"H'm—put me through to Dr. Merville's house in Park Place—I want to speak to Miss Merville."
A minute later:
"Yes—John Maxton speaking, is that you, Beryl? I want to know Miss Colebrook's address—thank you," he scribbled on his blotting pad. "Thank you—no, my dear, only I may have to get in touch with her."
He remembered after he had hung up the telephone, that Ambrose Sault had propounded a will in which the address had appeared, but the will was in the hands of Sir John's own lawyers. Ambrose had left very little, so little that it was hardly worth while taking probate. But the recollection of the will gave him the excuse he wanted.
"Sir John rang me up, father, he asked for Christina's address. Do you know why?"
"No, dear. I wonder he didn't ask me. I have been lunching with him—and Ronnie. Rather, Ronnie joined us after lunch was through—he was loquacious and strange. H'm—"
"How strange?"
"Beryl, did you notice the other night—I agree with you, Steppe was brutal—how deep his voice had grown? Boys' voices change that way when they reach an age, but Ronnie isn't a boy. Changed—and his views on affairs. He held John spellbound whilst he delivered himself volubly on illegitimate children and the future of the race. And the curious thing is that Ronnie hates children. Loathes them; he makes no secret of that. Says that they are irresponsible animals that should be kept on the leash."
"He said that today?"
"No—oh, a long time ago. Now he wants a big institution where they can be trained—maybe it is a variation of his leash and cage theory. How did you get on?"