"It's my turn to give you a little surprise," I said, and then, facing towards the door, I pointed out in the direction of Greensea. "Do you know who lives there?" I asked.
"Mr. Jannaway did," she said, "but he's been dead and gone a matter of two months. There's no one on the island now, except the caretaker, Mr. Bascomb."
"Oh, yes, there is," I retorted. "There's a distinguished gentleman called Mr. John Dryden."
She shook her head at me reprovingly. "Full of your little jokes," she repeated. "Just the same as you always was."
"It's no joke, Mrs. Summers," I persisted. "Mr. Jannaway was my uncle, and he had the good sense to die without making a will. The result is that I scoop the lot—his money and Greensea Island and everything else."
Something in my manner must have convinced her that I was speaking the truth, for she threw up her hands in a gesture of profound astonishment.
"Well I never!" she exclaimed. "Why, I did hear some talk that the place was to go to Mr. Jannaway's nephew, but just to think that of all people in the world it should happen to be you!"
"It's a bit of a knock-out, isn't it?" I said sympathetically. "I haven't quite got over it myself yet."
She sat down again in her chair.
"It properly took my breath away for the minute," she declared. "Not but what I'm gladder than I can say, Mr. Dryden, and I'm sure there's no gentleman in the world who deserves a bit of good luck more than what you do."