summoned me and the other interested party to his office and
communicated to us the provisions of the will. And very extraordinary
provisions they turned out to be. I was thunderstruck when I heard them.
And the exasperating thing is that I feel sure my poor brother imagined
that he had made everything perfectly safe and simple."

"They generally do," I said, rather vaguely.

"I suppose they do," said Mr. Bellingham; "but poor John has made the
most infernal hash of his will, and I am certain that he has utterly
defeated his own intentions. You see, we are an old London family. The
house in Queen Square where my brother nominally lived, but actually
kept his collection, has been occupied by us for generations, and most
of the Bellinghams are buried in St. George's burial-ground close by,
though some members of the family are buried in other churchyards in the
neighbourhood. Now, my brother--who, by the way, was a bachelor--had a
strong feeling for the family traditions, and he stipulated, not
unnaturally, in his will that he should be buried in St. George's
burial-ground among his ancestors, or, at least, in one of the places of
burial appertaining to his native parish. But instead of simply
expressing the wish and directing his executors to carry it out, he made
it a condition affecting the operation of the will."

"Affecting it in what respect?" I asked.

"In a very vital respect," answered Mr. Bellingham. "The bulk of the
property he bequeathed to me, or if I predeceased him, to my daughter
Ruth. But the bequest was subject to the condition that I have
mentioned--that he should be buried in a certain place--and if that
condition was not fulfilled, the bulk of the property was to go to my