We both felt convinced that Gowan had been too good a man of business to make such a remark unless he had made his bequest legally secure.

The obvious thing to do was to cable at once to the lawyer to delay action until the new will should turn up.  This we did; a letter followed, detailing circumstances.

Our next communication was from the Glasgow lawyer, who requested Val’s presence there to consult about matters, as my brother was the only person to whom Gowan had spoken on the subject of a second will.  I was too much interested in the mystery to let Val go alone, and he was delighted to have my company, so once more we set off for the distant city.

Dalziel, the lawyer in question, received us in his private office on the morning after our arrival.  He was a small gray man, with keen black eyes that twinkled behind his gold-rimmed spectacles now and again when an ordinary man would have smiled.  His statement of affairs was indeed not reassuring.  Every scrap of paper left behind by Gowan had been carefully examined by one of his responsible clerks, but nothing in the shape of a will had been discovered.  Had there been no previous will, Christian Logan’s boy might have claimed the estate as next of kin; but that was now not possible.  To bring the matter before the law courts was equally futile; the law took cognizance of a man’s wishes expressed in writing, and no evidence of a verbal declaration on his part would suffice to set aside a written document.

“I am afraid, Father Fleming,” said the lawyer, summing up his report, “that there is no case to go upon for the Logan family.”

“But I am convinced,” replied Val, “that Gowan has made another will.  He sent for me to tell me so, and to ask me to help the Logans in the matter.  The will must be somewhere.  The question is:  Where?”

“I am inclined to think that he never made a second will,” the lawyer went on to say.  “Not that I think he meant to deceive you,” he added hastily, as he noticed Val’s air of protest.  “But it has often come within my experience that a man in such a weak state may persuade himself that he has already accomplished something which he has fixed his mind upon doing, while all the time nothing has been actually done.”

Val, however, could not be convinced that such was the case in the present instance, and I could not help agreeing with him.

“It would be as well if you would call at Gowan’s hotel before you leave Glasgow,” said Dalziel, as our interview came to an end.  “There are some clothes, traveling-cases, rugs, and such like, which it would be absurd to send to America, and equally absurd to sell.  They will be something for the Logons if you think well to take them.  I can easily arrange with the legatees on the other side, who will certainly make no difficulty.”

It was a good idea, and we resolved to act upon it.  The lawyer drove with us to the hotel, to introduce us to the manager, and left us when we ascended to the room occupied by the dead man, which was still being retained by the executor until the property should be removed.