Randall wrinkled his brow. “Do you know, I seem to have heard those words before? Ought it not to be father?”
Hannasyde was aware of rising annoyance. He curbed it, and replied evenly: “When was it, please?”
“Surely the Civil Wars?” said Randall. “Oh, I'm so sorry, I thought we were talking about pictures! I last saw my uncle on the Sunday before he died. That would be —”
“May 12th,” said Hannasyde. “You were at Grinley Heath on that day?”
“I was indeed,” said Randall with a faint shudder. “You will forgive my curiosity, Mr Matthews, but have you any particular reason for remembering the occasion?” asked Hannasyde, observing the shudder.
“It is quite indelibly printed on my mind,” said Randall. “My visit coincided with that of my cousin, Mrs—I think it's Crewe, but I'm not altogether sure.”
“Is that all!”
“No,” said Randall. “It was by no means all. She brought her regrettable offspring with her, and appeared to think it a fortunate circumstance that I should be present to admire it.”
Hannasyde ignored this, and said in his curtest tone: “And that was the last time you saw the deceased?”
“Yes,” said Randall.