“Have we all finished?” she asked at length; “and if so, where are we going to smoke our pipes and cigars?”
“I propose that we go into the garden,” said Phillip. “It is a lovely evening and we can look at the moonlight on the sea while we smoke.”
“Yes,” Margaret agreed, “it will be more pleasant out there. Don’t wait for me. I will join you in a few minutes, but I want first to have a few words with Mr. Rodney.”
Phillip, who, like the others, understood that this was a consultation on the subject of Mr. Penfield’s letter, rose and playfully shepherded Varney out of the door which his brother held invitingly open.
“Now then, Varney, out you go. No lagging behind and eavesdropping. The pronouncements of the oracle are not for the likes of you and me.”
Varney took his dismissal with a smile and followed Dr. Thorndyke out, though as he looked at the barrister’s commanding figure and handsome face, he could not repress a twinge of jealousy. Why could not Maggie have consulted him? He was an old friend, and he knew more about old Penfield’s letter than Rodney did. But, of course, she had no idea of that.
As soon as they were alone, Margaret and Rodney resumed their seats and the former opened the subject without preamble.
“What do you really think of Mr. Penfield’s letter?” she asked.
“Could you give me, in general terms, the substance of what he says?” Rodney answered, cautiously.
“I had better show you the letter itself,” said Margaret. She rose and left the room, returning almost immediately with an official-looking envelope which she handed to Rodney. The letter which he extracted from it and spread out on the table, was not remarkably legible; an elderly solicitor’s autograph letters seldom are. But barristers, like old-fashioned druggists, are usually expert decipherers and Rodney read the letter without difficulty. It ran thus:—