"Anyhow," remarked Mr. Gladman, licking his lips, which were dry,
"you won't get anything, Mr. Clodd--no, not even your three-hundred
pounds, clever as you think yourself. My brother-in-law's money
will go to the lawyers."

Then Mr. Pincer rose and spoke slowly and clearly. "If there must
be a lunatic connected with our family, which I don't see why there
should be, it seems to me to be you, Nathaniel Gladman."

Mr. Gladman stared back with open mouth. Mr. Pincer went on
impressively.

"As for my poor old cousin Joe, he had his eccentricities, but that
was all. I for one am prepared to swear that he was of sound mind
in August last and quite capable of making his own will. It seems
to me that the other thing, dated in June, is just waste paper."

Mr. Pincer having delivered himself, sat down again. Mr. Gladman
showed signs of returning language.

"Oh! what's the use of quarrelling?" chirped in cheery Mrs.
Gladman. "It's five hundred pounds we never expected. Live and
let live is what I always say."

"It's the damned artfulness of the thing," said Mr. Gladman, still
very white about the gills.

"Oh, you have a little something to thaw your face," suggested his
wife.