“But pardon me,” continues Fanshawe, “is my friend here really so immensely in luck’s way?”
“He inherits under the Prince of Viana’s will all properties, both English and Italian,” replies the lawyer, with the cat’s expression more accentuated on his countenance.
“And they are very large?”
“Very large. My late client was an only son, and though generous, never spendthrift.”
Fanshawe touches Bertram’s arm. “Wake up, Wilfrid. Do you hear? Can’t you speak?”
Bertram says wearily, “What am I to say? It is an unspeakably awful thing. I really cannot bring myself to believe in it.”
“If you will allow me,” says the solicitor, “to make you acquainted with some details of the——”
“To what end? Do the items of the contents of the pack interest the pack-horse to whose aching back the burden is offered?”
“Again I fail to follow you.”
“To follow him, Mr. Folliott,” says Fanshawe, “requires a long course of patient perusal of the Age to Come.”