“I do,” responded Antony. And he drew the said communication from his pocket, and laid it on the table.
James Glieve glanced at it. Then he leant back in his chair, put his elbows on its arms, and placed the tips of his fingers together.
“The—er, the conditions of the will are somewhat unusual,” he announced. “It is my duty to set them plainly before you. Should you refuse them, we are to see that you are fully recompensed for any expense and inconvenience your journey will have entailed. Should you, on the other hand, accept them, it is understood that as a man of honour you will fulfil the conditions exactly, not only in the letter, but in the spirit.”
“In the spirit,” echoed Henry Parsons.
Antony bowed in silence.
“Of course, should you fail in your contract,” went on James Glieve, “the will becomes null and void. But it would be quite possible for you to keep to the contract in the letter, while breaking it merely in the spirit, in which case probably no one but yourself would be aware that it had been so broken. You will not be asked to sign any promise in the matter. You will only be asked to give your word.”
“To give your word,” said Henry Parsons, looking solemnly at Antony.
“Yes,” said Antony quietly.
James Glieve pulled a paper towards him.
“The conditions,” he announced, “are as follows. I am about to read what the—er, late Mr. Nicholas Danver has himself written regarding the matter.”