He turned to his silent companion and held out his hand —an unusual gesture as between two club acquaintances.
“I must be off,” he said. “I had another piece of news this morning, by the way. Old Mrs. Rutland Shearsby died last night. The remaining cousins will now get their reward. Miss Ardmore will marry, and Mile Boulanger will probably find herself engaged. Even Mortimer’s troubles, if I know him, will be a little assuaged. And there will be a hue and cry after the self-effacing Martin. He is one of the beneficiaries, and the longer he hides, the longer the others will have to wait. So let us hope he will make himself known to his cousins. Mortimer is a poor fish, but the two young women are quite nice.”
Parmiter had taken Harvey’s hand. His face wore an unreadable expression, yet it seemed to have lightened. He only said:
“It was good of you to tell me all this, Tuke.”
“Well, keep it to yourself for the present,” Mr. Tuke said briskly. “Remember your promise. But I feel that the family is entitled to know the whole story. Good-bye.”
1 Death Wears a Mask. Douglas G. Browne, Hutchinson, 1940.
