"And what was Mortomley doing all this time?" asked Mr. Asherill.
With an expressive shrug Mr. Kleinwort answered, "Ill or making believe to be ill; it all comes to the same for us."
"Is the man really ill?" said Mr. Asherill, turning to Mortomley's 'friend.'
"I do not know; the doctor and his wife say he is; but then doctors and wives will say anything," Mr. Werner replied impatiently.
"You both, however, believe that if he had been in the way this misfortune need not have come to pass?"
"Most assuredly," said Mr. Kleinwort, eagerly.
"It might have been deferred, at all events," acquiesced Mr. Werner.
"Mrs. Mortomley is a relation of yours by marriage, I think," suggested Mr. Asherill, addressing Mr. Werner.
"By no means. My wife is a niece of Lord Darsham; Mrs. Mortomley, the daughter of a poor country clergyman. My wife knew Mrs. Mortomley when they were both young girls, and a sort of acquaintance has been kept up since."
Mr. Werner spoke the preceding sentence very rapidly, and grew very red in spite of his dark complexion, as if the question and answer had embarrassed him; but Mr. Asherill seemed to take little heed of his agitation, for he turned at once to Mr. Kleinwort, remarking,