“I am come, my lord, to inform you that the Earl, your father, died a month since.”
The blue eyes widened, grew of a sudden hard, and narrowed again.
“Is that really so? Well, well! Apoplexy, I make no doubt?”
The lawyer’s lips twitched uncontrollably.
“No, Master Jack; my lord died of heart failure.”
“Say you so? Dear me! But will you not be seated, sir? In a moment my servant will have induced the chef to serve dinner. You will honour me, I trust?”
The lawyer murmured his thanks and sat down on the settle, watching the other with puzzled eyes.
The Earl drew up a chair for himself and stretched his foot to the fire.
“Six years, eh? I protest ’tis prodigious good to see your face again, Mr. Warburton. … And I’m the Earl? Earl and High Toby, by Gad!” He laughed softly.
“I have here the documents, my lord. …”
Carstares eyed the roll through his quizzing glass.
“I perceive them. Pray return them to your pocket, Mr. Warburton.”
“But there are certain legal formalities, my lord———”
“Exactly. Pray do not let us mention them!”
“But, sir!”
Then the Earl smiled, and his smile was singularly sweet and winning.
“At least, not until after dinner, Warburton! Instead, you shall tell me how you found me?”
“Mr. Richard directed me where to come, sir.”
“Ah, of course! I had forgot that I told him my—pied-à-terre when I waylaid him.”
The lawyer nearly shuddered at this cheerful, barefaced mention of his lordship’s disreputable profession.
