‘Had your father any near relatives?’
‘A step-sister, Anne, about ten years older than himself.’
‘What became of her?’
‘I don’t know. About eight years ago, she married, and I have heard nothing of her since.’
‘You don’t know the name of her husband?’
‘No.’
‘Well, it was Henry Leigh Bowden.’
‘What!’ The exclamation came not from me, but from Mr Bowden, who began to suspect something sinister to his interests in the catechism I was undergoing.
‘Yes, Henry Leigh Bowden,’ repeated the lawyer. ‘The deceased Mrs Bowden, whose will you have been the means of restoring, was your aunt; and it is to you that she has left the bulk of her property.’
It was the howl of a wild beast, rather than any human cry, that came from George Bowden’s lips as he heard these words. ‘It’s a lie!’ he cried, rushing forward, and snatching the will from Mr Godding’s hands—‘a lie, a cheat, a plot, a swindle! The two of you are in league to keep me out of my rights. The will is in my favour; it must be.’