“Mr. Bradbury, you assume an extraordinary air of authority,” my uncle protested. “My father cannot see you.”
“Authority!” said Mr. Bradbury, coldly. “My dear sir, I take my authority from my clients. I take it from Mr. Edward Craike. I am here to act at once in his interests, and in the interests of my client here, Mr. John Craike.”
The gentleman faced him, and barred his way. He said, “I regret, Mr. Bradbury, that you cannot see my father.”
“And I say to you, Mr. Craike, that I insist on seeing him.”
“By gad, sir, you insist! Will you force your way to him, dying?”
“I ask you, sir, to spare me the necessity. I am here this night by Mr. Craike’s desire, expressed to me on my lash visit. His business with me, he instructed me, would be of supreme importance.”
“I tell you he’s near death.”
“Who then?” said Mr. Bradbury, with a wave of his hand, “should give orders in this house except his grandson and heir?”
I heard the mutter of voices and the shrill, crackling laughter from the door; I saw my uncle’s eyes blaze at me like gems; the woman Barwise glare at me and clench her hands in her skirts. I took my cue instantly from Mr. Bradbury. “And I,” I said, “insist that Mr. Bradbury accompany me at once to my grandfather. Come, sir!”
My uncle looked upon me; the mask was lifted; and all his hate of me was revealed upon his face. I took a candle from the shelf, and signed to Mr. Bradbury to follow me. I thought that Charles Craike would bar my way, or strike me down, or cry out to the rogues not to let me pass; to my amaze my uncle stepped aside with a contemptuous bow.