"Well, sir," burst out Brendon with a candor unusual in him, "I have a feeling that we are going to quarrel, and in your own house, and after that very excellent dinner I don't want to behave rudely. It will be better to postpone this talk to some other time."
"Not a bit of it," said Derrington, quietly; "we are relatives, and quarrels between relatives do not count. Sit down. I have something important to say to you."
George sat down and prepared for the worst. "We'll leave the question of your birth alone for the present," said the elder in a hard tone. "At this moment I wish to talk of Mrs. Jersey's death."
"Yes;" said Brendon, looking down.
"Also about your father's death."
"What has that to do with this, sir?"
"I believe the one is connected with the other."
George remembered what Bawdsey had said. "I've heard that remark before," he observed.
"Of course. That detective I employed to watch you made it."
"He did. I think you trust that man too much, sir," said Brendon, after a pause.