"We breakfasted before we left Carmarthen," said Mr Apjohn. "If you do not mind going on, we will talk to you whilst you are eating." Cousin Henry said that he did not mind going on, but found it impossible to eat a morsel. That which he did, and that which he endured during that interview, he had to do and had to endure fasting. "I had better tell you at once," continued Mr Apjohn, "what we want to do now."
"What is it you want to do now? I suppose I have got to go into the assizes all the same on Friday?"
"That depends. It is just possible that it should turn out to be unnecessary."
As he said this, he looked into Cousin Henry's face, and thought that he discerned something of satisfaction. When he made the suggestion, he understood well how great was the temptation offered in the prospect of not having to encounter Mr Cheekey.
"Both Mr Brodrick and I think it probable that your uncle's last will may yet be concealed somewhere in the house." Cousin Henry's eye, as this was said, again glanced up at the fatal shelf.
"When Mr Apjohn says that in my name," said Mr Brodrick, opening his mouth for the first time, "you must understand that I personally know nothing of the circumstances. I am guided in my opinion only by what he tells me."
"Exactly," said Mr Apjohn. "As the father of the young lady who would be the heiress of Llanfeare if you were not the heir, I have of course told him everything,—even down to the most secret surmises of my mind."
"All right," said Cousin Henry.
"My position," continued Mr Apjohn, "is painful and very peculiar; but I find myself specially bound to act as the lawyer of the deceased, and to carry out whatever was in truth his last will and testament."
"I thought that was proved at Carmarthen," said Cousin Henry.