“You deny having ordered a black beard from Parkson’s on June 29th?”
“I do.”
“Ah! In the event of anything happening to your brother, who will inherit Styles Court?”
The brutality of the question called a flush to Lawrence’s pale face. The judge gave vent to a faint murmur of disapprobation, and the prisoner in the dock leant forward angrily.
Heavywether cared nothing for his client’s anger.
“Answer my question, if you please.”
“I suppose,” said Lawrence quietly, “that I should.”
“What do you mean by you ‘suppose’? Your brother has no children. You would inherit it, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, that’s better,” said Heavywether, with ferocious geniality. “And you’d inherit a good slice of money too, wouldn’t you?”