“It chiefly concerns the drawing up of my will,” replied Mr. Grant. “And since the dispositions that I wish to make are somewhat precise and complicated, we may as well put the limit at not less than two hours.”
“I am at your disposal, then, until four o’clock.” Here Fillmore took out some blank sheets of paper, which he placed before him on the desk. Resting his hands upon these, with the tips of the fingers meeting each other, he fixed his eyes upon Mr. Grant and said slowly:
“Before we begin, I wish to put one question to you. You will, of course, decide whether or not it be worth your while to answer it.”
“I am at your service,” said the other courteously.
Fillmore paused a moment, looking down at his hands. Then, raising his head, he asked abruptly, “What is your name?”
“I had intended to inform you on that point as soon as the occasion required,” answered the old man quietly. “The name by which I have chosen to be known here is not mine. I am Charles John Grantley. My father was Thomas Grantley, of whom you have doubtless heard.”
Fillmore leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin. Presently he said, “Sir Francis Bendibow spoke to me regarding your identity a few weeks ago; and, taking all the circumstances into consideration, I own that I shared the surprise he seemed to feel at your reappearance in England.”
“I can understand that,” was the composed reply; “but it has always been my intention to end my days in my native land.”
“It seems you have amassed a fortune during the interval?”
“I have laid by some twenty thousand pounds.”