It's possible, thought Frankie. Yes, it's possible. She thought deeply, wondering how best to attack this new phase of the matter. She had no idea who John Savage's friends or intimates had been.

Then an idea struck her — his will. If there had been something suspicious about the way he met his death, his will would give a possible clue. Somewhere in London, Frankie knew, was a place where you went and read wills if you paid a shilling. But she couldn't remember where it was.

The train drew up at a station and Frankie saw that it was the British Museum. She had overshot Oxford Circus, where she had meant to change, by two stations.

She jumped up and left the train. As she emerged into the street an idea came to her. Five minutes' walk brought her to the office of Messrs. Spragge, Spragge, Jenkinson & Spragge.

Frankie was received with deference and was at once ushered into the private fastness of Mr. Spragge, the senior member of the firm.

Mr. Spragge was exceedingly genial. He had a rich, mellow, persuasive voice which his aristocratic clients had found extremely soothing when they had come to him to be extricated from some mess. It was rumoured that Mr. Spragge knew more discreditable secrets about noble families than any other man in London.

"This is a pleasure indeed. Lady Frances," he said. "Do sit down. Now are you sure that chair is quite comfortable? Yes, yes. The weather is very delightful just now, is it not? A St. Martin's summer.* And how is Lord Marchington? Well, I trust?"

Frankie answered these and others inquiries in a suitable manner.

Then Mr. Spragge removed his pince-nez from his nose and became more definitely the legal guide and adviser.

"And now, Lady Frances," he said, "what is it gives me the pleasure of seeing you in my — hm — dingy office this afternoon?"

Blackmail? asked his eyebrows. Indiscreet letters? An entanglement with an undesirable young man? Sued by your dressmaker? But the eyebrows asked these questions in a very discreet manner as befitted a solicitor of Mr. Spragge's experience and income.

"I want to look at a will," said Frankie. "And I don't know where you go and what you do. But there is some place where you can pay a shilling, isn't there?"

"Somerset House," said Mr. Spragge. "But what will is it? I think I can probably tell you. anything you want to know about — er — wills in your family. I may say that I believe our firm has had the honour of drawing them up for many years past."

"It isn't a family will," said Frankie.

"No?" said Mr. Spragge.

And so strong was his almost hypnotic power of drawing confidences out of his clients that Frankie, who had not meant to do so, succumbed to the manner and told him. "I wanted to see the will of Mr. Savage — John Savage."

"Indeed." A very real astonishment showed in Mr. Spragge's voice. He had not expected this, "Now that is very extraordinary — very extraordinary indeed."

There was something so unusual in his voice that Frankie looked at him in surprise.

"Really," said Mr. Spragge, "really I do not know what to do. Perhaps, Lady Frances, you can give me your reasons for wanting to see that will?"

"No," said Frankie slowly. "I'm afraid I can't."