eyes gleamed, and there was a centre of warm colour on each of his
cheeks. He had taken a note-book from his pocket, and the leaves
rustled under his tremulous fingers.

'The lawyer, a man called Yottle, just gave me an idea of the
different investments and so on. The real property consists of a
couple of houses in Belwick, both let, and an estate at a place
called Wanley. The old man had begun mining there; there's iron.
I've got my ideas about that. I didn't go into the house; people are
there still. Now the income.'

He read his notes: So much in railways, so much averaged yearly from
iron-works in Belwick, so much in foreign securities, so much
disposable at home. Total--

'Stop, Dick, stop!' uttered his mother, under her breath. 'Them
figures frighten me; I don't know what they mean. It's a mistake;
they're leading you astray. Now, mind what I say--there's a mistake!
No man with all that money 'ud die without a will. You won't get me
to believe it, Dick.'

Richard laughed excitedly. 'Believe it or not, mother; I've got my
ears and eyes, I hope. And there's a particular reason why he left
no will. There was one, but something--I don't know what--happened
just before his death, and he was going to make a new one. The will
was burnt. He died in church on a Sunday morning; if he'd lived
another day, he'd have made a new will. It's no more a mistake than
the Baptist Chapel is in the square!' A comparison which hardly
conveyed all Richard's meaning; but he was speaking in agitation,
more and more quickly, at last almost angrily.