"Yes," said Duncan, "I've been having them send mints up every day or two. I've been chewing them at nights — makes the cigarettes taste better with a few mints in between. But how did these mints come to be in the package?"
Abdul shrugged his shoulders.
Duncan was thoughtful when the Hindu left the room. He trusted his Hindu servant — Abdul had been with him for five years — yet it was strange that the man should have so promptly diagnosed the cause of Duncan's peculiar sleep the night before. But why had Abdul mentioned the fact if he had had anything to do with it?
The Hindu returned with the morning mail. It contained a letter from Duncan's lawyer. The young man read the message:
Please call at my office at your earliest convenience. This is very important, and I will expect to see you shortly. ROBERT CHALMERS TREMAINE.
Two hours later, Duncan was seated in the lawyer's office, facing Tremaine across a large mahogany desk.
"Good morning, Mr. Duncan," said the lawyer in a voice that suited his pompous appearance. "I have interesting news for you."
"I'm glad to hear that."
"Your uncle, Mr. Duncan, was an interesting man. You, as his heir, received rather unusual instructions, which I understand you have followed, in order to comply with the terms of his legacy."
"Correct, Mr. Tremaine," said Duncan. "I have lived in Uncle Harvey's house since the day he died. I have slept in the front room which he occupied, as his will instructed. During the day, my servant has been there continually — except when I have been at home."