"No?" cried his lordship, twittering.
Monseigneur Forest nodded.
"If you remember," he said, "after you and I had witnessed the old gentleman's signature, I took charge of it."
"That's right. You were going to take it to the British Consulate, to see if——"
"They'd stamp it. Exactly. Well, I was too late that day. I attended the next morning, and, after a little difficulty, they consented, for what it was worth, to put a seal on it. Then I went back to the hotel. When I asked whether the testator was still alive, they told me he'd gone."
"Gone?" cried the Judge incredulously. "But the man was dying."
"Dying or not, he'd left for Paris that morning. To the amazement of the manager he had quietly walked into the office, asked for his bill, and ordered a cab to be sent for and his luggage to be brought down. Apparently the doctor attending him had tried to protest, and had been sent away with a flea in his ear. I can only assume that the old fellow was subject to some violent malady, which comes and goes suddenly, one of whose attacks he has been warned will prove fatal."
"What an amazing thing!" said his lordship. "It never occurred to me that he would survive the night. However, as it happens, it doesn't affect the validity of that will. He's dead now. He died in 1917. But the will that was proved and is lying at Somerset House was made in 1910."
"You mean to say that the will we witnessed supersedes it?"
"Undoubtedly."