"Is that the post just in?" he demanded.
The man promptly returned.
"Yes, sir."
"Ah, let me see."
The letters were divided into two small piles: those that were addressed to Sir Andrew, and those for his son. Sir Andrew picked his up. He glanced at the superscription on each envelope, and dealt them back on the tray as though he were dealing playing-cards. At the last one he paused. It was the largest envelope.
"That will do," he said, and glanced across at Ruxton as the man passed on up the staircase.
He tore the envelope open and stood with the contents of it poised in his hand.
"Ruxton."
The younger man turned from the fireplace. His eyes were expectant. His father's tone had been sharp.
"Yes."