The servant had followed Drayton into the room with a beefsteak underdone. "Post not come?" he asked, shifting his plates.
"It can't be long now," said Bonnithorne, consulting his watch.
"Sooner the better," Drayton muttered. He took some papers from a breast-pocket and counted them; then fixed them in his waistcoat, where his watch would have been if he had worn one.
When breakfast was done, Hugh Ritson took certain documents from a cabinet. "Be seated, gentlemen," he said. All sat except Drayton, who lighted a pipe, and rang to ask if the postman had come. He had not. "Then go and sharpen up his heels."
"My duty would be less pleasant," said Hugh Ritson, "if some of the facts were not already known."
"Then we'll take 'em as read, so we will," put in Drayton, perambulating behind a cloud of smoke.
"Paul, I will ask you to be seated," said Hugh, in an altered tone.
Drayton sat down with a snort.
"I have to tell you," continued Hugh Ritson, "that my brother known to you as Paul Ritson, is now satisfied that he was not the heir of my father, who died intestate."
There were sundry nods of the grave noddles assembled about the table.