“It is all so perfectly simple, on the face of it, Captain Warren,” he said. “Your brother realized that he must die, that his children and their money must be taken care of; you were his nearest relative; his trust in your honesty and judgment caused him to overlook the estrangement between you. That’s the case, isn’t it?”
“Yes. That’s the case, on the face of it, as you say. But you’ve forgot to mention one item.”
“’Bije himself. You knew him pretty well, I can see that. So did I. And I guess that’s why we’re both puzzled.”
Captain Elisha folded his napkin with care and stood up. Sylvester rose, also.
“Come downstairs,” he said. “We can enjoy our cigars more comfortably there, and go on with our talk. That is, unless you’re in a great hurry.”
“No, I ain’t in any special hurry. So I get up to Caroline’s in season for supper—er, dinner, I mean—I don’t care. But I don’t want to keep you. You’re a busy man.”
“This is business. This way, Captain.”
The big lounging room of the club, on the first floor, Fifth Avenue side, was almost empty when they entered it. The lawyer drew two big chairs near the open fire, rang the bell, and ordered cigars. After the cigars were lighted and the fragrant clouds of tobacco smoke were rising, he reopened the conversation. And now, in an easy, diplomatic way, he took his turn at questioning.
It was pretty thorough pumping, managed with the skill of an experienced cross-examiner. Captain Elisha, without realizing that he was doing so, told of his boyhood, his life at sea, his home at South Denboro, his position in the village, his work as selectman, as member of the school committee, and as director in the bank. The tone of the questioner expressed nothing—he was too well trained for that—but every item of information was tabulated and appraised.