Tod groaned. "Some more of your confounded occult stuff."
"Very good," said Gerald dryly. "I accept the rebuke; but explain my intuition, if you please."
"What is your intuition, exactly?"
"I believe," said Haskins seriously, and choosing his words carefully, "that Mavis has been shut up by Rebb to keep her out of the way, while he enjoys her income."
This time Tod uttered an ejaculation. "I believe that there is something in your occult rubbish after all," he said, in a wondering manner, "for the situation is exactly as you say."
"Ah!" Gerald was triumphant, and would have uttered an exultant speech, but that the cab stopped in Frederick Street. "Here we are, Tod. Get out. How much, cabby? Two shillings? There you are. Wait till I open the door, Macandrew. There! Run upstairs. I'll follow."
Rattling on in this way, Haskins and his friend went up the dimly lighted stairs, for the gas was not full on, and soon found themselves in Gerald's comfortable sitting-room. Haskins lighted the lamp--he detested electric and gas--and passed along a box of cigars to his visitor. Tod was also accommodated with a glass of whisky and soda and a comfortable armchair. Gerald, being similarly provided, leaned forward eagerly. "Now, Toddy, tell me exactly what the will says."
Tod's eyes strayed to an adjacent table. "Why, there's my letter after all. That infernal boy did post it. I daresay your man didn't bring it up. You should row him, Jerry, and----"
"Oh, bother! Tell me about the will. I can read your letter later."
"Well then," said Macandrew deliberately, "Julian Durham made a will at Brighton, more than twenty years ago, disposing of six thousand a year."