“I must return to the Cellars, if only for an hour. I wish to tell Zerah’that’s my wife’our piece of good fortune’I mean, our sad bereavement. And I must put together my black clothes and get my hat.”
“If it must be, it must. I wish you had been communicated with earlier.”
“Earlier? Was that possible?”
“Of course it was; the old gentleman died two days ago.”
“Two days ago? Why, to-day is Wednesday.”
“Well, his decease took place at five in the morning of Monday.”
“Why did you not tell me at once?” almost shrieked Pasco, swinging from his bed, and then collapsing on his crippled foot.
“Bless you, man, it was not my place to do so. I knew nothing of you; the housekeeper was the person he trusted. I came to know of it, as I managed your uncle’s affairs. When I inquired about relatives, then I heard of you, or rather got your address, and came off. You see, as he died on Monday, it won’t do for you to be away long. The housekeeper has instructions, and is a sensible woman, but you are the proper person to be on the spot.”
“Is she honest? Will she make away with things?”
Mr. Squire shrugged his shoulders.