activity. Jean fetched my coat, boots, and other articles from my
bedroom; the bonds that fastened me were unloosed, and I was told to
at once complete my toilet. A similar process took place with regard
to Karavich; but whereas, when he was fully dressed, his arms were at
once strapped down again, in my case, by Legros’ orders, the bonds were
dispensed with. Both of us, however, were still gagged. Presently, a
noise of wheels was faintly audible, which momentarily grew louder
and more distinct. A long dark cloak, the collar of which effectually
muffled the lower part of his face, was hastily thrown over Karavich’s
shoulders, while a wide-brimmed soft felt hat was placed on his head.
This done, he was conducted by two of the men from the room, and I
heard all three descend the stairs. By this time, the vehicle, whatever
it might be, the noise of which we had heard, had drawn up opposite the
house. Half a minute later, we heard it drive away, and presently all
sound of it was lost in the distance.
Had Karavich been forced away in it? And if so, why, and whither was
he being taken? But scarcely had I time to formulate these queries in
my mind, before the noise of approaching wheels became audible for the
second time. A cloak, similar to that in which the _cafetier_ had been
enveloped, was now thrown over my shoulders, and the collar turned up
round my face. After a few whispered words of warning from Legros, I
was told to follow him down-stairs as noiselessly as possible, which I
proceeded to do, the fourth man bringing up the rear. By this time the
second vehicle had drawn up opposite the door. The lower part of the
house and the shop were in utter darkness. Legros took me by the hand
and guided me the way I was to go. Some one—Jean, I take it to have
been—stood by the outer door, and opened it silently as we drew near;
and so, without a word, we three passed out into the street. The fog
had thinned somewhat, but not to any great extent. The light of a lamp
on the opposite side of the street showed like a faint blurred point of
flame seen from afar. A vehicle, which by that dim light had all the
appearance of an ordinary London four-wheeled cab, with a man seated on
the box, was drawn up close to the kerb. So much I was enabled to see,
but no more. I was hurried at once into the vehicle; Legros and the
other man got in after me; the door was shut without noise; the windows
were drawn up; Jean, whom we left behind, said something to the driver;
and a moment later, we were being driven rapidly away.
I was utterly at a loss to know the time; but judging by the solitude
of the streets and the infrequency with which we encountered any other
vehicles, it must have been still very early in the morning. Even if
the night had been a perfectly clear one, there was nothing in our
appearance to attract the notice of the most suspicious of policemen. A
cab containing two or three occupants at an early hour in the morning
in London streets, is too common an object to call for a second glance
from any one who may encounter it.
We were a silent party. None of us spoke after we entered the vehicle.
My companions lay back with folded arms and their hats drawn over their
brows. Whether they were asleep or awake, it was impossible for me
to determine. My thoughts had ample time to busy themselves with any
number of perplexing problems before our drive came to an end, which it
did, as nearly as I could judge, in about an hour’s time. We had got
off the paved streets some time before this, and were now driving over
an ordinary macadamised road. Suddenly we drew up, and the same moment
my two companions became on the alert.
‘Pardon me,’ said M. Legros as he drew a silk muffler from one of
his pockets, ‘but it is necessary that I should blindfold you for a
few minutes.’ Then he added: ‘Do implicitly as you are told; have
confidence in me, and no harm shall befall you.’
Some one outside had apparently opened a pair of gates by this time;
we went through, passed forward a little way farther at a walking
pace, and then came to a final stand. Before this, the deft fingers
of M. Legros had effectually bandaged my eyes. The carriage-door was
now opened, and one of my companions giving me his hand, helped me to
alight, and then led me forward. There was an ascent of three or four
steps, and then I felt that I had passed out of the cold night-air
into the warmer atmosphere of a house. A minute later, my eyes were
unbandaged, and, better still, the gag was removed from my mouth.
I found myself in a large and elegantly furnished room, lighted by a
lamp on the centre table, and by candles in the girandoles over the
chimney-piece. A wood-fire burned cheerfully in the grate. Standing
with his back to it, and watching my look of amazement with an amused,
cynical smile, was M. Legros. We were alone.
‘I hope you feel none the worse for your little journey?’ he said. ‘We
shall have a longer one to take presently, so I think the best thing we
can do is to make due preparation for it.’
‘Another journey!’ I stammered. ‘Where to, this time?’
‘That you will learn when the proper time arrives,’ he answered dryly.
‘And Karavich—will he accompany us?’ I asked.
‘Ah, bah! why trouble yourself about Karavich?’ he demanded, with a
contraction of his brows. ‘He is nothing to you, nor you to him.’ Then
a moment later he added, almost as if speaking to himself: ‘But yes;
_ce cher_ Karavich will accompany us certainly. We cannot afford to
leave _him_ behind.’
At this juncture, a servant appeared with a tray containing a cold
chicken together with other comestibles. This was supplemented by a
second tray on which were coffee, wines, and liqueurs. ‘Come,’ said
Legros with a smile, as he sat down on a chair which the man had placed
for him, ‘let us make ourselves what you English call jolly.’
‘Jolly!’ I ejaculated with a miserable attempt at a laugh. ‘I’m likely
to feel jolly under such circumstances as these!’
‘Why not?’ he demanded blandly. ‘Ah, _mon enfant_, when you have lived
as long as I have, you will have learnt that the truest philosophy is
to enjoy the present while you can, and leave the future to take care
of itself. Sit, and let me assist you to a wing of this fowl; or what
say you to this mayonnaise? It looks as if it might tempt an anchorite.’
‘I am not hungry; I cannot eat.’
‘Foolish boy! Remember you have a long cold journey before you. Try, at
least, a couple of these caviare sandwiches.’
I shook my head. ‘I will take a cup of coffee, nothing more.’
M. Legros pulled the ends of his moustache, but made no further attempt
to persuade me; so, while I sat and sipped my coffee, he went on with
his supper—if supper it could be called. He was a quick eater, and in a
few minutes he rose and pushed back his chair.
After the servant left the room, except for the opening or shutting of
a distant door once or twice, no sounds from without were audible. I
neither heard nor saw anything either of Karavich or the others. But
scarcely had M. Legros risen from the table, when once more we heard
the noise of wheels—the noise as of some heavy vehicle, which, after
being driven slowly up to the house, came to a halt. In the hush which
followed, one could hear the pawing of the horses on the gravel and the
champing of their bits. I noticed that my companion was listening as
intently as I was. ‘I must ask you to remain here till I rejoin you,’
he said presently. ‘I shall not be more than a few minutes away;’ and
with that he smiled, nodded, and left the room.
I had plenty of food for thought during his absence; but those readers
who have followed me thus far will scarcely need to be enlightened as
to the tenor of my reflections. They were anything but comforting.
Scant time was, however, afforded me for perplexed broodings.
Presently, a distant door seemed to open, and then came the half-hushed
sound of the footsteps of several people advancing along the corridor
into which the door of my room opened, then passing the door itself,
and then being gradually lost in the distance. The men, whoever they
might be, walked slowly and carefully and as though they were carrying
some heavy burden. A few moments later, I could distinguish the
voices of several people talking in low tones outside the house. My
curiosity overmastered my prudence. The room had two windows, both of
them having venetian blinds, now closely shut, and, in addition, long
heavy curtains that reached the ground. Crossing quickly to one of the
windows, I stepped behind the curtain, and then cautiously raising one
of the laths of the blind a little way, I peered through the crevice.
The sight which met my eyes was one that might well make the blood of
a braver man than I profess to be run cold. The fog had cleared away,
and by the aid of the starlight, I could just make out what seemed to
me the outlines of a hearse, with a pair of horses, standing a few
yards away in the courtyard or space of ground which fronted the house.
While I was still staring at this grim apparition, a couple of men
carrying lighted lanterns appeared on the scene; then I saw clearly
that the object I had been gazing at was indeed a hearse, but denuded
of its plumes. But scarcely had I time to note this, when a procession
of some half-dozen men appeared, walking two and two, and carrying on
their shoulders something long, black, and heavy. For one moment I was
puzzled, and then the dread certainty flashed upon me that the burden
they bent under was a coffin, but not an empty one. When they came
within the dim circle of light given out by the lanterns, it became
plainly visible. I could bear no more. I let the blind drop, and turned
away with a cold sick dread at my heart, such as I had never felt
before. Had a murder just been perpetrated under that silent roof, and
if so——? A dozen ghastly questions surged through my brain, not one of
which I was able to answer. A few minutes later I heard, through my
half-dazed senses, the hearse move away a little distance, and a second
vehicle drive up and take its place. Then in came M. Legros in his
overcoat and hat.
‘All is in readiness for the second stage of our journey,’ he said as
he rubbed his chilled hands for a few moments over the fire.
I did not answer him. He looked sharply at me, and as he did so, a
cold, dangerous glitter came into his eyes. His gaze travelled to the
window, and then back to my face, and then he muttered something under
his breath that sounded like a malediction. He was still bending over
the grate; but when next his eyes met mine, all trace of annoyance had
vanished.
‘You look as white, my friend, as if you had just seen a ghost,’ he
remarked with that inscrutable smile of his. ‘You have gone too long
without food. However, there’s no time now. Here, drink this,’ he
added; and with that he crossed to the table and poured out a small
glass of some sort of liqueur. I took it mechanically and drank it.
Then Legros handed me the fur-lined cloak and my hat, and then he said:
‘Once more, and I hope for the last time.’ With that he produced the
silk muffler and bandaged my eyes; then taking me by the hand, he led
me from the room.
HOW TO PROVE A WILL.
IN ENGLAND.
A great change has come over the procedure in proving wills and
obtaining administration in England within the last thirty years.
Formerly it was a mysterious, difficult, and expensive process, which
few people understood; and he who had to undertake such duties was
glad to place himself in the hands of a proctor, and, it may be added,
was usually glad to get out of them again. The proceeding is now much
more simple and intelligible, and when the property is small, is very
inexpensive.
Probate, Administration, and the ‘Death Duties,’ as the taxes levied on
inheritances have been appropriately named, are no doubt amongst the
gloomiest of topics falling to be discussed in the columns of a popular
journal. There are very few people of adult years, however, who have
not been forced to make acquaintance with these matters in some form or
other and at some time or other; and a brief account of the subject,
and of the best and cheapest method of proceeding, may not be without
value when the pinch of action arrives. To the poor, the knowledge
that a legal title to the little properties left by their relatives
can be obtained for a few shillings, and with next to no trouble,
would seem to be especially desirable. To richer folk, the subject may
recommend itself in another fashion. Constituted as men are, it is very
certain that the distribution of property amongst survivors forms a not
inconsiderable item of the alleviations provided by Mother Nature for
the pain of inevitable losses by death, although the generality of us
would undoubtedly refuse to indorse the remarkably frank declaration of
a hard-hearted modern poet:
Sweet is a legacy, and passing sweet
The unexpected death of some old lady
Or gentleman of seventy years complete,
Who’ve made ‘us youth’ wait too, too long already.
Up to a little more than a quarter of a century ago, the business
connected with the proof and custody of wills and the granting of
administration in England, was conducted by officers appointed by
the archbishops and bishops of the Established Church. In every city
which was the seat of a bishop’s see, a court existed, called the
Diocesan Court, presided over nominally by the archbishop or bishop,
but really by a proctor or barrister, who was the representative or
‘official principal’ of the ecclesiastical dignitary; with a limited
number of proctors—that is, ecclesiastical lawyers—who possessed
the exclusive privilege of proving wills, and whose posts were very
lucrative and much coveted. Besides these Diocesan Courts, a multitude
of smaller courts were scattered up and down the country, variously
called Archidiaconal, Prebendal, Peculiar, or Manorial Courts, all
having the power of making grants of probate or administration in their
respective localities, and whose operations frequently resulted in
confusion, uncertainty, and needless expense. An investigation into the
origin of these small courts discloses in almost all cases curious and
interesting features of those times when the authority of the Church
penetrated deeply into every portion of society, and into nearly every
transaction of life.
All these courts, large and small, were swept away in 1857. After
several abortive attempts by successive governments, and in the teeth
of great opposition from the interests affected, a measure was carried
through parliament, mainly by the energy of Lord Westbury, abolishing
the entire system, and creating a court new to English jurisprudence,
the Court of Probate. The antique fabric embracing the Prerogative,
Diocesan, and Peculiar Courts, with their vicars-general, ordinaries,
advocates, surrogates, and apparitors, vanished like a dream before
this drastic ordinance. The exclusive privileges of the proctors
were put an end to, and all kinds of testamentary business thrown
open to the legal profession. It was a rather costly process. Large
compensations had to be paid to the superseded functionaries, as is not
unusual in such cases; but the extinction of an effete system, and the
substitution of a tribunal and a procedure adequate to the requirements
of the times, were imperatively called for.
The Court of Probate thus constituted is not only a court for hearing
and determining causes connected with contested wills and disputes
among next of kin as to the right to property, but possesses also
effective administrative machinery for the granting of probate and
letters of administration. A principal Registry at Somerset House in
London, and thirty-nine District Registries distributed over England
and Wales, are attached to the court, and from these registries the
grants of probate and administration with which most people are
familiar issue.
Did the reader ever prove a will? The phrase has a rather formidable
sound, but the proceeding is a sufficiently tame and prosaic affair.
A will is ordinarily ‘proved’ in the following manner: The executor
named in the will takes it to a solicitor, and furnishes him with
particulars of the name, residence, and date of death of the testator;
his (the executor’s) own name, residence, business, and relationship to
the deceased; with an account of the nature and value of the property.
This information is embodied in two affidavits—printed forms with
blanks left for the details—which the executor signs, and is sworn
to. The will and affidavits are then lodged by the solicitor either
in the principal probate registry in London or in one of the district
registries, according to the locality in which the testator resided.
The documents being in proper order, a form on parchment is filled up
in the probate registry, reciting the particulars contained in the
affidavits; and to this form is attached a copy of the will, likewise
written on parchment. The two together constitute ‘the probate;’ and
when this is signed by the registrar and sealed with the seal of the
court, the will is said to be ‘proved.’ The original will is forthwith
enrolled and indexed in the books of the registry, where it can be
perused by any person on payment of a fee of one shilling.
In proving a will, the executor may now either employ a solicitor to
prepare the affidavits and take all trouble off his hands, as mentioned
above, or he may apply personally at the registry for probate.
Facilities for so doing are provided by law, and the grant is obtained
at a lower charge than would have to be paid if the services of a
professional man were engaged. The _modus operandi_ is as follows:
The executor himself lodges the will in the probate registry, and
furnishes to the officers there the particulars already enumerated as
to the testator, himself, and the property. The necessary affidavits
are prepared in the registry, and there signed and sworn to by the
executor, who must at the same time pay the registry charges and the
probate duty. In case the attestation clause to the will is wanting,
or is not in the form required by law—circumstances which frequently
occur—a further affidavit is prepared; and one of the witnesses to the
signing of the will must attend at the registry and be sworn to such
affidavit. In a few days afterwards, the probate of the will is issued
to the executor, who can then proceed to deal with the property.
When a deceased person has made no will, but has left money, furniture,
shares, or other property not being land or houses, the law steps in,
and in effect makes a will for him, by dividing such property amongst
his nearest kindred in certain proportions, which are pretty generally
known. The instrument authorising a particular person to make the
division is called Letters of Administration. If the deceased has
left a widow, she is the person entitled to administer; if no widow,
then the children; and if no children, then the relative nearest in
blood. The widow or relative applying for administration attends at the
probate registry in the same way and furnishes the same particulars
as an executor who applies for probate of a will, with this addition,
that the applicant for administration must enter into bond, and
provide two persons of full age, who are willing to become his or her
sureties for the faithful distribution of the property. Whether the
estate of a deceased person be large or small in amount, the executor
or administrator has the option of applying personally at a probate
registry for the grant, and in every case by so doing he effects a
considerable saving of expense.
The fiscal legislation of the last few years has been very favourable
and indulgent to persons administering small estates. At the present
time, if a man dies without a will leaving personal property not
exceeding a hundred pounds, his widow or children can apply to the
probate registry of the district—or if residing more than three
miles from such a registry, to the registrar of the County Court of
the district—for letters of administration; and the grant will cost
only from five to thirteen shillings, according to the value of the
property. The children of a widow are entitled to the same privilege.
Again, when a man or woman dies a little better off, either with or
without a will, if the whole personal estate does not exceed three
hundred pounds, application can be made to the probate registry of the
district—or if there be no registry near, to the Inland Revenue office
of the nearest town—for a grant of probate or administration. All the
necessary papers will be prepared at one or other of these offices;
and the grant will be issued on payment of thirty shillings for duty
and fifteen shillings for fees. In case the property does not exceed
one hundred pounds, on payment of fifteen shillings for fees only. In
none of these instances will the property be liable to legacy or other
additional duty. The deceased’s debts, however, are not allowed to be
deducted in order to bring the property under these amounts, and the
privilege is restricted to the cases of persons who have died since
the 1st of June 1881. Those who remember how costly was the process of
proving a will or obtaining administration in the old ecclesiastical
courts, however small the property might be, and those who more
recently have had to pay their solicitor’s bill for the same services,
will be aware that the substitution of this low tariff is a boon of
a substantial character to all interested in the transfer of small
estates at death.
While recent legislation has been thus favourable to the poorer
classes, and has lessened the expense of obtaining grants in all cases
where application is made in person at the probate registry, it has
also introduced a much needed reform in the mode of levying the probate
duty. The debts owing by any person at death can now be deducted from
the amount of the personal property, leaving probate duty to be paid on
the remainder only. Formerly, duty was required to be paid on the gross
amount of the personal assets without any deduction whatever for debts.
It is true that after debts were actually paid, application might be
made to the Inland Revenue authorities for a return of the duty or a
portion of the duty in respect of them; but difficulty and delay were
sometimes experienced in obtaining such returns of duty, and frequent
hardships were inflicted. Thus, where the property of a deceased person
was nominally under a large amount, and the debts were almost as large,
there was obviously no fund out of which probate duty could be paid.
The executor was consequently out of pocket, often for a considerable
time, and a disinclination to undertake such responsibilities was the
natural result.
IN SCOTLAND.