“We are alone,” said I. “What is it?”
The solicitor shifted his portly frame uneasily, smoothed his top hat with his gloved left hand, glanced dubiously at Markham. “The matter is confidential, sir—relating to—to the family.”
“Mr. Markham knows more about my affairs than I do,” said I. “Don’t beat about the bush, Dawkins. I have no time to waste.”
“Very well, sir. I beg your pardon. It concerns those bonds—the bonds you turned over to me in arranging the settlements.”
“Yes. I remember. Great Lakes and Gulf bonds, were they not?”
“Precisely, sir. You bound us to a stipulation that they were not to be converted for at least five years.”
“That’s right,” said I. “In fact, I made it impossible for you to convert them.”
A pained expression came into the face of Dawkins.
“I believe I conceded everything else your client demanded,” pursued I.
“But it now develops, sir,” said Dawkins, “that that was the only important thing.”