Armitage felt himself grow pale. He rose from his chair.
"You mean that my father——" he exclaimed.
The lawyer looked grave.
"Your father, Sir William, is dead——"
"But my elder brother, Charles?" stammered Armitage. "He succeeded to the title and estates—not I."
"Your brother Charles," replied the lawyer solemnly, "was killed in an automobile accident five years ago."
Armitage sank into a chair and burying his face in his hands burst into tears. That his father had died without forgiving him was bad enough, but that Charlie, his old pal, should have died years ago without his knowing it, was terrible!
"Poor Charlie! Poor Charlie!" he murmured.
"When your brother was dying," went on the lawyer, "he summoned your heart-broken father to his bedside and made him promise to forgive you, to make every effort to discover your whereabouts, and to make a will in your favor. They advertised for you in the London and colonial papers. We advertised for you in the American papers. We received no answer. And now your father has passed away. You are the sole heir. As the estates are entailed, you would have succeeded to the estates as a matter of course, but your father died forgiving you fully and leaving you sufficient income to keep up the title. Sir John, I again congratulate you on succeeding to an old and honored title and an income of little less than $100,000 a year."
Armitage listened like a man who is dazed. It had all come so suddenly that he thought he must be dreaming.