“All right; I’ll go in.”
There was no announcing. Chris Lisle felt quite at home there, and he crossed the stone-paved hall, gave a sharp tap at the study door, and walked in.
“Morning, sir,” he cried cheerily. “Very glad to hear you are so much better.”
“Thankye,” said Gartram sourly; “but I’m not so much better.”
“Get out,” said Chris.
“What?”
“I mean in the open air.”
“Oh. Well, Mr Lisle, what do you want—money?”
“I? No, sir. Well, yes, I do.”
“Then you had better go to a lawyer. I have done all I could with your father’s estate as your trustee, and if you want to raise money don’t come to me.”