“Certainly, sir. You know it concerns me very closely.”
“Ye-es,” said the lawyer, “true. Mr George Harrington?”
“Yes, sir. Mr Hampton, I am George Harrington.”
“You will excuse me, I am sure.”
“Oh, yes, old gentleman, go ahead.”
“You see Doctor Lawrence and I are the late Mr Harrington’s executors, and we have a duty to perform. In the pursuit of that duty we shall have to ask questions that may seem impertinent.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. Quite right. I’ll answer, only let’s get it done. Here! I like dogs,” he said softly to Gertrude, as he patted his leg, chirruped, and Bruno wagged his tail, trotted toward him, and then turned off, and went to the other side of where Gertrude was seated. “Ha, ha, ha! Dog wants to hear first whether I am the genuine article.”
Saul watched him closely, and the doctor and lawyer exchanged glances, as if satisfied by the bluff nonchalant manner of the claimant, who raised his eyes now, and looked long and searchingly at the portrait whose eyes met his.
“Will you be good enough, sir, to tell me whose son you are?”
“Eh? George and Isabel Harrington’s.”