‘No, thanks awfully, old boy,’ he said, in response to Abbershaw’s suggestion. ‘I’d rather stay on on my own if you don’t mind. There’s only the miserable business of caretakers and locking up to be seen to. There are my uncle’s private papers to be gone through, too, though Dawlish seems to have destroyed a lot of them. I’d rather be alone. You understand, don’t you?’
‘Why, of course, my dear fellow . . .’ Abbershaw spoke hastily. ‘I’ll see you in Town no doubt when you get back.’
‘Why, yes, I hope so. You do see how it is, don’t you? I must go through the old boy’s personalia.’
Abbershaw looked at him curiously.
‘Wyatt,’ he said suddenly, ‘do you know much about your uncle?’
The other glanced at him sharply.
‘How do you mean?’ he demanded.
The little doctor’s courage seemed suddenly to fail him.
‘Oh, nothing,’ he said, and added, somewhat idiotically, he felt, ‘I only wondered.’
Wyatt let the feeble explanation suffice, and presently Abbershaw, realizing that he wished to be alone, made his adieux and went off to find Campion and to prepare for the oncoming journey. His round cherubic face was graver than its wont, however, and there was a distinctly puzzled expression in his grey eyes.