With a dexterity only acquired by long practice Mr. Beaumont deftly melted the wax of the seal and speedily opened the letter. First he took out the short note, written by the Squire, which he read aloud to Patience, the contents being as follows:
"I give you this money to help you in your life. When I am born again in another body, and come to you for help or friendship, you must help me, if I ask, on my reminding you of this money I now give you--for no one but ourselves will know of this transaction, so you can be certain that he who speaks to you of it will be myself in a new body.
"Randal Garsworth."
"As mad as ever, I see," said Beaumont, with a sneer, putting down the note. "Now for the cheque."
He glanced at it quickly--saw that it was for one hundred pounds, payable to Reginald Blake, and dated the thirtieth of the month--whereupon he gave a low whistle.
"What's the matter?" asked Patience, quickly.
"To-day, I believe, is the fourteenth?"
"Yes--I know what you're going to say--the cheque is dated the thirtieth--I understand that."
"Yes, and you, doubtless, understand that the Squire died on the twelfth, and that this cheque is waste paper?"
"Waste paper?"