“Quite, quite! But my position —”
“By all means stay,” interposed Hannasyde. He laid his own letter before Henry Lupton. “Did you write this, Mr Lupton?”
Lupton glanced unhappily at it. “Yes. That is—yes, I wrote it. We—my brother-in-law and I—had a slight disagreement over a—a personal matter. Such things will happen in the best regulated families, you know. I thought it would be best if we met and talked it over. Without prejudice, you know.”
“Did you meet him?” Hannasyde asked.
“No. Oh, no! You see, he died before there was really time.”
“Did he answer your letter, Mr Lupton?”
“Only by telephone. Just to let me know that he couldn't manage an appointment.” He gave a nervous laugh. “I was very much annoyed at the time—well, my brother-in-law had a sort of manner that rather put one's back up, if you know what I mean.”
Hannasyde said in his measured way: “Mr Lupton, I want you to realise one thing. Except in so far as they may have a bearing on this case I am not concerned with your private affairs. Nor, I can assure you, have I any desire to make wanton trouble in your family circle. But when I went through the late Mr Matthews' papers at his office, with Mr Carrington here, I found the name and address of a lady calling herself Gladys Smith. You will understand that I had of course to follow this up. I called on Mrs Smith at her flat yesterday, and what I saw and heard there were sufficient to convince me that you are—intimately acquainted with her.”
Henry Lupton looked towards Giles for support, and getting none said in a blustering voice: “Well, and what if I am? I should like to know what bearing it can have on this case?”
“That is what I also want to know, Mr Lupton.” Hannasyde left a pause, but Henry Lupton said nothing, and after a minute he continued: “You had an appointment to see your brother-in-law on Monday, 13th May.”