"Tell me exactly what he said."

The tutor repeated as nearly as he could the conversation of that memorable night.

"Is it not more probable that a fortnight earlier his mind might be clearer than at the very moment of his death?"

"It is possible, of course; but the letter does not seem to show it.

Besides, the inscription at the back of the portrait (which you have forgotten) is a distinct record of the boy's death. I wish you had not shown me the letter, because the only advice I have to give you is that you do with it what he invites you to do."

"Look here, Armstrong!" said Roger, getting up and walking restlessly up and down the room; "you mean kindly, I know--you always do--but you don't seem to realise that you are tempting me to be a cad and a coward!"

The tutor looked up, and his eyebrow twitched uncomfortably. Roger had never spoken like this before, and the heat of the words took even him aback.

"You asked my advice, unfortunately, and I gave it," said he, rather drily.

"Do you think I should have an hour's peace if I didn't do everything in my power to find my brother now?" retorted the boy. "You're not obliged to help me, I know."

"I am--I am bound to help you; not because I am your tutor or your guardian, but because I love you."

"Then help me in this. My father, I feel sure, was right. Whether he was or not, and whether I have to do it single-handed or not, I mean to find my brother."

"Certainly you may count on me, old fellow," said the tutor; "but be quite sure first that you know what you are undertaking. If it is not a wild-goose chase it is something uncommonly like it. You resolve to waste a whole year. You are not strong, your future is all in Maxfield; the happiness of your mother, your hopes of winning the object of your affections, are involved in the step you take. Even if this brother of yours be living (of which the chances seem to be a hundred to one he is not), he is, as your father says, a man who has gone to the bad; not the boy of the picture, but a man twice your age, of the Ratman order, let us say, probably the worst possible companion for yourself, and a bad friend to the people who already count you as their master. Had he been living with any desire or intention of claiming his t.i.tle, he would certainly have come forward months ago--"

"I know all that, Armstrong," said the boy; "I know perfectly well you are bringing up all these points as a friend, to prevent my taking a rash step of which I shall afterwards be sorry. I don't care how bad he is, or what it costs, I mean to find him; and if you help me, I'm confident I shall. Only," said he regretfully, "I certainly wish it was the boy in the picture, and not a middle-aged person, who is to be looked for."

Here Tom broke in upon the conference.

"Hullo, Roger, here you are! What are you up to? You and Armstrong look as blue as if you'd swallowed live eels. I say, you're a nice chap. Rosalind has been waiting half an hour, she says, for that ride you were to go with her, and if you don't look sharp she'll give Ratman the mount and jockey you, my boy. Poor old Ratty! didn't Jill drop on him like a sack of coals at breakfast? Jolly rough on the governor having to stroke him down after it. I say, mind you're in in time to receive the deputation. They're all going to turn up, and old Hodder's to make a speech. I wouldn't miss it for a half sov! All I know is I'm jolly glad I'm not an heir. It's far jollier to be an ordinary chap; isn't it, Mr Armstrong?"

"Decidedly," said the tutor demurely; "but we can't all be what we like."

"Tell Rosalind I'll be down in a second; I'm awfully sorry to have kept her," said Roger.

"By the way," said the tutor, when Tom had gone; "about this letter.

The communication is evidently made to you by your father as a secret.

I am sorry, on that account, you showed it to me, because I object to secrets not meant for me. But if you take my advice you will not let it go further. It would be clearly contrary to the wishes of your father."

"I see that. Lock the will up in your desk again; I'll take care of the letter. n.o.body but you and I shall know of their existence. And now I must go to Rosalind."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

WHAT A HORSEWHIP DISCOVERED.

Mr Ratman's business interview with his friend was short and stormy.

When Captain Oliphant produced the hundred-pound note, and requested his creditor to accept a fresh bill for the balance, that injured gentleman broke out into very emphatic abuse.

"Likely, is it not?" laughed he. "You, a common thief, bring me, who've saved you from a convict's cell, here to be insulted and made a fool of by your miserable brats and servants, and then have the calmness to ask me to lend you a hundred pounds? I admire your impudence, sir, and that's all I admire about you."

"My dear fellow, how can you blame me--"

"Blame you! You don't suppose I'm going to take the trouble to do that!

Come, hand over the other hundred, sharp. I've nothing to say to you till that's done."

And Mr Ratman, digging his hands in his pockets, got up and walked to the fireplace.

Captain Oliphant's face fell. He knew his man by this time, and had sense enough at least to know that this was no time for argument. Yet he could not help snarling--

"I can only do part."

"The whole--in five minutes--or there'll be interest to add!" retorted Mr Ratman.

With a groan Captain Oliphant flung down the second bank-note on the table.

"Take it, you coward! and may it help you to perdition!"

"Thanks, very much," said Ratman, carefully putting away the money.

"I'm not going to ask you where the money came from. That would be painful. Ah, Teddy, my boy, what a nice, respectable family man you are, to be sure!"

With which acknowledgment Mr Ratman, in capital spirits, returned to his room. On the way he encountered Tom, who, being of a forgiving disposition, owed him no grudge for the trouble that had occurred at breakfast-time.

"Hullo, Mr Ratty!" said the boy; "going out? Aren't you looking forward to the party to-night? I am. Only I'm afraid they'll make a mess of it among them. Auntie's ill and in bed, Rosalind and Roger are spooning about in the grounds, Armstrong's got the dismals, and the governor's not to be disturbed. I've got to look after everything. The spread will be good enough--only I think they ought to have roasted an ox whole in the hall; don't you? That's the proper way to do things, instead of kickshaws and things with French names that one can swallow at a gulp. I say, there's to be a dance first. I'll introduce you to some of the old girls if you like. It won't be much fun for me, for Jill has made me promise to dance every dance with her, for fear you should want one. But I know a chap or two that will take her off my hands. I say, would you like to see my den?" added he, as they pa.s.sed the door in question.

Mr Ratman being of an inquiring turn of mind, accepted the invitation, and gave a cursory glance at the chaos which formed the leading feature of the apartment.

"It's not such a swagger crib as Roger's," said Tom; "but it's snug enough. That's Roger's opposite. Like to look?"

Once more Mr Ratman allowed himself to be escorted on a tour of discovery.

"Who is that a portrait of?" asked he, looking at the lost Roger's picture.

"Oh, that's what's his name, the fellow who would have been heir if he hadn't died. He looks rather a tough customer, doesn't he? That's the picture Rosalind painted for Roger's birthday--a view of the park from her window, with the sea beyond. Not so bad, is it? Rosalind thinks she's no end of an artist, but I--"

"When did he die?" inquired Mr Ratman, still examining the picture.

"Oh, ever so long ago--before the old Squire married Auntie. I say, come and have a punt about with my new football, will you?"

"Go and get it. I'll be down presently. I like pictures, and shall just take a look at these first!"

Tom bustled off, wondering what Mr Ratman could see in the pictures to allure him from the joys of football.

To tell the truth, Mr Ratman was not a great artist. But the portrait of the lost Roger appeared to interest him, as did also the sight of an open letter, hastily laid down by the owner on the writing-table.

Something in the handwriting of the letter particularly aroused the curiosity of the trespa.s.ser, who, being, as has been said, of an inquiring disposition, ventured to look at it more closely.

"_To be given unopened into the hands of Roger Ingleton, junior, on his twentieth birthday_."

The coast was conveniently clear for Mr Ratman, as, fired with a zeal for information, he slipped the letter from the envelope and, with half an eye on the door, hastily read it. As he did so, he flushed a little, and having read the letter once, read it again. Then he quickly replaced it in its cover, and laying it where he had discovered it, beat a rapid retreat.