The strange
fellow offered not a word of explanation, but chatted as though
their meeting in such places as this were an everyday occurrence.
"I have something interesting to tell you," he observed, when they
were seated in the brilliant dining-room, with olives, sardines, and
the like to toy with before the serious commencement of their meal.
"You remember--when was it? not long ago--asking me about a family
named Quodling?"
"Of course I do. It was only the other day at--"
"Ah, just so, yes," interposed Greenacre, suavely ignoring the
locality. "You know my weakness for looking up family histories. I
happened to be talking with my friend Beeching yesterday--Aldham
Beeching, you know, the Q.C.--and Quodling came into my head. I
mentioned the name. It was as I thought. I had, you know, a vague
recollection of Quodling as connected with a lawsuit when I was a
boy. Beeching could tell me all about it."
"Well, what was it?"
"Queer story. A Mrs. Quodling, a widow, or believed to be a widow,
came in for a large sum of money under the will of Lord Polperro,
the second baron--uncle, I am told, of his present lordship.
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