“Do you know how long your brother has been aware of this earlier marriage?”

“Quite recently, I believe.  He gave us to understand yesterday that it was a death-bed confession.”

“Are there any proofs of the earlier marriage?”

“I am afraid I cannot enlighten you on that point either.”

“This is very strange,” said Barrant.  “The proofs are very important.  This disclosure vitally affected your brother’s ambitions, and was therefore likely to influence his views regarding the disposition of his property.”

He shot a keen glance at his companion.  Austin laid aside his glasses and bent earnestly across the table.

“I will be frank with you,” he said, “quite frank.  My brother told me a little more than a week ago that he had made a new will, and that I was his heir.”

“Where is this will?”

“I found it in the clock-case at Flint House last night, and I have since handed it to the lawyer who drafted it.”

“Your brother gave you no indication of this before?”

“No.  He told me when I came that he had summoned me to Cornwall because of the great change in the family fortunes.  As I was his only brother he desired my presence in the investigation of the final proofs and the preparation of his claim for the House of Lords.  Nothing was said about the succession then.  Robert was very excited, and talked only of his own future.  I feel sure that he was not then thinking of who was to succeed to the title after his death.  He looked forward to enjoying it himself.  I certainly did not give it a thought, either.  Who could have foreseen this tragic event?”

“Do you know anything about this peerage?”

“Not till latterly.  I never took it seriously, like Robert.  I looked upon it as a family fiction.  I understand that the Turrald barony was a barony by writ—­whatever that may be.  The point is that if my brother had lived to restore it, the title, on his death, would have descended to his only daughter, if she had been born in wedlock.  As she is illegitimate, the title would have descended to me, and after me to my son.”

“You were here last night when they brought you the news of your brother’s death, I understand?” remarked Barrant, in a casual sort of way.

“Yes; I did not go out again after I returned from the funeral.”

“Was your son home with you?”

“Most of the time.  He came in later than I, and then went out for a walk when the storm cleared away.  I did not see him again until this morning.  Thalassa came for me with the news of my brother’s death, and I did not get back from Flint House until very late.”

“I suppose you are aware your sister does not share your view that your brother committed suicide?”

“I understand she has some absurd suspicion about Thalassa, my brother’s servant.”

“Why do you call her suspicion absurd?” asked Barrant cautiously.