“One hundred and fifty years more or less,” put in Fuller suddenly.
“More rather than less,” said Mr. Berwick with a genial smile, “but how do you know, Mr.—er,” he glanced at the card lying on his table, “Mr. Fuller?”
“If you know the name of Inderwick, Mr. Berwick, you may have some idea of how I come to know.”
Again Berwick cast a look in Marie’s direction. “Inderwick! Yes, I do know that name. It was mentioned in the newspapers some little time ago, and had to do with a murder case connected with Rotherhithe.”
“And with a peacock,” said Marie quickly.
“Yes.” Berwick scratched his chin meditatively. “It was supposed—I am quoting from the newspapers—that the man at Rotherhithe was murdered for the sake of the peacock, not a living bird, of course, but a certain ornament.”
Marie nodded. “Which is the luck of our family,” she finished.
“Oh, then you are one of the Inderwicks of Belstone?”
“Yes,” said Alan slowly, “she is the last representative of the family, and the heiress of George Inderwick. Do you know that name?”
“I do,” assented Berwick alertly. “On reading the newspapers it led to my recalling certain transactions, which—but pardon me.” Mr. Berwick interrupted himself, “how can I be sure that this is Miss Inderwick?”