Vulto--a youngish and sarcastic person with blue eyes, lodged in a
dark room at the back of the house. It occurred fortunately that his
letter had been allotted to precisely Mr. Vulto for the purpose of
being answered.
"You got my letter?" said Edward Henry, cheerfully, as he sat down at
Mr. Vulto's flat desk on the side opposite from Mr. Vulto.
"We got it, but frankly we cannot make head or tail of it!... _What_
option?" Mr. Vulto's manner was crudely sarcastic.
"_This_ option!" said Edward Henry, drawing papers from his pocket,
and putting down the right paper in front of Mr. Vulto with an
uncompromising slap.
Mr. Vulto picked up the paper with precautions, as if it were a
contagion, and, assuming eyeglasses, perused it with his mouth open.
"We know nothing of this," said Mr. Vulto, and it was as though he had
added: "Therefore this does not exist." He glanced with sufferance at
the window, which offered a close-range view of a whitewashed wall.
"Then you weren't in the confidence of your client?"
"The late Lord Woldo?"
"Yes."
"Pardon me."
"Obviously you weren't in his confidence as regards this particular
matter."
"As you say," said Mr. Vulto, with frigid irony.
"Well, what are you going to do about it?"
"Well--nothing." Mr. Vulto removed his eyeglasses and stood up.
"Well, good morning.
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