"My dear sir—" began the lawyer. But Parson Jack cut him short.
"I, for my part, will be plain with you. I ask to see the will simply because I know nothing of my brother's property, and wish to see how his wife and children are provided for. There is nothing extraordinary in that, surely?"
"H'm"—the lawyer pondered, eyeing him. Clearly there was something in
this shabbily dressed clergyman which countered his expectations.
"The person who could best satisfy you on this point would be Mrs.
Flood herself; but I take it you have no desire to see her personally."
"Mrs. Flood? Do you mean my brother's wife?"
"Certainly."
"But—but is she here—in Plymouth?" Parson Jack's eyes opened wide.
"I presume so. Hoe Terrace, she informs me, has been her address for these eight years. But of course you are aware—"
"Aware, sir? I am aware of nothing. Least of all am I aware of any reason why I should not call upon her. Hoe Terrace, did you say? What number?"
"Thirty-four. You will bear in mind that I have not advised—"
"Oh, dear me, no; you have advised nothing. Good-morning, Mr. Cudmore!"
And Parson Jack, fuming, found himself in the street.