“My dear sir. That is a very peculiar question. How should I know?”
“You were the executor of his will.”
“Undoubtedly. Yet I fail to see what that has to do with it.”
“You must have seen his papers—his letters.” Donald looked at the lawyer intently. “Answer me frankly, Mr. Brennan. Do you know?”
“Surely, Mr. Rogers, you can hardly expect me to answer such a question, even granting that I could do so.”
“Why not?”
“As executor of Mr. West’s will, it is certainly not my business to discuss the reasons which may have prompted him to make it.”
Donald rose and went over to the lawyer. “Mr. Brennan,” he cried, “don’t try to quibble with me. I have asked you a plain, blunt question. You are under no obligation to answer it, of course, but, until you do so, we can proceed no further.”
“I always supposed it was because he was very fond of her,” ventured the lawyer uneasily.
“Fond of her! Yes! But how, Mr. Brennan? How?”