style="font-size:15px;"> "Exactly," replied Mr. Bilton. It was the only word he had as yet spoken throughout the interview.
"And now," said Dick, "I want your advice."
"Our advice? Certainly. What about?"
"Well, owing to the wreck, I am at this moment in borrowed clothes. I have only a few shillings in my pocket – "
"My dear sir," interrupted the lawyer, "that presents no difficulties. Let me give you an open cheque for two hundred – five hundred – pounds right away. Naturally, too, you will want to get clothes. You lost everything in the – the wreck; naturally you did. I had almost forgotten such things in the – the bigger matter. But that's all right. I have a private sitting-room here, and my tailor would be only too glad to come here right away. A most capable man. He would rig you out, temporarily, in a few hours, and afterwards – "
"That's all right," interrupted Dick; "but what next?"
"Take possession at once, my dear sir – at once."
"But I don't want anything to get into the papers."
"Certainly not – if we can help it. And I think we can. Shall I ring up my tailors? Yes?" And Mr. Bidlake took a telephone receiver into his hand. "That's all right," he added two minutes later. "Hucknell will be here in less than half an hour, and you can trust him to fix you up and tide you over the next few days. Yes, he will be glad to do so – very glad. Terrible business this industrial unrest, isn't it? I'm afraid it's going to take some settling. Of course, it's world wide, but I say, thank goodness our people have got more sense and more balance than those poor Russians."
The words were simple enough, and the expression was almost a commonplace, but Dick Faversham felt a sudden pain at his heart. He thought of the dark, mysterious man who claimed kinship with the great Russian House of Romanoff, and in a way he could not understand; the thought seemed to take away from the joyous excitement which filled his being at that moment. He wished he had never seen, never heard of Count Romanoff.
With an effort he shook off the cloud.
"You suggest that I go to Wendover Park at once?"
"Yes, say to-morrow morning. It is your right; in a way, it's your duty. The property is undeniably yours."
"Would – would you – could you go with me?" stammered Dick.
"I was on the point of suggesting it myself, my dear sir. Yes, I could go to-morrow morning."
"Are there any servants there, or is the house empty?" asked Dick. Again he had a sense of unreality.
"Most of the servants are there," replied the lawyer. "I thought it best to keep them. I am not sure about a chauffeur, though. I have an idea I discharged him. But it can easily be managed. The housekeeper whom your uncle engaged on your aunt's death is there, and she, it appears, has a husband. Rather a capable man. He can get a chauffeur. I'll ring up right away, and give instructions. You don't mind, do you?"
"It's awfully good of you," Dick assured him. "I shall feel lost without you."
At half-past one Dick accompanied Mr. Bidlake to his club for lunch, attired in a not at all badly fitting ready-made suit of clothes, which Mr. Hucknell had secured for him, and spent the afternoon with the lawyer discussing the new situation.
"Nine-thirty-five Victoria," said Mr. Bidlake to him as he left him that night.
"I'll be there."
Dick went to his hotel like a man in a dream. Even yet everything was unreal to him. He had received assurances from one of the most trustworthy and respectable lawyers in London that his position was absolutely safe, and yet he felt no firm foundation under his feet.
"I expect it's because I've seen nothing yet," he reflected. "When I go down to-morrow and get installed as the owner of everything, I shall see things in a new light."
CHAPTER VI
Wendover Park
The end of April had now come, and a tinge of green had crept over what in many respects is one of the loveliest counties in England. The train in which Mr. Bidlake and Dick Faversham sat had left Redhill and was passing through a rich, undulating countryside.
"You feel a bit excited, I expect?" and Mr. Bidlake looked up from his copy of The Times.
"Just a bit."
"You'll soon get over your excitement, although, of course, you'll find the change very great. A rich man has many responsibilities."
"If I remember aright, there are several other big houses within a few miles of Wendover Park? Was my uncle on good terms with his neighbours?"
The lawyer coughed. "He did not go much into society. As I told you, he was a very eccentric man."
Dick was quick to notice the tone in which the other spoke. "You mean that he was not well received?"
"I mean that he lived his own life. Mr. Faversham was essentially a business man, and – and perhaps he could not understand the attitude of the old county families. Besides, feeling against him was rather strong when he bought Wendover Park."
"Why?"
"I daresay you'll learn all about it in time. Enough to say now that Sir Guy Wendover, the previous owner, was in money difficulties, and the feeling was that your uncle took advantage of them in order to get hold of the place. Personally I don't pay much attention to such stories; but undoubtedly they affected your uncle's position. Possibly they may affect yours – for a time." The lawyer appeared to utter the last sentence as an afterthought.
Presently the train stopped at a wayside station, where the two alighted. The sun was now high in the heavens, and the birds were singing gaily. Wooded hills sloped up from the station, while westward was a vast panorama of hill and dale.
"I don't think you could find a fairer sight in all England," remarked Mr. Bidlake. "Ah, that's right. I see a motor-car is waiting for us."
Dick felt as thought a weight rolled from his shoulders the moment he stood beneath the open sky. Yes, this was glorious! The air was laden with the perfume of bursting life. The chorus of the birds exhilarated him; the sight of the rich loamy meadows, where lambkins sported and cows fed lazily, made him feel that he was not following some chimera of the mind, but tangible realities.
A chauffeur touched his cap. "Mr. Faversham and Mr. Bidlake, sir?" he inquired.
A few minutes later the car was moving swiftly along beautiful country lanes, the like of which only a few English counties can show. Yes, Dick had to admit it. Beautiful as he thought the whole district to be when cycling through it years before, he had no idea it was like this. Every corner they turned revealed new loveliness. All nature seemed bent on giving him a great welcome to his new home.
They had covered perhaps half the journey between the station and the house when the chauffeur jammed his foot on the brake suddenly and brought the car to a standstill. In front of them stood a small two-seater, by the open bonnet of which stood a young lady with hand uplifted. Evidently something had gone wrong with her machine, and the lane at this point was not wide enough for them to pass.
Dick immediately alighted.
"I am awfully sorry to inconvenience you," protested the girl,
