“You are quite right. And I am at your service,” assented the general.
“But where shall we go? Privacy is hardly to be had at any price in this overcrowded city. We have not a private sitting room at our hotel.”
“Come with me, then,” said Anglesea. “I have, by a fortunate chance, been able to secure a comfortable bedroom, with a little box of a sitting room adjoining.”
“A box of a sitting room! What a boon! What a blessing in these times!” said the earl, as he turned with the squire and the general to walk to the last-mentioned gentleman’s hotel.
Ten minutes later they were all three seated around a small table, on which stood a bottle of sherry, some wineglasses, and cigars.
“My business with Lady Elfrida,” began Anglesea, “is to restore to her some documents that have been too long, indeed, in my possession, though I did not really anticipate they would ever be called for, as they now appear to be, to confirm her son’s claim to the estate of his uncle—Antonio Saviola.”
“‘Her son?’” thought the earl to himself; but he said nothing; he only looked at Abel Force, whose face was quite impenetrable.
“I hope the young gentleman is living and is quite well.”
“Yes, thank you, my stepson is quite well, and a very fine young man altogether.”
The earl looked from one to the other. Here was a revelation! His sister had been twice married, and she had a living son by her first marriage! And Abel Force knew this! And he himself had never even suspected such a thing! Why had not he—her brother—her only living relative besides her husband and children—been told of this first marriage? Did his father know it, and conspire to keep the secret from him, too? Did Anglesea also know it from the first, and confederate with all the other conspirators to keep the secret from him—the son, the brother, the bosom friend? It was very hard on him, the injured earl reflected.