worn and overwrought, you would have some sympathy with my overstrained nerves. I am much shaken to-night, my dear Jack—very much shaken.”

And indeed he was, for the Savage’s fist was by no means a soft one.

Jack looked at him in silence for a moment, then held the candle toward him.

“You had better go to the house and get some of the servants to help you look for the paper,” he said. “Good-night.”

“Oh, it is of no consequence,” said Stephen, eagerly. “Don’t go—stop a moment, my dear Jack. I—I will walk with you as far as the inn.”

“No, thanks,” said Jack, curtly; then, as a suspicious look gleamed in Stephen’s eyes, he added: “Oh, I see! you are afraid I should pick it up in the road. You had better come.”

Stephen smiled, and laid his hand on Jack’s arm.

“You—you are not playing a joke with me, my dear Jack? You haven’t got the—document in your pocket all the time?”

“If I said that I hadn’t you wouldn’t believe me, you know,” he replied. “There, take your hand off my coat!”

“Stop! stop!” exclaimed Stephen, with a ghostly attempt at a laugh. “Don’t go, my dear Jack; stop at the house to-night. I should feel very much obliged, indeed, if you would. I am so upset to-night that I—I want company. Let me beg of you to stop.”

And in his dread lest Jack should escape out of sight, he held on to his arm.

Jack shook him with so emphatic a movement of disgust that Stephen was in imminent danger of making a further acquaintance with the lawn.

“Go indoors,” he said sternly, “and leave me alone. I’d rather not sleep under the same roof with you.