‘Pardon me,’ I interrupted. ‘But am I speaking to Mr. Oakley or Mr. Dalbiac?’
‘To neither,’ said he. ‘My name is Ispenlove, and I am the nephew of the late Mr. Dalbiac. Mr. Oakley died thirty years ago. I have no partner.’
‘You expected to see a very old gentleman, no doubt,’ Mrs. Ispenlove remarked.
‘Yes,’ I smiled.
‘People often do. And Frank is so very young. You live in London?’
‘No,’ I said; ‘I have just come up.’
‘To stay?’
‘To stay.’
‘Alone?’
‘Yes. My aunt died a few months ago. I am all that is left of my family.’