“Why, yes, we should. Now, Captain Warren, just how much do you know about your late brother’s affairs?”
“Except what Mr. Graves told me, nothin’ of importance. And, afore we go any further, let me ask a question. Do you know why ’Bije made me his executor and guardian and all the rest of it?”
“I do not. Graves drew his will, and so, of course, we knew of your existence and your appointment. Your brother forbade our mentioning it, but we did not know, until after his death, that his own children were unaware they had an uncle. It seems strange, doesn’t it?”
“It does to me; so strange that I can’t see two lengths ahead. I cal’late Mr. Graves told you how I felt about it?”
“Yes. That is, he said you were very much surprised.”
“That’s puttin’ it mild enough. And did he tell you that ’Bije and I hadn’t seen each other, or even written, in eighteen years?”
“Yes.”
“Um-hm. Well, when you consider that, can you wonder I was set all aback? And the more I think of it, the foggier it gets. Why, Mr. Sylvester, it’s one of them situations that are impossible, that you can prove fifty ways can’t happen. And yet, it has—it sartinly has. Now tell me: Are you, or your firm, well acquainted with my brother’s affairs?”
“Not well, no. The late Mr. Warren was a close-mouthed man, rather secretive, in fact.”
“Humph! that bein’ one of the p’ints where he was different from his nighest relation, hey?”