"To you?" I said.
"To me. My father has been dead some years, so as long as that old woman lives I am being kept out of my own. That is my side of the story."
I nodded, showing extreme interest—which, indeed, I felt. But for the fact that the companion was missing, this man's position would be a very unpleasant one. No one could have more interest in his aunt's death than he had.
"I daresay the old woman has told you that her husband's accusations were all false, and that by leaving such a will he repented before he died," Jardine went on, "but I have told you the facts."
"And yet you have written to her for money," I said quietly.
"So she has shown you the letters, has she?"
"I have seen them. Why write to her when you could so easily raise money on your expectations?"
"Raise money! Good heavens, I've raised every penny to be got from Jew or Gentile. There are the letters which came this morning. I haven't opened them yet, the outside is quite enough; money-lenders' complaints, half of them, and the other half bills demanding immediate payment. If you've ever had dealings with the fraternity, you can tell what is inside by the look of the envelope."
I turned the letters over; he was probably right as to their contents. There was one, however, in a woman's handwriting which interested me. I almost passed it to him, and then thought better of it.
"It struck me that there was a threatening tone in your letters," I said.