"And where is this Mr. Carrington now to be found?" he asked, presently. "I do not know. Having accomplished his base plot, and caused his friend's restoration to the estates, I suppose he has taken care to go far away from the scene of his infamy."
The magistrate looked searchingly at her face. Was this acting, or was she ignorant of the destruction of the will? Did she, indeed, believe that the estates were lost to herself?
* * * * *
Before the hour at which the coroner's inquest was to be held in the great dining-room, Reginald Eversleigh and Victor Carrington met at the appointed spot in the avenue of firs.
One glance at his friend's face informed Victor that some fatal event had occurred since the previous day. Reginald told him, in brief, passionate words, of the destruction of the will.
"You are a clever schemer, no doubt, Mr. Carrington," he added, bitterly; "but clever as you are, you have been outwitted as completely as the veriest fool that ever blundered into ruin. Do you understand, Carrington—we are not richer by one halfpenny for all your scheming?"
Carrington was silent for awhile; but when, after a considerable pause, he at length spoke, his voice betrayed a despair as intense in its quiet depth as the louder passion of his companion.
"I cannot believe it," he exclaimed, in a hoarse whisper. "I tell you, man, you must, have made some senseless mistake. The will cannot have been destroyed."
"I had the fragments in my hand," answered Reginald. "I saw my name written on the worthless scrap of burnt paper. All that was left besides that wretched fragment were the ashes in the grate."
"I saw the will executed—I saw it—within a few hours of Sir Oswald's death."