"Not this morning," replied Jan. "I say, Massingbird, there's ill news in the wind for you."
"What's that?" composedly asked John, tilting some ashes out of his pipe.
"That codicil has come to light."
John puffed on vigorously, staring at Jan, but never speaking.
"The thief must have been old West," went on Jan. "Only think! it has been hidden all this while in that bureau of his, in my bedroom."
"What has unhidden it?" demanded Mr. Massingbird in a half-satirical tone, as if he doubted the truth of the information.
"An explosion did that. Cheese got meddling with dangerous substances, and there was a blow-up. The bureau was thrown down and broken, and the codicil was dislodged. To talk of it, it sounds like an old stage trick."
"Did Cheese blow himself up?" asked John Massingbird.
"Yes. But he came down again. He is in bed with burned hands and a scorched face. If I had told him once to let that dangerous play alone—dangerous in his hands—I had told him ten times."
"Where's the codicil?" inquired Mr. Massingbird, smoking away.