Take another glass of sherry; you’ll need support.”
“Oh, I’m prepared for the worst. He’s cut me out altogether, eh? That comes of me meddling with the girl’s affairs—damnation! When there wasn’t the least need, either.”
“A bad job. The fact is, Percival had a letter from him at midday yesterday. The senior had left the office; young Percival opened the letter, and spoke to me about it. Now, prepare yourself. The letter said that he had destroyed his former will, and would come to the office on Monday—that’s to-morrow—to give instructions for a new one.”
Joseph stood and stared.
“To-morrow? Why, then, there’s no will at all?”
“An admirable deduction. I congratulate you on your logic.”
Snowdon flung up his arms wildly, then began to leap about the room.
“Try another glass,” said Scawthorne. “There’s still a bottle in the cupboard; don’t be afraid.”
“And you mean to tell me it’s all mine?”
“The wine? You’re very welcome.”
