"The Australian bankers would know more," suggested Viner.

"Precisely!" agreed Mr. Pawle. "We can get news from them, in time. But
now, what do I know? No more than this--Mr. Ashton called on me about six
or seven weeks ago, told me that he was an Australian who had come to
settle in London, that he was pretty well off, and that he wanted to make
a will. We drafted a will on his instructions, and he duly executed it.
Here it is! Miss Wickham has just seen it. Mr. Ashton has left every
penny he had to Miss Wickham. He told me she was the only child of an old
friend of his, who had given her into his care on his death out in
Australia, some years ago, and that as he, Ashton, had no near relations,
he had always intended to leave her all he had. And so he has, without
condition, or reservation, or anything--all is yours, Miss Wickham, and
I'm your executor. But now," continued Mr. Pawle, "how far does this take
us toward solving the mystery of my client's death? So far as I can see,
next to nowhere! And I am certain of this, Mr. Viner: if we are going to
solve it, and if this old school friend of yours is being unjustly
accused, and is to be cleared, we must find out more about Ashton's
doings since he came to London. The secret lies--there!"

"I quite agree," answered Viner. "But--who knows anything?"

Mr. Pawle looked at the two ladies.

"That's a stiff question!" he said. "The bankers tell me that Ashton only
called on them two or three times; he called on me not oftener; neither
they nor I ever had much conversation with him. These two ladies should
know more about him than anybody--but they seem to know little."

Viner, who was sitting opposite to her, looked at Miss Wickham.