Miss Cayley's Adventures

by Grant Allen

I looked at it closely. The paper bore our Florentine water-mark, and was written with a Spread-Eagle. 'I type-wrote it,' I answered, gazing at it with care to make sure I recognised it.

Our counsel's business was to uphold the will, not to cast aspersions upon it. He was evidently annoyed at my close examination. 'You have no doubts about it?' he said, trying to prompt me.

I hesitated. 'No, no doubts,' I answered, turning over the sheet and inspecting it still closer. 'I type-wrote it at Florence.'

'Do you recognise that signature as Mr. Marmaduke Ashurst's?' he went on.

I stared at it. Was it his? It was like it, certainly. Yet that k? and those s's? I almost wondered.

Counsel was obviously annoyed at my hesitation. He thought I was playing into the enemy's hands. 'Is it his, or is it not?' he inquired again, testily.

'It is his,' I answered. Yet I own I was troubled.

I WAS A GROTESQUE FAILURE.