"Right-ho, father. The death-duties will be annoying. What a
beastly swindle the death-duties are! Why, I shall suffer even on
your own little estate . . . "

"That will do!" he said curtly. Father is so ridiculously touchy.
One would think he expects to live for ever. Presently he spoke
again:

"I wonder what are the conditions of that trust. They are as
important--almost--as the amount of the bequest--whatever it is. By
the way, there seems to be no mention in the will of a residuary
legatee. Ernest, my boy, we may have to fight over that."

"How do you make that out, father?" I asked. He had been very rude
over the matter of the death-duties of his own estate, though it is
entailed and I MUST inherit. So I determined to let him see that I
know a good deal more than he does--of law, at any rate. "I fear
that when we come to look into it closely that dog won't fight. In
the first place, that may be all arranged in the letter to St. Leger,
which is a part of the Will. And if that letter should be
inoperative by his refusal of the conditions (whatever they may be),
then the letter to the attorney begins to work. What it is we don't
know, and perhaps even he doesn't--I looked at it as well as I could-
-and we law men are trained to observation. But even if the
instructions mentioned as being in Letter C fail, then the corpus of
the Will gives full power to Trent to act just as he darn pleases.
He can give the whole thing to himself if he likes, and no one can
say a word. In fact, he is himself the final court of appeal."

"H'm!" said father to himself. "It is a queer kind of will, I take