Indeed, Paul's manner left him no room for further unbelief. His tale, wild and improbable as it was, was too consistent and elaborate for any schoolboy to have invented, and, besides, the imposture would have been so entirely purposeless.

When his brother-in-law had come to the end of his sad history, Paradine was silent for some time. It was some relief to know that the darkest secrets of his life had not been ferreted out by a phenomenally sharp nephew; but the change in the situation was not without its drawbacks--it remained to be seen how it might affect himself. He already saw his reign in Westbourne Terrace threatened with a speedy determination unless he played his cards well.

"Well," he said at last, with a swift, keen glance at Paul, who sat anxiously waiting for his next words; "suppose I were to say that I think there may be something in this story of yours, what then? What is it you want me to do for you?"

"Why," said Paul, "with all you owe to me, now you know the horrible injustice I have had to bear, you surely don't mean to say that you won't help me to right myself?"

"And if I did help you, what then?"

"Why, I should be able to recover all I have lost, of course," said Mr.

Bult.i.tude. He thought his brother-in-law had grown very dull.

"Ah, but I mean, what's to become of _me_?"

"You?" repeated Paul (he had not thought of that). "Well, hum, from what I know and what you know that I know about your past life, you can't expect me to encourage you to remain here?"

"No," said Uncle Marmaduke. "Of course not; very right and proper."

"But," said Paul, willing to make all reasonable concessions, "anything I can do to advance your prospects--such as paying your pa.s.sage out to New York, you know, and so on--I should be very ready to do."

"Thank you!" said the other.

"And even, if necessary, provide you with a small fund to start afresh upon--honestly," said Paul; "you will not find me difficult to deal with."

"It's a dazzling proposition," remarked Paradine drily. "You have such an alluring way of putting things. But the fact, is, you'll hardly believe it, but I'm remarkably well off here. I am indeed. Your son, you know, though not you (except as a mere matter of form), really makes, as they say of the marmalade in the advertis.e.m.e.nts, an admirable subst.i.tute. I doubt, I do a.s.sure you, whether you yourself would have received me with quite the same warmth and hospitality I have met with from him."

"So do I," said Paul; "very much."

"Just so; for, without your admirable business capacity and extraordinary firmness of character, you know, he has, if you'll excuse my saying so, a more open guileless nature, a more entire and touching faith in his fellow-man and brother-in-law, than were ever yours."

"To say that to me," said Paul hotly, "is nothing less than sheer impudence."

"My dear Paul (it does seem deuced odd to be talking to a little shrimp like you as a grown-up brother-in-law. I shall get used to it presently, I daresay). I flatter myself I am a man of the world. We're dealing with one another now, as the lawyers have it, at arm's length. Just put yourself in my place (you're so remarkably good at putting yourself in other people's places, you know). Look at the thing from my point of view. Accidentally dropping in at your offices to negotiate (if I could) a small temporary loan from anyone I chanced to meet on the premises, I find myself, to my surprise, welcomed with effusion into what I then imagined to be your arms. More than that, I was invited here for an indefinite time, all my little eccentricities unmentioned, overlooked. I was deeply touched (it struck me, I confess, at one time that you must be touched too), but I made the best use of my opportunities. I made hay while the sun shone."

"Do you mean to make me lose my temper?" interrupted Paul. "It will not take much more."

"I have no objection. I find men as a rule easier to deal with when they have once lost their temper, their heads so often go too. But to return: a man with nerve and his fair share of brains, like myself, only wants a capitalist (he need not be a millionaire) at his back to conquer the world. It's not by any means my first campaign, and I've had my reverses, but I see victory in my grasp, sir, in my grasp at last!"

Paul groaned.

"Now you--it's not your fault, I know, a mere defect of const.i.tution; but you, as a speculator, were, if I may venture to put it so, not worth your salt; no boldness, no dash, all caution. But your promising son is a regular whale on speculation, and I may tell you that we stand in together in some little ventures that would very probably make your hair stand on end--_you_ wouldn't have touched them. And yet there's money in every one of them."

"_My_ money!" said Paul savagely; "and it won't come out again."

"You don't know much about these things, you see," said Marmaduke; "I tell you I have my eye on some fine openings for capital."

"Your pockets always were very fine openings for capital," retorted Paul.

"Ha, ha, deuced sharp that! But, to come to the point, you were always a sensible practical kind of a fellow, and you must see, that, for me to back you up and upset this young rascal who has stepped into your slippers, might be morally meritorious enough, but, treating it from a purely pecuniary point of view, it's not business."

"I see," said Mr. Bult.i.tude heavily; "then you side against me?"

"Did I ever say I would side against you? Let us hear first what you propose to do."

Paul, upon this, explained that, as he believed the Stone still retained its power of granting one wish to any other person who happened to get hold of it, his idea was to get possession of it somehow from d.i.c.k, who probably would have it about him somewhere, and then pa.s.s it on to some one whom he could trust not to misuse it so basely.

"A good idea that, Paul, my boy," said Paradine, smiling; "but you don't imagine our young friend would be quite such an idiot as not to see your game! Why, he would pitch the Stone in the gutter or stamp it to powder, rather than let you get hold of it."

"He's quite capable of it," said Paul; "in fact, he threatened to do worse than that. I doubt if I shall ever be able to manage it myself; but what am I to do? I must try, and I've no time to lose about it either."

"I tell you this," said Marmaduke, "if you let him see you here, it's all up with you. What you want is some friend to manage this for you, some one he won't suspect. Now, suppose I were willing to risk it for you?"

"You!" cried Paul, with involuntary distrust.

"Why not?" said Marmaduke, with a touch of feeling. "Ah, I see, you can't trust me. You've got an idea into your head that I'm a thorough-paced rascal, without a trace of human feeling about me. I daresay I deserve it, I daresay I do; but it's not generous, my boy, for all that. I hope to show you your mistake yet, if you give me the chance. You allow yourself to be prejudiced by the past, that's where you make your mistake. I only put before you clearly and plainly what it was I was giving up in helping you. A fellow may have a hard cynical kind of way of putting things, and yet, take my word for it, Paul, have a heart as tender as a spring chicken underneath. I believe I'm something like that myself. I tell you I'm sorry for you. I don't like to see a family man of your position in such a regular deuce of a hole.

I feel bound to give you a lift out of it, and let my prospects take their own chance. I leave the grat.i.tude to you. When I've done, kick me down the doorsteps if you like. I shall go out into the world with the glow of self-approval (and rapid motion) warming my system. Take my advice, don't attempt to tackle Master d.i.c.k yourself. Leave him to me."

"If I could only make up my mind to trust you!" muttered Paul.

"The old distrust!" cried Marmaduke; "you can't forget. You won't believe a poor devil like me can have any grat.i.tude, any disinterestedness left in him. Never mind, I'll go. I'll leave it to you. I'll send d.i.c.k in here, and we shall see whether he's such a fool as you think him."

"No," said Paul, "no; I feel you're right; that would never do."

"It would be for my advantage, I think," said the other, "but you had better take me while I am in a magnanimous mood, the opportunity may never occur again. Come, am I to help you or not? Yes or no?"

"I must accept," said Paul reluctantly; "I can't find Boaler now, and it might take hours to make him see what I wanted. I'll trust to your honour. What shall I do?"

"Do? Get away from this, he'll be coming in here very soon to see me.

Run away and play with the children or hide in the china closet--anything but stay here."

"I--I must be here while you are managing him," objected Paul.

"Nonsense!" said Paradine angrily. "I tell you it will spoil all, unless you--who's that? it's his step--too late now--dash it all! Behind that screen, quick--don't move for your life till I tell you you may come out!"

Mr. Bult.i.tude had no choice; there was just time to set up an old folding screen which stood in a corner of the room and slip behind it before the door opened.

It might not be the highest wisdom to trust everything to his new ally in this manner; but what else could he do, except stand by in forced inactivity while the momentous duel was being fought out? Just then, at all events, he saw no other course.

18. _Run to Earth_

"The is noon in this hous schuld bynde me this night."

--_The c.o.ke's Tale of Gamelyn._

d.i.c.k burst open the door of the billiard-room rather suddenly, and then stood holding on to the handle and smiling down upon his relative in a happy and affectionate but rather weak manner.