"Haven't you
heard?"
"Heard what?"
"But your telegram--? Wasn't that what it meant?"
"What do _you_ mean?" cried Will. "Speak, man! I've been abroad for
a week. I know nothing; I telegraphed because I wanted to see you,
that was all."
"Confound it! I hoped you knew the worst. Strangwyn is dead."
"He's dead? Well, isn't that what we've been waiting for?"
"Not the old man," groaned Sherwood, "not the old man. It's Ted
Strangwyn that's dead. Never was such an extraordinary case of bad
luck. And his death--the most astounding you ever heard of. He was
down in Yorkshire for the grouse. The dogcart came round in the
morning, and as he stood beside it, stowing away a gun or something,
the horse made a movement forward, and the wheel went over his toe.
He thought nothing of it. The next day he was ill; it turned to
tetanus; and in a few hours he died. Did you ever in your life hear
anything like that?"
Warburton had listened gravely. Towards the end, his features began
to twitch, and, a moment after Godfrey had ceased, a spasm of
laughter overcame him.
"I can't help it, Sherwood," he gasped. "It's brutal, I know, but I
can't help it."
"My dear boy," exclaimed the other, with a countenance of relief,
"I'm delighted you can laugh. Talk about the irony of fate--eh? I
couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the paragraph in the paper
yesterday. But, you know," he added earnestly, "I don't absolutely
give up hope. According to the latest news, it almost looks as if
old Strangwyn might recover; and, if he does, I shall certainly try
to get this money out of him.
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