“I gather that Sanders rather bit his fingers there.” Allery looked at him shrewdly.
“You haven’t taken long to find that out,” he said. “Yes, I believe he did. He is an able young fellow, of good family, and in every way desirable, but for some reason Sir James would not hear of an engagement. Of course, it was very awkward, as he was his private secretary, and Sir James was too fair minded a man to get rid of him for domestic reasons which would have ruined his prospects. But it couldn’t have gone on. He actually talked to me about altering his will if Mabel did not give Eric up.”
Collins looked interested.
“We can’t stand talking here. Let me give you a lift in my car. Where can I take you?”
“That’s most kind of you. I have an hour before my train goes, so I shall just go to my club. You’d better come in for a few minutes.”
In the club smoking room, after a general talk, Collins gently led the conversation back to the subject about which he wanted information.
“You knew young Watson, I suppose?” The lawyer’s face hardened.
“Yes,” he said shortly, “I knew him. A wastrel.”
“I rather gathered,” said Collins, “that he was just a somewhat wild youth, who went the pace at Oxford.”
“I am afraid it did not stop at that,” said the other, and closed his mouth in a way that indicated he did not wish to continue. Collins saw it, and asked no more.