“No!” There was no stammering or hesitation now. He blinked, took out a handkerchief, wiped a damp nose. “No,” he repeated. “He didn’t come here. He didn’t like us very much.”

George lied convincingly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I must have been mistaken. I got the impression that he’d been here.”

“You saw him? That Friday?”

George ignored the direct question. “ Charles and I were always such good friends,” he said. “I felt that we always understood each other so well. So when I last met him, I could tell that something was worrying him. That was one of the reasons that decided me to come to see you.”

“Why? Why should you want to see me?”

“Not you personally.” George spoke smoothly, kindly, in response to the little man’s rising panic. “I wanted to speak to someone in the family, in the business.”

“Why? Why?”

“Because I gained the impression, the very clear impression I must say, that he was concerned about some aspect of the family business.”

The small, dapper man crumpled behind his desk. George leant back in his chair and waited. He knew that he must be right. Charlie had been in to see the Todds on that Friday and it was clear that the visit had frightened them. He noticed, as he waited, that Laurence’s feet were very small, like a girl’s, and that the shoes were highly polished. He waited because he was quite sure that Laurence would tell him what he wanted to know. He might make excuses, might even lie, but George thought that he would learn enough to guess at the information Charlie had used to blackmail his family. Laurence seemed to be having problems in finding the right words, so George leaned forward and made prompting, sympathetic noises. Laurence’s stammering was reaching the climax of speech, when the door was thrown open and Ernest strode into the room. Laurence seemed uncertain whether to be scared or relieved. Ernest, however, did not notice the drama of the situation, failed to recognize any tension in the room. George composed himself quickly and stood to meet the other man. The brothers were as different as Laurel and Hardy. Ernest was large and blowzy, expensively but a little untidily dressed. He was wheezing after the exertion of climbing the stairs, but he tried for a hearty friendliness. George held out his hand in response. Ernest’s was flaccid, hot and slightly sweaty.

George made some conventional statements of condolence. Laurence had given all responsibility for the interview to his brother. He sat and warily watched the two standing men.

“It’s good of you to come,” Ernest said. “We want to keep in touch with the island, don’t we Laurence? As Charlie was so fond of the place. Besides, we never know when we might be able to help each other, do we?”

George looked up sharply. So Ernest had designs on Gillibry. He hoped that Charlie’s will had been properly drawn up. He had given up all hope of gaining the information he had been about to receive from Laurence, and began to make excuses to leave, but Ernest would hear nothing of it. He shouted out for coffee, pushed George’s chair into a corner and dragged in a more comfortable one from his own office. It took George a little time to realize what Ernest wanted, but it became evident before the coffee arrived. He wanted information and a promise of discretion.