CHAPTER IV
“One minute, Mr. McGowan,” called Harold Fox. “Come with me, please.”
He drew the minister aside into the path that led into the lower gardens. Once in the deeper shadows, Harold stopped.
“What have you to do with this man Phillips?” he demanded.
“What’s that? Why, Mr. Fox–––”
“I’d no sooner got Dad to his room than he began to mumble that you were to blame for his condition,” cut in the lawyer. “He connected you in no favorable way with some woman in Australia. This man Phillips was involved, too, from what I could gather. I was questioning him when the doctor arrived, and after he was gone I could get nothing more out of him. I hate to go to Australia with him like this, and I have every reason to surmise that I won’t need to go if you tell me all you know.”
“I’m very sorry for your father’s condition, 74 but I see no way to help you. I don’t see why he should connect me with his condition. How long ago did all this happen to your client?”
“About twenty-five years ago.”
“Then it’s ridiculous to associate me with any such trouble. I was not more than born, if, indeed, that. In what way does it all affect your father, anyway?”