“Oh, indeed,” I replied, while I added to myself, “No doubt, then, he now knows the Grey affairs and secrets, so far as Mr Grey allows them to be known. For I remember Rupert telling me that two were in the mysterious family’s confidence, and that in time to come it might fall to his share to be one of the two.”
“He has some variety in his work, though,” I went on. “At least he seems to travel a good deal.”
“Now and then it happens so,” said Rupert. “This winter he has had some long journeys—some old clients of ours—not able to travel up to town. And I fancy he is rather worried—a member of the family is very ill just now.”
My heart went down. “It must be that poor Caryll,” I thought, with melancholy misgiving.
“Why, it seems nearly as bad as being a doctor,” I said, with assumed carelessness.
“Worse,” replied Rupert impressively. “You see, in nine cases out of ten a doctor doesn’t come in for family secrets as a lawyer does. That is why I shall feel it so tantalising to get hold of materials for such lovely plots.”
I could scarcely help smiling at the boyish emphasis he laid on the adjective.
“Well,” I replied, “you must do your best. Can’t you take a bit here and a bit there, and weave them together in such a way that nobody could possibly recognise the individuals or circumstances that had suggested the story?”
“Yes,” said Rupert doubtfully. “I suppose that is the sort of thing one has to do, though my instinct would rather go with idealising, so to say, or dramatising some history in its entirety.” He stopped, and seemed to be thinking, and I knew by intuition that the subject of his meditations was the Grim House, and the tragedy or tragedies connected with it. But I felt that it would be unjustifiable to lead him on to say more, and after all, I had already found out as much as I had really expected. Clarence Payne had been at Millflowers again, and fresh or additional trouble was brewing there—to himself alone would it be right to apply for details as to this. And gradually my vague plans as to how to set to work concentrated themselves into simplicity. I determined to ask Clarence, without beating about the bush, if or what he could tell me more. And then I must judge for myself—possibly even appeal to him himself to decide for me, if, on my side, I had any right to reveal or even hint at any part of the secret having come into my possession as it had done?
For the moment, courtesy and good-nature demanded that I should put my own preoccupations on one side, and give my best attention to Rupert and his literary ambitions, and I think I succeeded in gratifying him. I dare say it was better for myself not to go on planning and considering over this matter, which seemed to have seized my thoughts and imaginations in an almost inexplicable way from the very first mention of it by Isabel Wynyard at Weissbad.