“Not yet, sir; not yet, if you please. I have something more serious to say.”
“You are not going to unmask a battery on me, I hope,” said Blennerhagen, with apparent gaiety.
“It may be that I am. Hear me:—I hope I shall be forgiven if I am wrong: should I, however, be in error, a few hours will set me right. I strongly suspect—I will not call you Blennerhagen, for I have little doubt but that—”
“Hold!” exclaimed Blennerhagen, placing his hand on Burdock's lips;—“hold! I beseech, I entreat you. Before you utter another word, I demand, I implore the favour of being allowed to commune for a few moments with myself.”
Burdock intimated his acquiescence by a nod to this request. Blennerhagen rose from his seat, and paced rapidly up and down the room. A multitude of thoughts seemed to be hurrying through his mind; and large drops of perspiration trickled unheeded from his brow. After a few moments had elapsed, he began to recover his composure, and resumed his chair.
“Mr. Burdock,” said he, “I am grateful for this indulgence. It is, I believe, an established principle, with professional men, that the confidential communications of a client should be held most sacred.”
“So far as regards myself, and many whom I know, that is certainly the case,” replied Burdock.
“Allow me to ask—for whom do you consider yourself concerned under the late Joshua Kesterton's will?”
“First, for the executors; next, for your wife and yourself; and, lastly, for Mrs. Wyburn and her husband.”
“I have the honour to be your client up to this moment, I believe.”