He said this more or less as if he were announcing himself as the personal herald of Jehovah, but Mr. Westler's mind ran in practical channels.
"Did my grandmother have shares in the company?" he asked quickly.
"Ah — ah — no. That is — ah — no. Not exactly. But I understand that she was in possession of a letter or document which my clients regard as extremely valuable."
"A letter?"
"Exactly. But perhaps I had better give you an outline of the situation. Your grandmother was in her youth greatly — ah — enamoured of a certain Sidney Farlance. Perhaps at some time or other you have heard her speak of him."
"Yes."
"For various reasons her parents refused to give their consent to the alliance; but the young people for their part refused to take no for an answer, and Farlance went abroad with the intention of making his fortune in foreign parts and returning in due course to claim his bride. In this ambition he was unhappily frustrated by his — ah — premature decease in Brazil. But it appears that during his travels in British Guiana he did become the owner of a mining concession in a certain very inaccessible area of territory. British Guiana, as you are doubtless aware," continued Mr. Tombs in his dry pedagogic voice, "is traditionally reputed to be the source of the legend of El Dorado; the Gilded King, who was said to cover himself with pure gold and to wash it from him in the waters of a sacred lake called Manoa—"
"Never mind all that baloney," said Harry Westler,
who was not interested in history or mythology. "Tell me about this concession."
Mr. Tombs pressed his lips with a pained expression but he went on.