Wrote you a letter telling you that your
Uncle Ira Nutcombe had left all his money to Lord Dawlish.'
'Oh, yes,' said Elizabeth, and was about to invite him to pass the
barrier, when he began to speak again.
'You know, I want to explain that letter. Wrote it on a sudden
impulse, don't you know. The more I have to do with the law, the
more it seems to hit me that a lawyer oughtn't to act on impulse.
At the moment, you see, it seemed to me the decent thing to do--put
you out of your misery, and so forth--stop your entertaining
hopes never to be realized, what? and all that sort of thing. You
see, it was like this: Bill--I mean Lord Dawlish--is a great pal
of mine, a dear old chap. You ought to know him. Well, being in
the know, you understand, through your uncle having deposited the
will with us, I gave Bill the tip directly I heard of Mr
Nutcombe's death. I sent him a telephone message to come to the
office, and I said: "Bill, old man, this old buster"--I beg your
pardon, this old gentleman--"has left you all his money." Quite
informal, don't you know, and at the same time, in the same
informal spirit, I wrote you the letter.' He dammed the torrent
for a moment. 'By the way, of course you are Miss Elizabeth Boyd,
what?'
'Yes.'
The young man seemed relieved.
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