“Well, then,” pursued Mr. Bradfield, “see. Mr. Wryde, Master Richard’s father, left me a large sum—you see I don’t deny it was a large sum—in trust for his idiot son.”
But here Stelfox at last looked up.
“Idiot son, sir!” he interrupted, promptly. “But Mr. Marrable assures me that, so far from being an idiot, Master Richard was considered a very bright child, even after the scarlet fever had made him deaf.”
“Mr. Marrable assures you! But what’s Mr. Marrable? An idiot himself!” interrupted Mr. Bradfield, impatiently.
“And,” went on Stelfox, steadily, not heeding the interruption, “he says he knows it was old Mr. Wryde’s intention to take or send his little son to England, as it was thought his hearing could be restored. Indeed, sir,” pursued he, with uncanny smoothness, “Mr. Richard has recovered his hearing in a wonderful manner since he has been in London, and under the care of a specialist, sir.”
Here Mr. Bradfield broke out with sudden sharpness:
“Oh, oh! so he’s been with you in London, has he?”
His tone was by this time so frankly inimical, that Stelfox answered boldly:
“Why, yes, sir; it was natural for him to stay with the only friend he had.”