'Yes. But it's on behalf of my sister, and I haven't been over before. Besides, it wasn't till she heard I was coming to England that she—asked me.'
'Well,' said Stanway. 'Of course I was the sole executor, and it's my duty——'
'That's it,' Twemlow broke in. 'That's what makes it a little awkward. No one's got the right to go behind you as executor. But the fact is, my sister—we—my sister was surprised at the smallness of the estate. We want to know what he did with his money, that is, how much he really received before he died. Perhaps you won't mind letting me look at the annual balance-sheets of the old firm, say for 1875, 6, and 7. You see——'
Twemlow stopped as Stanway half-turned to look at the door between the two rooms.
'Go on, go on,' said Stanway in his grandiose manner. 'That's all right.'
Ethel knew in a flash that her father would have given a great deal to have had the door shut, and equally that nothing on earth would have induced him to shut it.
'That's all right,' he repeated. 'Go on.'
Twemlow's voice regained steadiness. 'You can perhaps understand my sister's feelings.' Then a long pause. 'Naturally, if you don't care to show me the balance-sheets——'
'My dear Twemlow,' said John stiffly, 'I shall be delighted to show you anything you wish to see.'
'I only want to know——'