A surge of almost physical dislike filled the lawyer. "Is that all it
was--a coincidence?"
"Are you suggesting that I pushed my father into the Ekkan?" Emrys
asked pleasantly.
"Certainly not!" Hubbard was indignant at the thought that he, as a
lawyer, would have voiced such a suspicion, even if it had occurred to
him. "I thought you two might have arranged to meet on Morethis."
"I told you I'd never seen my father," Emrys reminded him. "As for what
I was doing on Morethis--that's my business."
"All I'm concerned with is whether or not you _are_ Emrys Shortmire."
Distaste was almost tangible on Hubbard's tongue. "It does seem
surprising that, since you _were_ on Morethis at the time your father
died, you should not have come to claim your inheritance sooner."
"I had affairs of my own to wind up," Emrys said flatly.
* * * * *
Hubbard tapped the papers. "You understand that these must be checked
before you receive your father's estate?"
"I understand perfectly." Emrys' voice was soft as a Si-yllan
cat-man's, and even more insulting. "They will be gone over thoroughly
for any possible error, any tiny imperfection, anything that could
invalidate my claim. But you will find them entirely in order."
"I'm sure of that." And Hubbard knew, if the papers were forgeries,
they would be works of art.
"You'll probably want me to undergo an equally thorough physical
examination for signs of--ah--surgical tampering. Yes, I see I'm
right."