An African Millionaire: Episodes in the Life of the Illustrious Colonel Clay

by Grant Allen

  VIII

  THE EPISODE OF THE SELDON GOLD-MINE

  On our return to London, Charles and Marvillier had a differenceof opinion on the subject of Medhurst.

  Charles maintained that Marvillier ought to have known the manwith the cropped hair was Colonel Clay, and ought never to haverecommended him. Marvillier maintained that Charles had _seen_Colonel Clay half-a-dozen times, at least, to his own never; andthat my respected brother-in-law had therefore nobody on earthbut himself to blame if the rogue imposed upon him. The headdetective had known Medhurst for ten years, he said, as a mostrespectable man, and even a ratepayer; he had always found him thecleverest of spies, as well he might be, indeed, on the familiarset-a-thief-to-catch-a-thief principle. However, the upshot ofit all was, as usual--nothing. Marvillier was sorry to lose theservices of so excellent a hand; but he had done the very besthe could for Sir Charles, he declared; and if Sir Charles wasnot satisfied, why, he might catch his Colonel Clays for himselfin future.

  "So I will, Sey," Charles remarked to me, as we walked back fromthe office in the Strand by Piccadilly. "I won't trust any more tothese private detectives. It's my belief they're a pack of thievesthemselves, in league with the rascals they're set to catch, andwith no more sense of honour than a Zulu diamond-hand."

  "Better try the police," I suggested, by way of being helpful.One must assume an interest in one's employer's business.

  But Charles shook his head. "No, no," he said; "I'm sick of allthese fellows. I shall trust in future to my own sagacity. Welearn by experience, Sey--and I've learned a thing or two. One ofthem is this: It's not enough to suspect everybody; you must haveno preconceptions. Divest yourself entirely of every fixed ideaif you wish to cope with a rascal of this calibre. Don't jump atconclusions. We should disbelieve everything, as well as distrusteverybody. That's the road to success; and I mean to pursue it."

  So, by way of pursuing it, Charles retired to Seldon.

  "The longer the man goes on, the worse he grows," he said to meone morning. "He's just like a tiger that has tasted blood. Everysuccessful haul seems only to make him more eager for another.I fully expect now before long we shall see him down here."

  About three weeks later, sure enough, my respected connectionreceived a communication from the abandoned swindler, withan Austrian stamp and a Vienna post-mark.

  "MY DEAR VANDRIFT.--(After so long and so varied an acquaintancewe may surely drop the absurd formalities of 'Sir Charles' and'Colonel.') I write to ask you a delicate question. Can you kindlytell me exactly how much I have received from your various generousacts during the last three years? I have mislaid my account-book,and as this is the season for making the income tax return, I amanxious, as an honest and conscientious citizen, to set down myaverage profits out of you for the triennial period. For reasonswhich you will amply understand, I do not this time give my privateaddress, in Paris or elsewhere; but if you will kindly advertisethe total amount, above the signature 'Peter Simple,' in the AgonyColumn of the Times, you will confer a great favour upon theRevenue Commissioners, and also upon your constant friend andcompanion, CUTHBERT CLAY,

  "Practical Socialist."

  "Mark my word, Sey," Charles said, laying the letter down, "in aweek or less the man himself will follow. This is his cunning wayof trying to make me think he's well out of the country and faraway from Seldon. That means he's meditating another descent. Buthe told us too much last time, when he was Medhurst the detective.He gave us some hints about disguises and their unmasking that Ishall not forget. This turn I shall be even with him."

  On Saturday of that week, in effect, we were walking along the roadthat leads into the village, when we met a gentlemanly-looking man,in a rough and rather happy-go-lucky brown tweed suit, who had theair of a tourist. He was middle-aged, and of middle height; he worea small leather wallet suspended round his shoulder; and he waspeering about at the rocks in a suspicious manner. Something inhis gait attracted our attention.

  "Good-morning," he said, looking up as we passed; and Charlesmuttered a somewhat surly inarticulate, "Good-morning."

  We went on without saying more. "Well, _that's_ not Colonel Clay,anyhow," I said, as we got out of earshot. "For he accosted usfirst; and you may remember it's one of the Colonel's most markedpeculiarities that, like the model child, he never speaks till he'sspoken to--never begins an acquaintance. He always waits till wemake the first advance; he doesn't go out of his way to cheat us;he loiters about till we ask him to do it."

  "Seymour," my brother-in-law responded, in a severe tone, "thereyou are, now, doing the very thing I warned you not to do! You'resuccumbing to a preconception. Avoid fixed ideas. The probabilityis this man _is_ Colonel Clay. Strangers are generally scarce atSeldon. If he isn't Colonel Clay, what's he here for, I'd liketo know? What money is there to be made here in any other way?I shall inquire about him."

  We dropped in at the Cromarty Arms, and asked good Mrs. M'Lachlanif she could tell us anything about the gentlemanly stranger. Mrs.M'Lachlan replied that he was from London, she believed, a pleasantgentleman enough; and he had his wife with him.

  "Ha! Young? Pretty?" Charles inquired, with a speaking glance at me.

  "Weel, Sir Charles, she'll no be exactly what you'd be ca'ing abonny lass," Mrs. M'Lachlan replied; "but she's a guid body fora' that, an' a fine braw woman."

  "Just what I should expect," Charles murmured, "He varies theprogramme. The fellow has tried White Heather as the parson's wife,and as Madame Picardet, and as squinting little Mrs. Granton, andas Medhurst's accomplice; and now, he has almost exhausted thepossibilities of a disguise for a really young and pretty woman;so he's playing her off at last as the riper product--a handsomematron. Clever, extremely clever; but--we begin to see through him."And he chuckled to himself quietly.

  Next day, on the hillside, we came upon our stranger again,occupied as before in peering into the rocks, and sounding themwith a hammer. Charles nudged me and whispered, "I have it thistime. He's posing as a geologist."

  I took a good look at the man. By now, of course, we had someexperience of Colonel Clay in his various disguises; and I couldobserve that while the nose, the hair, and the beard were varied,the eyes and the build remained the same as ever. He was a triflestouter, of course, being got up as a man of between forty andfifty; and his forehead was lined in a way which a less consummateartist than Colonel Clay could easily have imitated. But I felt wehad at least some grounds for our identification; it would not doto dismiss the suggestion of Clayhood at once as a flight of fancy.

  His wife was sitting near, upon a bare boss of rock, reading avolume of poems. Capital variant, that, a volume of poems! Exactlysuited the selected type of a cultivated family. White Heather andMrs. Granton never used to read poems. But that was characteristicof all Colonel Clay's impersonations, and Mrs. Clay's too--for Isuppose I must call her so. They were not mere outer disguises;they were finished pieces of dramatic study. Those two people werean actor and actress, as well as a pair of rogues; and in boththeir roles they were simply inimitable.

  As a rule, Charles is by no means polite to casual trespassers onthe Seldon estate; they get short shrift and a summary ejection.But on this occasion he had a reason for being courteous, and heapproached the lady with a bow of recognition. "Lovely day," hesaid, "isn't it? Such belts on the sea, and the heather smellssweet. You are stopping at the inn, I fancy?"

  "Yes," the lady answered, looking up at him with a charming smile.("I know that smile," Charles whispered to me. "I have succumbed toit too often.") "We're stopping at the inn, and my husband is doinga little geology on the hill here. I hope Sir Charles Vandrift won'tcome and catch us. He's so down upon trespassers. They tell us atthe inn he's a regular Tartar."

  ("Saucy minx as ever," Charles murmured to me. "She said it onpurpose.") "No, my dear madam," he continued, aloud; "you havebeen quite misinformed. _I_ am Sir Charles Vandrift; and I am _not_a Tartar. If your husband is a man of science I respect and admirehim. It is geology that has
made me what I am to-day." And he drewhimself up proudly. "We owe to it the present development of SouthAfrican mining."

  The lady blushed as one seldom sees a mature woman blush--butexactly as I had seen Madame Picardet and White Heather. "Oh, I'mso sorry," she said, in a confused way that recalled Mrs. Granton."Forgive my hasty speech. I--I didn't know you."

  ("She did," Charles whispered. "But let that pass.") "Oh, don'tthink of it again; so many people disturb the birds, don't you know,that we're obliged in self-defence to warn trespassers sometimes offour lovely mountains. But I do it with regret--with profound regret.I admire the--er--the beauties of Nature myself; and, therefore,I desire that all others should have the freest possible accessto them--possible, that is to say, consistently with the superiorclaims of Property."

  "I see," the lady replied, looking up at him quaintly. "I admireyour wish, though not your reservation. I've just been readingthose sweet lines of Wordsworth's--

  And O, ye fountains, meadows, hills, and groves, Forebode not any severing of our loves.

  I suppose you know them?" And she beamed on him pleasantly.

  "Know them?" Charles answered. "Know them! Oh, of course, I knowthem. They're old favourites of mine--in fact, I adore Wordsworth."(I doubt whether Charles has ever in his life read a line of poetry,except Doss Chiderdoss in the Sporting Times.) He took the bookand glanced at them. "Ah, charming, charming!" he said, in his mostecstatic tone. But his eyes were on the lady, and not on the poet.

  I saw in a moment how things stood. No matter under what disguisethat woman appeared to him, and whether he recognised her or not,Charles couldn't help falling a victim to Madame Picardet'sattractions. Here he actually suspected her; yet, like a mothround a candle, he was trying his hardest to get his wings singed!I almost despised him with his gigantic intellect! The greatestmen are the greatest fools, I verily believe, when there's a womanin question.

  The husband strolled up by this time, and entered into conversationwith us. According to his own account, his name was Forbes-Gaskell,and he was a Professor of Geology in one of those new-fanglednorthern colleges. He had come to Seldon rock-spying, he said, andfound much to interest him. He was fond of fossils, but his specialhobby was rocks and minerals. He knew a vast deal about cairngormsand agates and such-like pretty things, and showed Charles quartzand felspar and red cornelian, and I don't know what else, in thecrags on the hillside. Charles pretended to listen to him with thedeepest interest and even respect, never for a moment letting himguess he knew for what purpose this show of knowledge had beenrecently acquired. If we were ever to catch the man, we must notallow him to see we suspected him. So Charles played a dark game.He swallowed the geologist whole without question.

  Most of that morning we spent with them on the hillside. Charlestook them everywhere and showed them everything. He pretended to bepolite to the scientific man, and he was really polite, most polite,to the poetical lady. Before lunch time we had become quite friends.

  The Clays were always easy people to get on with; and, bar theirroguery, we could not deny they were delightful companions. Charlesasked them in to lunch. They accepted willingly. He introduced themto Amelia with sundry raisings of his eyebrows and contortionsof his mouth. "Professor and Mrs. Forbes-Gaskell," he said,half-dislocating his jaw with his violent efforts. "They're stoppingat the inn, dear. I've been showing them over the place, and they'regood enough to say they'll drop in and take a share in our coldroast mutton;" which was a frequent form of Charles's pleasantry.

  Amelia sent them upstairs to wash their hands--which, in theProfessor's case, was certainly desirable, for his fingers weregrimed with earth and dust from the rocks he had been investigating.As soon as we were left alone Charles drew me into the library.

  "Seymour," he said, "more than ever there is a need for us strictlyto avoid preconceptions. We must not make up our minds that this manis Colonel Clay--nor, again, that he isn't. We must remember that wehave been mistaken in _both_ ways in the past, and must avoid ourold errors. I shall hold myself in readiness for either event--anda policeman in readiness to arrest them, if necessary!"

  "A capital plan," I murmured. "Still, if I may venture a suggestion,in what way are these two people endeavouring to entrap us? Theyhave no scheme on hand--no schloss, no amalgamation."

  "Seymour," my brother-in-law answered in his board-room style, "youare a great deal too previous, as Medhurst used to say--I mean,Colonel Clay in his character as Medhurst. In the first place, theseare early days; our friends have not yet developed their intentions.We may find before long they have a property to sell, or a companyto promote, or a concession to exploit in South Africa or elsewhere.Then again, in the second place, we don't always spot the exactnature of their plan until it has burst in our hands, so to speak,and revealed its true character. What could have seemed moretransparent than Medhurst, the detective, till he ran away with ournotes in the very moment of triumph? What more innocent than WhiteHeather and the little curate, till they landed us with a coupleof Amelia's own gems as a splendid bargain? I will not take it forgranted _any_ man is not Colonel Clay, merely because I don't happento spot the particular scheme he is trying to work against me. Therogue has so many schemes, and some of them so well concealed, thatup to the moment of the actual explosion you fail to detect thepresence of moral dynamite. Therefore, I shall proceed as if therewere dynamite everywhere. But in the third place--and this is _very_important--you mark my words, I believe I detect already the lineshe will work upon. He's a geologist, he says, with a taste forminerals. Very good. You see if he doesn't try to persuade me beforelong he has found a coal mine, whose locality he will disclose fora trifling consideration; or else he will salt the Long Mountainwith emeralds, and claim a big share for helping to discover them;or else he will try something in the mineralogical line to _do_ mesomehow. I see it in the very transparency of the fellow's face;and I'm determined this time neither to pay him one farthing onany pretext, nor to let him escape me!"

  We went in to lunch. The Professor and Mrs. Forbes-Gaskell, allsmiles, accompanied us. I don't know whether it was Charles'swarning to take nothing for granted that made me do so--but I kepta close eye upon the suspected man all the time we were at table.It struck me there was something very odd about his hair. Itdidn't seem quite the same colour all over. The locks that hungdown behind, over the collar of his coat, were a trifle lighter anda trifle grayer than the black mass that covered the greater partof his head. I examined it carefully. The more I did so, the morethe conviction grew upon me: he was wearing a wig. There was nodenying it!

  A trifle less artistic, perhaps, than most of Colonel Clay'sget-ups; but then, I reflected (on Charles's principle of takingnothing for granted), we had never before suspected Colonel Clayhimself, except in the one case of the Honourable David, whose redhair and whiskers even Madame Picardet had admitted to be absurdlyfalse by her action of pointing at them and tittering irrepressibly.It was possible that in every case, if we had scrutinised our manclosely, we should have found that the disguise betrayed itselfat once (as Medhurst had suggested) to an acute observer.

  The detective, in fact, had told us too much. I remembered what hesaid to us about knocking off David Granton's red wig the momentwe doubted him; and I positively tried to help myself awkwardlyto potato-chips, when the footman offered them, so as to hit thesupposed wig with an apparently careless brush of my elbow. Butit was of no avail. The fellow seemed to anticipate or suspect myintention, and dodged aside carefully, like one well accustomedto saving his disguise from all chance of such real or seemingaccidents.

  I was so full of my discovery that immediately after lunch I inducedIsabel to take our new friends round the home garden and show themCharles's famous prize dahlias, while I proceeded myself to narrateto Charles and Amelia my observations and my frustrated experiment.

  "It _is_ a wig," Amelia assented. "_I_ spotted it at once. A verygood wig, too, and most artistically planted. Men don't notice thesethings, though women do. I
t is creditable to you, Seymour, to havesucceeded in detecting it."

  Charles was less complimentary. "You fool," he answered, with thatunpleasant frankness which is much too common with him. "Supposingit _is_, why on earth should you try to knock it off and disclosehim? What good would it have done? If it _is_ a wig, and we spot it,that's all that we need. We are put on our guard; we know with whomwe have now to deal. But you can't take a man up on a charge ofwig-wearing. The law doesn't interfere with it. Most respectable menmay sometimes wear wigs. Why, I knew a promoter who did, and alsothe director of fourteen companies! What we have to do next is, waittill he tries to cheat us, and then--pounce down upon him. Sooneror later, you may be sure, his plans will reveal themselves."

  So we concocted an excellent scheme to keep them under constantobservation, lest they should slip away again, as they did from theisland. First of all, Amelia was to ask them to come and stop at thecastle, on the ground that the rooms at the inn were uncomfortablysmall. We felt sure, however, that, as on a previous occasion,they would refuse the invitation, in order to be able to slinkoff unperceived, in case they should find themselves apparentlysuspected. Should they decline, it was arranged that Cesarine shouldtake a room at the Cromarty Arms as long as they stopped there, andreport upon their movements; while, during the day, we would havethe house watched by the head gillie's son, a most intelligentyoung man, who could be trusted, with true Scotch canniness, tosay nothing to anybody.

  To our immense surprise, Mrs. Forbes-Gaskell accepted the invitationwith the utmost alacrity. She was profuse in her thanks, indeed; forshe told us the Arms was an ill-kept house, and the cookery by nomeans agreed with her husband's liver. It was sweet of us to invitethem; such kindness to perfect strangers was quite unexpected. Sheshould always say that nowhere on earth had she met with so cordialor friendly a reception as at Seldon Castle. But--she accepted,unreservedly.

  "It _can't_ be Colonel Clay," I remarked to Charles. "He would neverhave come here. Even as David Granton, with far more reason forcoming, he wouldn't put himself in our power: he preferred thesecurity and freedom of the Cromarty Arms."

  "Sey," my brother-in-law said sententiously, "you're incorrigible.You _will_ persist in being the slave of prepossessions. He mayhave some good reason of his own for accepting. Wait till he showshis hand--and then, we shall understand everything."

  So for the next three weeks the Forbes-Gaskells formed part of thehouse-party at Seldon. I must say, Charles paid them most assiduousattention. He positively neglected his other guests in order to keepclose to the two new-comers. Mrs. Forbes-Gaskell noticed the fact,and commented on it. "You are really too good to us, Sir Charles,"she said. "I'm afraid you allow us quite to monopolise you!"

  But Charles, gallant as ever, replied with a smile, "We haveyou with us for so short a time, you know!" Which made Mrs.Forbes-Gaskell blush again that delicious blush of hers.

  During all this time the Professor went on calmly and persistentlymineralogising. "Wonderful character!" Charles said to me. "He worksout his parts so well! Could anything exceed the picture he givesone of scientific ardour?" And, indeed, he was at it, morning, noon,and night. "Sooner or later," Charles observed, "something practicalmust come of it."

  Twice, meanwhile, little episodes occurred which are well worthnotice. One day I was out with the Professor on the Long Mountain,watching him hammer at the rocks, and a little bored by hisperformance, when, to pass the time, I asked him what a particularsmall water-worn stone was. He looked at it and smiled. "If therewere a little more mica in it," he said, "it would be thecharacteristic gneiss of ice-borne boulders, hereabouts. Butthere isn't _quite_ enough." And he gazed at it curiously.

  "Indeed," I answered, "it doesn't come up to sample, doesn't it?"

  He gave me a meaning look. "Ten per cent," he murmured in a slow,strange voice; "ten per cent is more usual."

  I trembled violently. Was he bent, then, upon ruining me? "If youbetray me--" I cried, and broke off.

  "I beg your pardon," he said. He was all pure innocence.

  I reflected on what Charles had said about taking nothing forgranted, and held my tongue prudently.

  The other incident was this. Charles picked a sprig of white heatheron the hill one afternoon, after a picnic lunch, I regret to say,when he had taken perhaps a glass more champagne than was strictlygood for him. He was not exactly the worse for it, but he wasexcited, good-humoured, reckless, and lively. He brought the sprigto Mrs. Forbes-Gaskell, and handed it to her, ogling a little."Sweets to the sweet," he murmured, and looked at her meaningly."White heather to White Heather." Then he saw what he had done,and checked himself instantly.

  Mrs. Forbes-Gaskell coloured up in the usual manner. "I--I don'tquite understand," she faltered.

  Charles scrambled out of it somehow. "White heather for luck," hesaid, "and--the man who is privileged to give a piece of it to youis surely lucky."

  She smiled, none too well pleased. I somehow felt she suspected usof suspecting her.

  However, as it turned out, nothing came, after all, of the untowardincident.

  Next day Charles burst upon me, triumphant. "Well, he has shownhis hand!" he cried. "I knew he would. He has come to me to-daywith--what do you think?--a fragment of gold, in quartz, from theLong Mountain."

  "No!" I exclaimed.

  "Yes," Charles answered. "He says there's a vein there with distinctspecks of gold in it, which might be worth mining. When a man begins_that_ way you know what he's driving at! And what's more, he's gotup the subject beforehand; for he began saying to me there had longbeen gold in Sutherlandshire--why not therefore in Ross-shire?And then he went at full into the comparative geology of the tworegions."

  "This is serious," I said. "What will you do?"

  "Wait and watch," Charles answered; "and the moment he develops aproposal for shares in the syndicate to work the mine, or a sum ofmoney down as the price of his discovery--get in the police, andarrest him."

  For the next few days the Professor was more active and ardent thanever. He went peering about the rocks on every side with his hammer.He kept on bringing in little pieces of stone, with gold specksstuck in them, and talking learnedly of the "probable cost ofcrushing and milling." Charles had heard all that before; inpoint of fact, he had assisted at the drafting of some dozens ofprospectuses. So he took no notice, and waited for the man with thewig to develop his proposals. He knew they would come soon; and hewatched and waited. But, of course, to draw him on he pretended tobe interested.

  While we were all in this attitude of mind, attending on Providenceand Colonel Clay, we happened to walk down by the shore one day, inthe opposite direction from the Seamew's island. Suddenly we cameupon the Professor linked arm-in-arm with--Sir Adolphus Cordery!They were wrapped in deep talk, and appeared to be most amicable.

  Now, naturally, relations had been a trifle strained between SirAdolphus and the house of Vandrift since the incident of the Slump;but under the present circumstances, and with such a matter at stakeas the capture of Colonel Clay, it was necessary to overlook allsuch minor differences. So Charles managed to disengage theProfessor from his friend, sent Amelia on with Forbes-Gaskelltowards the castle, and stopped behind, himself, with Sir Adolphusand me, to clear up the question.

  "Do you know this man, Cordery?" he asked, with some littlesuspicion.

  "Know him? Why, of course I do," Sir Adolphus answered. "He'sMarmaduke Forbes-Gaskell, of the Yorkshire College, a verydistinguished man of science. First-rate mineralogist--perhapsthe best (_but_ one) in England." Modesty forbade him to name theexception.

  "But are you sure it's he?" Charles inquired, with growingdoubt. "Have you known him before? This isn't a second case ofSchleiermachering me, is it?"

  "Sure it's he?" Sir Adolphus echoed. "Am I sure of myself? Why, I'veknown Marmy Gaskell ever since we were at Trinity together. Knew himbefore he married Miss Forbes of Glenluce, my wife's second cousin,and hyphened his name with hers, to keep the property in the family.Know t
hem both most intimately. Came down here to the inn because Iheard that Marmy was on the prowl among these hills, and I thought hehad probably something good to prowl after--in the way of fossils."

  "But the man wears a wig!" Charles expostulated.

  "Of course," Cordery answered. "He's as bald as a bat--in front atleast--and he wears a wig to cover his baldness."

  "It's disgraceful," Charles exclaimed; "disgraceful--taking us inlike that." And he grew red as a turkey-cock.

  Sir Adolphus has no delicacy. He burst out laughing.

  "Oh, I see," he cried out, simply bursting with amusement. "Youthought Forbes-Gaskell was Colonel Clay in disguise! Oh, my stars,what a lovely one!"

  "_You_, at least, have no right to laugh," Charles responded, drawinghimself up and growing still redder. "You led me once into asimilar scrape, and then backed out of it in a way unbecoming agentleman. Besides," he went on, getting angrier at each word,"this fellow, whoever he is, has been trying to cheat me on hisown account. Colonel Clay or no Colonel Clay, he's been salting myrocks with gold-bearing quartz, and trying to lead me on into anabsurd speculation!"

  Sir Adolphus exploded. "Oh, this is too good," he cried. "I mustgo and tell Marmy!" And he rushed off to where Forbes-Gaskell wasseated on a corner of rock with Amelia.

  As for Charles and myself, we returned to the house. Half an hourlater Forbes-Gaskell came back, too, in a towering temper.

  "What is the meaning of this, sir?" he shouted out, as soon ashe caught sight of Charles. "I'm told you've invited my wifeand myself here to your house in order to spy upon us, under theimpression that I was Clay, the notorious swindler!"

  "I thought you were," Charles answered, equally angry. "Perhaps youmay be still! Anyhow, you're a rogue, and you tried to bamboozleme!"

  Forbes-Gaskell, white with rage, turned to his trembling wife."Gertrude," he said, "pack up your box and come away from thesepeople instantly. Their pretended hospitality has been a studiedinsult. They've put you and me in a most ridiculous position. Wewere told before we came here--and no doubt with truth--that SirCharles Vandrift was the most close-fisted and tyrannical oldcurmudgeon in Scotland. We've been writing to all our friends tosay ecstatically that he was, on the contrary, a most hospitable,generous, and large-hearted gentleman. And now we find out he's adisgusting cad, who asks strangers to his house from the meanestmotives, and then insults his guests with gratuitous vituperation.It is well such people should hear the plain truth now and again intheir lives; and it therefore gives me the greatest pleasure to tellSir Charles Vandrift that he's a vulgar bounder of the first water.Go and pack your box, Gertrude! I'll run down to the Cromarty Arms,and order a cab to carry us away at once from this inhospitablesham castle."

  "You wear a wig, sir; you wear a wig," Charles exclaimed,half-choking with passion. For, indeed, as Forbes-Gaskell spoke,and tossed his head angrily, the nature of his hair-covering grewpainfully apparent. It was quite one-sided.

  "I do, sir, that I may be able to shake it in the face of a cad!"the Professor responded, tearing it off to readjust it; and, suitingthe action to the word, he brandished it thrice in Charles's eyes;after which he darted from the room, speechless with indignation.

  As soon as they were gone, and Charles had recovered breathsufficiently to listen to rational conversation, I ventured toobserve, "This comes of being too sure! We made one mistake. Wetook it for granted that because a man wears a wig, he _must_ bean impostor--which does not necessarily follow. We forgot that notColonel Clays alone have false coverings to their heads, and thatwigs may sometimes be worn from motives of pure personal vanity.In fact, we were again the slaves of preconceptions."

  I looked at him pointedly. Charles rose before he replied. "SeymourWentworth," he said at last, gazing down upon me with lofty scorn,"your moralising is ill-timed. It appears to me you entirelymisunderstand the position and duties of a private secretary!"

  The oddest part of it all, however, was this--that Charles, beingconvinced Forbes-Gaskell, though he wasn't Colonel Clay, had beenfraudulently salting the rocks with gold, with intent to deceive,took no further notice of the alleged discoveries. The consequencewas that Forbes-Gaskell and Sir Adolphus went elsewhere with thesecret; and it was not till after Charles had sold the SeldonCastle estate (which he did shortly afterward, the place havingsomehow grown strangely distasteful to him) that the present"Seldon Eldorados, Limited," were put upon the market by LordCraig-Ellachie, who purchased the place from him. Forbes-Gaskell,as it happened, had reported to Craig-Ellachie that he had founda lode of high-grade ore on an estate unnamed, which he wouldparticularise on promise of certain contingent claims to founder'sshares; and the old lord jumped at it. Charles sold at grouse-moorprices; and the consequence is that the capital of the Eldoradosis yielding at present very fair returns, even after allowing forexpenses of promotion--while Charles has been done out of a goodthing in gold-mines!

  But, remembering "the position and duties of a private secretary,"I refrained from pointing out to him at the time that this loss wasdue to a fixed idea--though as a matter of fact it depended uponCharles's strange preconception that the man with the wig, whoeverhe might be, was trying to diddle him.