“Certainly—yes,” assented Mr. Halfpenny.
Barthorpe hesitated, eyeing the old lawyer doubtfully.
“It will be a painful business—for my cousin,” he said.
“If—I really haven’t the faintest notion of what you mean!” exclaimed Mr. Halfpenny. “But if—if it will be painful for your cousin to hear this—whatever it is—in private, it would be much more painful for her to hear it in public. I gather, of course, that you have some strange revelation to make. Surely, it would be most considerate to her to make it in what we may call the privacy of the family circle, Cox-Raythwaite and myself.”
“I haven’t the least objection to Cox-Raythwaite’s presence, nor yours,” said Barthorpe. “Very good—I’ll accept your proposal—it will, as you say, save a lot of litigation. Now—when?”
“Today is Tuesday,” said Mr. Halfpenny. “What do you say to next Friday morning, at ten o’clock?”
“Friday will do,” answered Barthorpe. “I will be there at ten o’clock. I shall leave it to you to summon all the parties concerned. By the by, have you Burchill’s address?”
“I have,” replied Mr. Halfpenny. “I will communicate with him at once.”
Barthorpe nodded, rose from his seat, and walked with his visitor towards the door of his private room.
“Understand, Mr. Halfpenny,” he said, “I’m agreeing to this to oblige you. And if the truth is very painful to my cousin, well, as you say, it’s better for her to hear it in private than in a court of justice. All right, then—Friday at ten.”