"That is what I wish to find out, Mr. Lanahan. We—my firm—have been advised that a certain Michael Lanahan, of Dublin, recently died, leaving a large estate. We are trying to find his heirs. Tell me something about yourself and your family."
The look of suspicion and reserve which the old man had up to this time shown faded from his face, and was replaced by a smile of incredulity. "Money, is it?" he laughed. "Mary—that's my wife—has been seein' bubbles in her tay for the week past. What is it you would know?"
"Are you from Dublin?"
"Me father was. I was born right here in Jersey, meself."
"What was his name?"
"Patrick, the same as me own. But he had a brother, Mike."
"Ah. It may be the same." Duvall pretended a sudden interest. "His business?"
"Mike's? Faith—I never heard he had any, lest it was drinkin' all the good liquor he could lay his hands on."
Duvall pretended to make a series of entries in his notebook. "Now about yourself, Mr. Lanahan. Have you any children? Of course, should there be any money coming to you, they would share in it."
"Children, is it? I have two."