blank before his patient, who read it through and nodded. Dr. Stevens
then placed the pen in the trembling fingers and guided his signature.
A moment more and the physician had signed it as a witness and the
butler had done the same.

The old manufacturer died as he had lived.

The will written on Dr. Stevens's prescription pad was given to Owen.
He went to his room and examined it. It read:

"Bodley Stevens, M.D. Rx: I bequeath half my estate to my son, Harry,
the remainder to my adopted daughter, Pauline, to be held in trust,
until her marriage, by my secretary, Raymond Owen."

Then followed the signature of the deceased and that of the two
witnesses. In vain Owen looked for the handsome bequest to "the
faithful secretary." This was a bitter disappointment, and he
considered for a moment the advisability of destroying the will. This
would make valid one of the earlier wills in which he knew he had not
been forgotten.

The folly of such a course became evident after a few moments thought.
Dr. Stevens, the butler, and several others knew the contents of the
document. It was so simple that its meaning could hardly be confused
or forgotten, and every one knew it was in his keeping. It occurred to
Owen that quite likely such a hasty death-bed will written by a doctor
unskilled in law might not be accepted by the courts.

Early the next morning Owen suspended his work of answering telegrams
of condolence long enough to make a hurried trip to lower Manhattan,