"Yes, often."
"Are there other members of the family?"
"An invalid wife, never away from The Towers; and a young lady, Miss Sylvia Manning—a ward, and worth a pile. By the way, she's twenty. Mortimer Fenley, had he lived, was appointed her guardian and trustee till she reached twenty-one."
"Twenty!" mused Winter.
"Yes, twice ten," snapped Furneaux.
"And Fenley has cut a figure in the City for twenty years."
"I was sure your gray matter would be stimulated by its favorite poison."
"Charles, this should be an easy thing."
"I'm not so sure. Dead men tell no tales, and Fenley himself could probably supply many chapters of an exciting story. They will be missing. Look at the repeated failures of eminent authors to complete 'Edwin Drood.' How would they have fared if asked to produce the beginning?"