“Do you prefer the window?” asked the Doctor, rising in great wrath and striding towards the unhappy lawyer.  Mr. Screw instantly made up his mind that the door was preferable, and disappeared.  When he was gone Claudius sat down again.  He was very angry; but, in his own view, his anger was just.  It was very clear to him, from the words Mr. Screw had inadvertently let fall, that some one had, for reasons unknown, undertaken to cause him a great deal of unpleasantness.  What he had said to Screw was not to be denied.  If there was any question as to his identity, full proof should have been required from the first.  But his autograph letter from Heidelberg, attested by a notary, had been accepted as sufficient; and “Screw and Scratch” had answered the letter, and Claudius had received their answer in Baden.  It had never entered his head that anything more would be required.  So long as Screw had confined himself to stating his position, merely asking for further evidence, the Doctor had nothing to say.  But at the suggestion that Claudius might want to draw money from the estate before his claims were fully established, he lost his temper.  It was an imputation on his honour; and, however slight it might seem to Mr. Screw, Claudius was not the man to bear it.

Ten minutes later Mr. Barker walked in unannounced.  It was natural enough that he should call, but Claudius did not want him.  The Doctor had not had time to think over the situation, but he had, a vague impression that Barker had something to do with this sudden cloud of annoyance that had risen to darken his path.  Barker, on his side, was prepared for storms, but he intended to play the part of confidential friend and consoler.  Claudius, however, wanted neither friends nor consolation, and he was in the worst of tempers.  Nevertheless, he rose and offered his guest a chair, and asked him how he did.  Barker took the chair and said he was fairly well, on the way to recovery from the voyage.

“What have you been doing all day, Claudius?” he asked.

“I have been to a place called Greenwood, to see where they had buried my uncle,” answered Claudius, and relapsed into silence.

“No wonder you look so gloomy.  Whatever induced you to do such a thing?”

“I was not induced,” said Claudius.  “He was my last relation in the world, and I did the only thing I could to honour his memory, which was to go and see his grave.”

“Yes, very proper, I am sure,” replied Barker.  “If my relations would begin and die, right away, I would trot around and see their graves fast enough!”

Claudius was silent.

“What on earth is the matter with you, Claudius?  Have you got a headache, or are you going to be married?”

Claudius roused himself, and offered Barker a cigar.

“There is nothing the matter,” he said; “I suppose my excursion has made me a little gloomy; but I shall soon get over that.  There are matches on the mantelpiece.”