"Can we not speak of it here?" Grey asked.
Barraclough looked around, shrugged his shoulders in deprecation of the place, and said: "I think business always comes best after dessert. Do dine with me. I promise you an excellent cigar."
Grey was sorely perplexed. He had no hint of what those instructions were. It was absolutely necessary he should find out. This was not a fitting place for a business chat. The idea of dining with anyone was intolerable.
"I am very much obliged to you, and should be very pleased to dine with you, but I—I really cannot. I must keep as quiet as possible. You will excuse my not going; and, as a favour, tell me now what you have to say."
"Certainly, certainly. Let me see—let me see. Of course, Mr. Grey, in a matter of this kind we must be business-like, and take into consideration facts we might otherwise leave out of sight."
"Of course."
What could be coming? This was a very grave prelude.
"You are executor and trustee to the will?"
"Yes." Grey started. "Sole executor and trustee."
"Sole executor and trustee! Are you sure of that? Evans said you were one of the executors and trustees."