“No, I wasn’t thinking of that. I was only thinking it was rather a cold-blooded way for a suicide to write his last letter. But it’s a small point.”
“And meanwhile,” said Leyland, “I suppose you’re waiting for me to fork out those forty pounds?”
“What!” said the Bishop, “you have a personal interest in this, Mr. Bredon? Well, in any case you have saved your company a larger sum than that. I’m afraid you will have to write and tell them that it was suicide, and the claim does not urge.”
“On the contrary, My Lord,” said Bredon, knocking out his pipe thoughtfully into the fireplace, “I’m going to write to the company and tell them that the claim has got to be paid, because Mottram met his death by accident.”
Chapter XXV.
Bredon’s Account of It All
“God bless my soul!” cried the Bishop, “you don’t mean to say you’re preparing to hush it up! Why, your moral theology must be as bad as poor Mottram’s.”
“It isn’t a question of theology,” replied Bredon, “it’s a question of fact. I am going to write to the Indescribable Company and tell them that Mottram died by accident, because that happens to be the truth.”
“Ah—h-h!” said Angela.
“Indeed?” said Mr. Eames.
“Not another mental perspective!” groaned Mr. Pulteney.