“Dead,” he said, shortly.
The man in the red coat drew his heels up under his chair and leaned his elbows on the table.
“Dead! Why, of all the quiet, careful livers—”
“He had no say in the matter. Some one killed him.”
There was a short pause. The elder man’s face remained a stately, meditative mask. He raised the wineglass and sipped the wine, pressing his lace cravat back with his left hand.
“It was a sad affair, Jack, and came as a blow to me.”
“Who killed him?”
“Ah, that is the question! No one knows. I suspect that no one will ever know.”
“Was there a reason?”
My lord looked at his son shrewdly, meaningly.