When they were seated Hugo asked abruptly, "What did you do with Julian's boy?"
Fitzgerald started in some surprise, and perhaps embarrassment, and answered, "You know very well, Mr. Hugo. He died of scarlet fever."
"So you reported, and I was quite ready to accept the report without inquiring into particulars. Now I have reason to doubt your statement."
"Oh, well, he may have died of something else," said Fitzgerald, shrugging his shoulders. "As long as he died, I suppose it didn't matter to you what was the nature of his disease?"
"Not if he were really dead."
"You don't doubt that, do you?"
"Yes, I do; moreover, I am quite convinced that it is false."
"Then you had better keep it to yourself," suggested Fitzgerald with a cunning smile, "since the boy, if alive, would be his grandfather's heir."
"But suppose his grandfather suspects he is living?"