Viner's view as soon as they had crossed the threshold. The funeral was to take place next day, and Mrs. Killenhall and Miss Wickham were contemplating a massive wreath of flowers which had evidently just arrived from the florist's and been deposited on the centre-table.
"All we can do for him, you know!" murmured Mrs. Killenhall, with a glance at the two men. "He—he had so few friends here, poor man!"
"That remark, ma'am," observed Mr. Pawle, "is apropos of a subject that I want to ask Miss Wickham two or three questions about. Friends, now? Miss Wickham, you always understood that Mr. Ashton and your father were very close friends, I believe?"
"I always understood so—yes, Mr. Pawle," replied Miss Wickham.
"Did he ever tell you much about your father?"
"No, very little indeed. He never told me more than that they knew each other very well, in Australia, that my father died out there, comparatively young, and that he left me in his, Mr. Ashton's care."
"Did he ever tell you whether your father left you any money?" demanded the old lawyer.
Miss Wickham looked surprised.
"Oh, yes!" she answered. "I thought you'd know that. My father left me a good deal of money. Didn't Mr. Ashton tell you?"
"Never a word!" said Mr. Pawle. "Now—where is it, then?"
"In my bank," replied Miss Wickham promptly. "The London and Universal. When Mr. Ashton fetched me away from school and brought me here,
