paper and carefully assured myself that nothing had slipped underneath.
Val, roused by my action, began to poke into the drawers of the
dressing-table; but his search was just as fruitless. There was
nothing to be done but to settle as to the packing of the clothes and
take our departure.

Suddenly an idea struck me. How often does a small article get lost in
a chest of drawers by slipping behind the drawers themselves. At once
I acted on the suggestion. I did not watt to consider that others had
probably searched as thoroughly as I could do. Out came the drawers,
one after the other, and were deposited on the floor. The bottom
drawer was rather tight, and would not come out easily; but I got it
out with an extra expenditure of muscle. Positively, there was a small
folded paper--like a letter--lying behind it; my heart sank, for it was
too small for such a document as I was anxious to find. I picked it up
listlessly and unfolded it.

"By Jove, Val! Here it is!" I cried exultantly.

He skipped across the room to read the paper over my shoulder.

"That's it, all right!" was his exclamation. "Thank God!"

It was but a sheet of common note-paper, bearing the printed heading of
the hotel. Across it was written in shaky characters the following:


"This is the last will and testament of me, Alexander Gowan, of 269
Heniker Street, Chicago, U. S. A. I revoke all former testaments, and
hereby bequeath the whole of the property of which I die possessed to