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athlete in his youth and was still supple for his age. He walked to Alan and put out his hand. Alan took it. They shook hands gravely.
    â€˜Only,’ said Sir Patrick, ‘that Mr Alan Dilhorne is theimage of the Tom Dilhorne I once knew—only larger. I suppose that, like me, he is feeling his years.’
    The lawyer smiled. ‘That merely proves Mr Alan here to be his father’s son, and not necessarily Miss Hester Waring’s.’
    Alan looked at Sir Patrick, who said, ‘I remember Miss Waring’s wedding, and also the birth of twins to her. This is the younger twin, I am sure.’
    Alan thrust his hand into the pocket of his beautiful coat and took out a locket, which he handed to Sir Patrick. Sir Patrick opened it to find there Tom and Hester, painted as they had been nearly thirty years ago when he had known them.
    â€˜Sarah Kerr’s work, I take it,’ he said examining the portraits carefully. ‘A beautiful woman, your mother,’ he added, handing the locket to the lawyers for them to inspect it. ‘I was right about your resemblance to your father. Is your older brother like him, too?’
    â€˜No. He is like my mother’s brother, who was killed in the Peninsular War before I was born. He is very like my father in character, though.’
    â€˜Both are truly your father’s sons, then,’ said Sir Patrick. ‘When I heard George Johnstone speaking of you in admiration, although God knows why after the way in which you treated him, I was back in Sydney nearly thirty years ago. Tell me, are you as dangerous as he was?’
    â€˜No,’ said Alan. ‘I haven’t had his provocations. My life has been easier.’
    The three men were struck by him: by his maturity compared with that of most of the young men in their twenties whom they knew.
    The lawyer handed the locket back. Alan passed to him the notarised copies of the documents relating to his parents’ marriage, his mother’s birth certificate, and the records of his own and his siblings’ births. He also passed to the lawyer the power of attorney signed by his mother, setting him out as her agent to act for her in any problems concerning the Waring estate, and a similar document from his father relating to his power over the Dilhorne branch in London.
    All the time he felt Sir Patrick’s humorous eye on him.
    â€˜Done, then?’ said Sir Patrick at the end, pulling out his watch. ‘Luncheon calls.’
    â€˜Indeed,’ agreed Bunthorne. ‘A piece of advice for Mr Alan here, which it would not go amiss for you to hear, Sir Patrick. The Loring connection are resentful that the estate on which they counted passes to your mother. It would be wise to be wary, Mr Alan.’
    â€˜So noted,’ returned Alan coolly. ‘Do I take it that you are satisfied with my credentials?’
    â€˜After meeting your good self and hearing what Sir Patrick has had to say, and having seen these documents, there can be no doubts in the matter. There remain only the final legal moves—including the granting of probate—which will place the estate in your mother’s hands. The title, of course, died with Sir John.’
    â€˜Of course,’ said Alan gravely, and Sir Patrick cocked a sardonic eye at him.
    â€˜You will be staying some little time in England, Mr Dilhorne?’ pursued the lawyer.
    â€˜Until this and other matters are settled,’ said Alan cheerfully.
    â€˜We shall, then, remain in touch. I gather that your firm employs its own solicitors in London? Pray keep our office informed of your own address, and your movements, if you would be so good.’
    Alan assented to this, and they all bowed at one another.
    Sir Patrick took Alan’s arm. ‘I insist that we dine at my club, Master Alan. You can tell me the latest news from Sydney. Particularly anything about your redoubtable father and your beautiful